IF A restaurant is to pull in the punters in
these times it has to have something special about it. Sydney Street, London's first all- Australian restaurant, certainly has that. It is the most spectacular place, striking a note, in the midst of cosy Laura Ashley and Butler & Wilson land, of earthy, vibrant beauty.
You go in, upstairs, to a glowing wooden bar and a room daubed with a rough terra- cotta, oceanic blue, and sketches from the songlines forming a stark aboriginalish mural. Downstairs, past the kitchen and a wall of fish tanks in which creep lan- goustines, which in their lit pools seem almost fluorescent, is the dining room, a huge expanse of the same turquoise and further instances of colour-slashed tribal art. The room's inhabitants, mostly locals in hairbands or stripey shirts, provide an iron- ic counterpoint to the decor's artful wild- ness.
The food which is served in Sydney Street is not traditionally Strine — no meat pies or carpetbag steak — but, as the fash- ionable if obscene-sounding tag has it, Pacific-rim. Chef Eric Van Alphen, a Dutchman who spent 16 years in the land of Oz, conjures with a wildness to match the decor with crocodile and yabbies, kan- garoo steak and roasted barramundi. The appeal is exotic, and sometimes the pile-up of ingredients on his menu can seem more parodic than poetic.
The 'signature' cocktail devised for the place is, I was informed on the press release, a `spit-or-swallow', a description of charming Antipodean inelegance and one which has to be spoken in an Australian accent to get the full flavour, I feel. It is, in fact, a rather unorthodox martini compris- ing vodka, lime and an oyster, and although I'd intended to try it, somehow I failed to muster the courage on the night. Forgive me.
We made rather better headway on the menu. The pumpkin coconut soup with a wonton of spicy peanut and basil came as a grainy turmeric-yellow purée, resonant and aromatic. The duck rillettes pancake sounded fatly unpromising but appeared as a triumphantly light dish of parchment-thin oriental pancakes, lined with a coating of the pâté, and dribbled with a dressing of sharp orange, sweetened with honey and deepened with star anise. Less successful was the crocodile and sweetbread terrine. I
have, in fact, eaten crocodile before — in, of all places, the News International can- teen. It was on the 'speciality menu' on Australia Day a couple of years back when I was on the staff of the Sunday Times. Then it tasted like a cross between sword- fish and pork. Here it comes in a bland slab with the aspect of halva, atop a cashew and papaya chutney. I rarely leave food, but I left this.
Sydney Street flies in all its food from Australia and the produce is excellent. But every dish comes with so many garnishes that the flavour can be lost, or rather sub- sumed in a cacophony of other flavours. The 'tandoori-style' spatchcock comes daubed with goat's cheese, and to this is added a rather soggy mess of overcooked chilli-infused noodles which in its turn is drenched with 'balsamic tomato and basil jus' that has more than a whiff of the take- away sweet-and-sour about it. Seared par- raffish was lost in its reef of oriental spinach noodles and fishy reduction swim- ming with shitake mushrooms. But the woodfired rib of beef was sensational, the meat properly hung, dark and smoky, and the kangaroo fillet was a lean and gamey strip, which anyone interested in eating should try.
The wine list, as one would expect, has an excellent choice from the New World. We started with the 1990 Shaw & Smith Chardonnay (£22), a light, crisp wine from Southern Australia, and progressed to a Shiraz from Victoria, the 1984 Bannock- burn at £18. Portions are large, so pudding can prove a problem, but the chocolate but- termilk gateau and caramelised lemon cus- tard tart rewarded gluttony. Dinner for four of us, including coffee and tip, came to £170: Chelsea prices.
In my review of L'Altro a couple of weeks back, I mentioned that the place had previously been a deli owned by a bad-tem- pered couple. From various dissenting let- ters I've since received, I've come to the conclusion that I obviously went to the deli on a few off-days. Perhaps my throwaway remark was ill-judged: certainly I'm sorry to have upset both the deli's owners and its customers.
Sydney Street, 4 Sydney Street,* London SW3; tel: 071 352 3433
Nigella Lawson
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