haute nunce

debunking the wank of food and wine in Melbourne

Monday, February 15, 2010

An open letter to you, and hello as well

Hello There,


Isn't this blogging world just great. I mean I could sit here all day and all night and tweet or twot every waking moment of my day, seriously - I could! But I have a life and children so this will just be some observations I have experienced, and still do experience, about food and wine in this ever so serious city I call home - Melbourne.

After 24 years of carrying plates and scraping away half eaten lobster tails and topping up the gloriously yummy Sauvignon Blanc in to the glasses of the leasurable ladies of Brighton and Palm Cove, I have sold up my stake in the restaurant I built 11 years ago, and cautiously retired to a life of never-you-mind! But back to the blogging.

About two years ago, one of my waitresses, in the act of counting up the nightly takings, yelled out to me to get my cute sexxy arse in to the office to see the most recent review of our restaurant. 'Review' I said, 'we got reviewed three months ago by that former pie maker with puffy cheeks' - take a bow Mr Lethlean. With the reply of 'narrghh, this is by those Doctors.' It turns out that 'those' doctors were the husband and wife team from '1001 Dinners'.

After the till went away and the kitchen team emptied their fourth bottle of Stella, I went back in to the office for a little look-see in to some other food and wine blogs, and the next thing I know my phone is singing 'Living da vida loca' with my wife on the other end asking me what the hell I was doing still at the restaurant at 4am?

From then on I was hooked. Everyday I would scour the web in search of a review for my eatery (seven in total, and all good I might add), and everyday I would find myself either arguing with the author or praising their witty prose; I became a follower - to many!

Move on two years and we are sitting in the dining room of my eatery for the last time with my very loyal bunch of FOH sipping on champagne; ohh the stories we told. But as the night got older and the bottles got emptier, it seemed that the only person doing the story telling was me. It was once again 4am and my phone this time was singing 'put a ring on it', and it was time to go home again. Waiting outside the restaurant for the last time with two of my FOH team really got to me that this was the last time; it was pretty final and tomorrow after my hangover, the cold reality would spell 'all done!' As I was drifting away thinking of this, the FOH manager blurted out, 'geez man, you gotta write a book - the shit you've seen would have everyone either in stitches or grimacing with pain.....' and on and on he went. After the third 'dude' from my manager, my taxi pulled up and off I went in to the darkness.

Over the next few weeks I was trying to engage myself with the garden, and the shed, and the kitchen, and the storage area and everything else in the house that I had neglected over 11 years. For the record, I do have three gorgeous kids who do not need any prompting to engage with.

I became bored. All of the sudden I missed the 20 minutes that were before service kicked off - the briefings from the chef, the shorts on the wine list, the divving up of sections and scanning over the bookings book to see if their were any familiar names.

I was out for a month when I got a phone call from my old partner inviting my wife and me in for dinner - their shout. Sweet! I had my my eye on a bottle of 05' Puligny Montrachet, but my wife said that would be taking the piss - she was right. But sitting in that dining room felt odd. All I could do was see if table 5 had been given menu's or if table 12 had had their pre dinner drinks. It was horrible. Half way through the night, the FOH manager came over for a chit-chat and 'a how you doin' to my wife, where once again he said I gotta write a book... dude!

It was over coffee when my wife quipped that I hadn't the time to write a book, but instead I should start a blog. Brilliant!

So here we are, a couple of months down the track and a notebook full of anecdotes and observations of what I have seen, particularly here in Melbourne; coked up chefs, pregnant waiters, elitist 'so-called' sommeliers, desperate wine reps, poorly disguised food critics, and customers - boy you guys are going to cop a hiding! I know it sounds so Anthony Bourdain, but who said he had the copyright on dishing dirt about the restaurant world!

But I do this anon. There are far too many people out there who take themselves way too seriously and would not find this at all funny. So all you will see is that brown paper bag sitting on my shoulders. It's not that I'm scared of retribution; I am in a way - some of the restaurants I'm going to dish dirt on are places I still want to eat at.

So, hello if you read this, and have fun, cos I am.