The Brasserie By Philippe Mouchel

Sometimes you don't realise you've been craving a certain kind of comfort until it comes along and you heave a Goldilocks-worthy sigh of contentment - aahhh this is juuuuust right.

I went for lunch today with my friend Tim, who I've known since my days in England, and hadn't seen for three years. We used to spend many a day and night in London, sampling the many campy delights the gay scene had to offer, and some of the less campy ones as well. As something borderline camp, we also once went to a Vonda Shepard concert. Yes. That's right. I've been down this road, walkin' the line that's painted by pride. It was great fun. Vonda demonstrated the chicken dance, which I had never seen before (and I think neither had the largely English audience, who were as nonplussed as I was when it came time to join in).

Anyway, Tim has been in Melbourne the whole time that I've been here, but because I am totally incapable of maintaining long distance friendships except through IMs (Lolo, Evan and Fufu, take heed) I didn't know. EXTENSIVE SELFKICKING! Due to a confluence of lucky factors, however, we found out about our mutual Melbournelocatedness and decided to get together for lunch before I left.

We met at The Brasserie by Philippe Mouchel*, an oasis of fresh air and clean, bright sunlight in the claustrophobic Crown Casino (neon, tiny little yellow bulbs, and cheesily plush carpet). We picked up again as though no time had passed. The gossip, the banter, the giggles. It gave me hope that even though people change, sometimes friendships stay the same.

*Sounds a bit like the title of an 8 year old's essay does it not? "When I grow up, I will have a restaurant. It will be called The Brasserie. There will be good food. Like fish and cow and chicken. And people who eat there will be happy. And I will never dabble in molecular gastronomy unless I'm prepared to go all the way."


Good lighting is next to godliness (good food transcends religion)

It didn't hurt that the meal was flawlessly executed. Oh, the petit fours were a little underwhelming. I think they were stale. Other than that, flawless.

There are two things I learned at TBPM. First, something can be buttery, oily and creamy yet remarkably clean tasting at the same time. That thing is trout tartare. Second, I totally suck at using a cameraphone. You'll notice that all the photos of my food are blurry, while Tim's are crisp and required minimal photoshopping. Guess who took which photos. You can extrapolate about my incompetence to the interior photos, btw. Induction sometimes works.


Here's another interior photo, just because it's one of the few in focus

Returning to the theme of comfort, let's take a look at the cutlery. I noticed the unusual handle-design of the knives (and their odd orientation on the table) when we sat down.


Sure it's pretty, but how does it feel in your hand? (that's what he said!)

It turns out that the knives are much more comfortable for extended use than regular knives. You see, I use knives the "proper" way, with index finger extended and resting on the join between blade and handle (or on the blade). On a regular knife, where the handle's broad plane is contiguous with that of the blade, this becomes quite uncomfortable over time as it presses into your finger. On these knives, however, your finger rests slightly on the flat side of the handle as it meets the blade, meaning less pressure on that finger. Also, the grip is overall more comfortable, I'm not sure why.

Not that I really needed my knife for my first course (they call them entrees here in Australia, just like in France!):

Tartare of Tasmanian ocean trout, vegetable salad, mayonnaise and condiments

I came for the "Eat Local" allure. I stayed for the smooth, fresh, melt-in-your-mouth trout and the just-tart-enough potato salad (I think. I guess the potato is a vegetable) that it rested on. The little dollop of mayonnaise was just the right amount of added richness.

Tim had not ordered a first course, so we shared the tartare (which was quite a generous portion).

Here are our mains:

Mine: Roasted duck breast with braised witlof, orange vinaigrette


Tim's: Pan-fried fillet of snapper, spinach and boulangère potatoes


A shared side: Buttered potato and celeriac mash


What is "witlof" you ask? Ironically, I had to look at the French subtitles on the menu to figure out what it was. My dish's Gallic alterego was Magret de canard aux endives braisées, à la vinaigrette d'orange*. Yup, none other than that pale-leaved "let's make our salad extra posh" ingredient, the endive. This was the second time I've had cooked endive so boldly (and perfectly) presented as itself (as far as I remember). The first time was in L'Osteria del Forno in North Beach, where it was grilled with prosciutto.

*BTW I don't have some kind of supermemory or a handy notepad, I just grabbed this text off the handy online menu, which was the same at the restaurant today.

Everything was delicious. Tim noted that his fish tasted Chinese. All we needed was rice. I had some and agreed. Perhaps it was the minimalism of the flavorings along with the wok heong (which is really fancy Cantonese for the intense caramelization of the outside surfaces of food that occurs in a very hot wok or pan).

While we ate, it rained very heavily outside.

Then, an espresso break while we waited for desserts


Then desserts!

Sweet crêpes with rhubarb and strawberry compote, sorbet


Apple and calvados soufflé, honey ice cream


I think the names speak for themselves. Or maybe they don't. I'm damn tired though, so whatever they've got to say, they're going to have to do it. I will say this: both desserts were yummy, but Tim liked his better and I liked mine better. Is there any more perfect way to share desserts?