Celebrating National Day the Emirati Way

The United Arab Emirates is officially 40 years a nation, as of December 2, yet considering many believe Mesopotamia to have been the birthplace of civilization, and factoring the nomadic nature of the people who have previously populated the Arabian Peninsular, it's hard to celebrate the day without bringing in some truly old arts. And my favourite art? Won't take you more than one guess - food.

It's a source of much chagrin to many who live here - it's easy to find food from the middle east in the region, but to find something essentially Emirati? Nigh impossible. For National Day celebrations at my sons' school, I have volunteered to introduce the children to some Emirati food. The suggestions I had been given were hummus (Levantine), baklava (Turkish), pita bread (Greek) or shwarama (broadly middle eastern, probably Lebanese). The only place I have eaten authentic UAE food is the Cultural Centre, for breakfast.

So, being completely unable to contemplate deep-frying lgeimat in front of the children, I was fortunate enough to join Arwa, of La Mere Culinaire at her home, so I could learn a little about my favourite part of every culture. It's enriching how food brings us together - my closest encounters with Emiratis have always been over a meal, and this has been the most enjoyable so far.



Arwa's family resides in what I term "old Dubai" - the sprawling villa, complete with central majlis and aviary can be found among other lovely homes in an area that has been well settled well before the boom arrived. Her home is bubbling with life and culture, and yet also pristine and formal. It is filled with articles of texture both soft and hard to the touch, and colours ranging from pale and neutral to bold and glittering. We were all asked to wear Emirati national dress (jalabiya, not abaya), and it seemed that when we entered, all of us assumed Arwa's own grace and poise (at least until I tripped over the kitchen step and got my shoe sequins tangled in the loose threads of the embroidery of my dress.)

We started with a traditional breakfast - Muhalla with chami - lacy, cardamom flavoured crepes with soft mild white curd - produce from the cows on the family's farm in Al Awir. Warm chickpeas boiled with chilli (dangaw), provided contrast, as did the sticky dried dates, also from the family farm. To tempt us further she provided Batheeth - a sweet date and spice mix shaped with a mammoul mould to form little cakes.

Following a further natter over gahwa (Arabic coffee), we made our way into the kitchen - sized to feed an extended family, or house a group of food bloggers for a cooking lesson. We stood open-mouthed at the fridges and pantry - and I surpressed a desire to go shopping in them. Arwa's mother giggled while we took photos of her provisions, yet greeted us with kindness and patience.

Dish one was Fogat Diyay - which I understand basically translates as chicken on top. It is a rice dish similar to Al Majboos, loosely related to Biryani. When I get around to it, I will have a pop myself and list the recipe. But in the meantime, lets get to the heart - its all about the spices.

Firstly, there are the basics - whole cardamom, dried limes and chilli, crushed fresh garlic and ginger, and powdered turmeric. Next, you will need  - a sweet ground mix (a little like garam masala) of fragrant spices over a cinnamon base, including possibly nutmeg, black pepper and cardamom amongst other things. Then there is the Emirati Masala (bzaar) - an incredibly aromatic curry powder which can be bought mixed, but in this case would never be. It, like the family bzaar and family incense, are the family's secret recipes. The ingredients are bought in pod form, and toasted and ground under guard. We were not given the recipe, but Emirati hospitality being as it is, it was insisted we take home a bag and and use it later.

Onions, chicken and spices are fried off, then chopped tomato, cardamom and chillies and water added and the chicken is left to simmer briskly for approximately 20 minutes. Then the chicken is removed and the washed rice added, then placed in a medium-slow oven for about 20 minutes, then the chicken replaced and cooking finished over about another 10. Despite the breakfast we had eaten just an hour or so before, we all indulged in the chicken and lively culinary conversation, with a mix of homemade pickles and salad. The smell of all those spices made me ravenous, and I ate like a woman breaking a fast.

For dessert we ate a traditional breakfast dish, Balaleet. The word is both arabic for "vermicelli" and for the dish itself, which is both sweet and salty, and has added morsels of cardamom and saffron omelet. It's amazing. (recipe here). This is what is going to school with me for Goldilocks and his classmates.

The day ended with further offers of lessons preparing our native food the traditional way - I'm looking forward to a cous-cous session with Radia of radotouille. Considering my forte is wine and we were in a Muslim home, I offered instead an Australian afternoon around a barbeque, learning the ins and outs of the lamb-chop. I got giggles but no takers. 

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So it's a start, but by no means the end of my study of Emirati cooking. If you wish to go further, you might want to follow me into places such as Emirati N More, which unfortunately got a bad review, but I'm going to give them another chance, and Al Fanar, which seems to have escaped mention so far. You might also want to take a look at these pages on Time Out Dubai and Visit Abu Dhabi, which detail some of the essentials of Emirati Cuisine. You might also want to check out some regional websites and blogs such as Anissa Helou (present at the session), Lgeimat Junkies, and the non-emirati, but keen and experimental Ginger and Scotch. Of course you can also go across and say hello to Arwa, who has a couple of lovely recipes listed around Ramadan time.

Thank you Arwa, and please also thank Ummu for me...

Balaleet - An Emirati Breakfast

Noodles for breakfast? With fragrant spices and omelet morsels? Doesn't sound like the kind of thing you could just whip up every morning for breakfast? Well the Emiratis do - citizens of the United Arab Emirates. Maybe not every morning, but more than just sometimes they might prepare this traditional vermicelli noodle dish.

It sounds harder than it is - it's one of those no-measure things, and tastes good both hot and cold. I tasted it for the first time at the Cultural Breakfast in Dubai, and learned how to make it myself last week at La Mere Culinere's cooking session. This is my own slap-dash version.

Ingredients:

• Vermicelli noodles (Balaleet) - the short, broken looking ones - about 50g per person
• well beaten eggs - one per person
• finely diced onion (as little or as much as you like)
• sugar (to taste - at least 1 tbsp per person)
• saffron threads (to taste)
• cardamom powder (to taste)
• salt (to taste)
• ghee (or butter, for frying)

Instructions:

1. Boil the balaleet in sweetened and salted water until soft, then drain, sprinkling more sugar on top - set aside
2. fry the onion until caramelized, then add the egg mix (flavoured with cardamom if you like) - cook like scrambled eggs - chopping and turning, but not too much.
3. Add saffron and cardamom powder, dicing the omelet as you stir, then add the drained sweetened vermicelli and stir through over a low heat. Be liberal with the saffron - less so with the cardamom. Salt if necessary.

This is a lovely breakfast, but could also be used as a dessert, or even made less sweet and served as a side dish.

White Elephants, Wafi and unhappy pyramids

The white elephant is the rarest of all elephants - an albino - both sacred to ancient Thai court and belonging to the god Indra in Hindu mythology. Due to the holy reverence of the animal, It is not allowed to work. Therefore, although beautiful and rare, it is expensive to maintain and altogether quite useless. Although I could be talking about several women who live in Jumeirah right now (quite possibly including myself), instead I would like to apply this metaphor to one of my favourite hideously attractive architectural and economical wonders of Dubai - Wafi.

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Modelled on an ancient artifact, filled with modern trappings. Geometrically perfect, geographically challenged. Filled with marble, devoid of motion. It stands out in its island in Oud Metha like the proverbial dogs whatsits, and yet is almost impossible to get to. The signs on the E11 arterial are after the exits, so you will always miss your first opportunity, resulting in a 10km diversion either over Garhoud Bridge or down Oud Metha Road. I suspect people may WANT to go to Wafi. They just give up before they get there.

Even on a Friday afternoon, when every other mall in Dubai is choked with the material-seeking populace, Wafi is pristinely silent. The occasional set of designer stilettos tip tap their way across the lonely marble floor. Shop assistants mimic the statues in the gracious foyers, eyes staring blindly, limbs frozen, nothing to do but stand around looking beautiful. A janitor sweeps the floor. But it is already clean. He buffs it. But it is already polished.

The shops are nearly all high-end, or as Wafi calls them, "artistic and influential". Many would just call them expensive. Until recently the centre lacked a grocery store. Instead, they had "Wafi Gourmet", a  fairly good and expansive Lebanese delicatessen which remained the destination store, until the owners opened another branch in the Dubai Mall, which now seems to have drawn away their custom. Now Wafi is a destination mall with a feature store that can be found elsewhere.

In the evenings, Emirates Airline staff come to the rescue. Their staff discount across the food and beverage outlets ensure there is always a reasonable crowd, but also that the restaurants seem perfectly comfortable to stand resting like a custard developing a skin. Has Carters ever changed? Some of the restaurants were initially famous - like Asha's and Biella, but they, like Wafi Gourmet, have been usurped by secondary venues, and the other restaurants replaced by more modern alternatives elsewhere. The Planet Hollywood sign is wearing five-year-old dust, you can barely read the words "Now Open", as if the restaurant was recently launched. It hasn't been reviewed by Time Out Dubai since 2008.

There is one restaurant that has been renewed. The W Grill has recently launched, in a spangling of crystal and glittering lights. There is no lack of magesty on its sweeping terrace with views over the inner court and geometric rooftops. At night you will receive the Wafi Sound and Light Show as accompaniment - very clever moving image spread over the statues and walls that goes off every hour. If you prefer the indoors, you can sit in the shade of a two-metre diameter chandelier with egyptian styling. The steaks upon opening were actually pretty good - lets hope they continue. And now Wafi has its loyalty card, we can all benefit from a discount (20%) - if not quite that of the Emirates staff.





But during the day, the only patrons to be found are bored housewives window shopping, or tourists from the big bus tour who mistakenly stepped off in the splendiforous central courtyard thinking it must be the Dubai Mall. They stumble around the upper levels, marvel at the technicolour glass pyramids, un-ancient hieroglyphics in gold bas-relief, and designer labels, take a million photos, then have a burned coffee at Paul and get back on the bus without ever knowing the name of the mall.

They don't discover the treasure that lies beneath. The lovely souk - the prettiest in Dubai, and with prices that rival the old souk if you bargain hard enough, and a much better range, including carpets, trinkets, textiles, perfumes and sweets. I've spoken about Khan Murjan before, and the restaurant that lies at its heart - one of the best eateries for tourists who really want to feel like they are in the middle of the exotic middle east, and with bread fresh out of the oven so good that it almost makes me cry. If you sit on the wicker chairs over the mosaic floors in the filtered light through the curtained open ceiling, and cast your eyes around the crowd, you will find them mainly in gulf national dress - proof the tourists don't come down to this level. But I always wonder when I wander down here - who actually pays for this place to continue to exist?

So back to Elephants and metaphors. Wafi really is some piece of work, but how long can it survive with barely anybody shopping? Should we diverge from "White Elephants' and perhaps open the topic of the "Elephant in the room"? Maybe it is time to admit that there are things in Dubai that are possibly more trouble than they are worth? Wafi is a treasure, but its saddening to see it lie empty. It needs a complete overhaul - just one restaurant wont change it. I remember the launch of Khan Murjan a couple of years ago - I would expect there was hope back then that this would revive the struggling mall. If this wonderful place couldn't do it, I'm not sure what could.

Dubai is becoming a victim of its own success - there are simply too many great places to go, and not enough people to attend them. Secondly, our modern-world loving, transient expat population is so happy to let the old go. Expats are by nature, characters requiring change, early adapters, innovators - it's why many of us are no longer living in our home countries. We brush off our successes like dandruff, moving quickly onto the next shiny object. It seems a new mega-mall opens in Dubai every six months, and at the same time, another is made redundant. I suppose it keeps the building industry going...

So this is a call out - go back to Wafi, before it turns into a pillar of salt. And don't bother looking for street signs on Sheikh Zayed road - instead check out the map link here. (hint - take the signs to Healthcare City)

Kids' Menus - what a load of....

I have absolutely had it with "Kids Menus"

Why is it that restaurants put so much effort into preparing flavoursome meals for adults - fusing cuisines, experimenting with ingredients, prepping a plate that is good enough to photograph, and then think that we will be prepared to spend good money on something they have grabbed out of the freezer, thrown into the deep fryer then slapped on a plate?

Childrens menus seem to be the same world-over: mac and cheese, chicken nuggets with chips, fish fingers with chips, pizza napolitana, spaghetti bolognese, hamburger and chips. Yes, these six items with practically no nutritional value, that we could make ourselves with very little effort in the comfort of our own home at about a quarter of the price seem to have some bizarre monopoly on those pieces of A3 paper with mazes and colouring-in that get plopped in front of our kids with a handful of coloured pencils. If we are really lucky, ice-cream gets thrown in too. And to drink? Soda, of course.

But it's not just about health. We can cook healthy meals for our children at home. When we go out as couples do we ponder the calories of every dish? Some might, but I can tell you, they don't enjoy a gourmet dinner nearly as much as I do. No, when we pay for someone else to cook for us, we want it to taste good, and for many, we want it to be something we can't cook with ease at home. Why should it be any different for children?

"Family restaurants" seem to put the emphasis on decor and entertainment, not the food, which is what they are actually supposed to be selling us. It's all upside down. Adult restaurants generally theme the decor to be a stylish background, but those aiming for the children are garishly coloured, full of toys, distractions, loud music, waiters on rollerskates - how is this supposed to encourage our child to understand what dining out is all about? Especially when all the literature regarding feeding children seems to indicate that limiting distraction is the key to good eating.



Until our youngest child was three, we refused to take them out to restaurants with us because of what they would do to our dining experience. Now, we don't take them out because when we get to the restaurant we are faced with choices that are trash, or expensive food they refuse to eat. I got to the stage where I would pack them a vegemite sandwich, and then go out and order them a banana smoothie while we ate two or three courses. 

The best meals my children have received while dining out have been in venues with no designated kids menu. Great restaurants will have service staff who will often speak with the chef and come up with something special - I still remember the lunch at La bastide du clos, where the chef whipped up a buttery pasta with tiny florets of broccoli and a tender juicy slab of medium-cooked eye fillet, sliced thinly on top. And at La Falconniere, where the tagliatelle primavera prepared specially off the bat was filled with such beautiful tomatoes it tasted like summer. That's two places in a year and a half who knew how to cook for children.

What the hell is that about? And why do we, as consumers, allow it to continue?

For someone like me, who views dining as one of my favourite hobbies, "kids menus" as they stand send a very bad message to my children. I would prefer my kids to see "dining out" as an experience where they will get to eat "fancy food", and "special stuff" - otherwise they will always want to treat themselves with junk. It's hard enough weaning them off McDonalds as it is.

Australian Masterchef has just taken their TV show one step further, and are now showing Junior Masterchef - there is a stack of 10 - 13 year old kids cooking food I would be proud of. My dad thinks it's slave labour. I think it's wonderful. It shows me that kids are interested in food far past the standard adult understanding. We should not assume that because they are little they don't understand taste. As we age, our tastebuds and sense of smell gradually die off, so children are actually super tasters. This is why they like what many adults consider to be bland food. But if they are more sensitive to flavours - why not arouse them and inspire them as we do with ourselves? In most countries, people start a Chef's Apprenticeship at age 15. It is our duty as parents to make sure they understand food well before this time, otherwise we mught be starving them of a career opportunity.

So what has started this rant? The Mövenpick UAE have just launched a children's menu that I absolutely approve of. And this got me to thinking - WHY are they the only ones doing this? It's not rocket science.

1. Take ingredients you know kids love
2. Mix them with ingredients you know parents want to feed them
3. Make them pretty and yummy.

I tried many of the dishes, and would happily eat them myself, especially the chicken urumaki (recipe here). I also love the way they have used toys to liven up a plate - I showed them to Lion (8yo boy) and he was drawn to a dish with a spinach pattie. I asked their PR manager if they expected the toys to be returned with the empty plate. "Well... we hope so, but we are expecting to lose a few." I'd be happy if they put the price up by 5 dirhams and I could reward Lion with the little construction worker for trying something new (or at least letting mummy and daddy enjoy a meal without being child-whipped in front of everybody)

So let's start a movement. Can we do to restaurants what Jamie Oliver has done to school cafeterias? Food Revolution has come part of the way - who's going to take up the mantle now?

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The Power Bites menu is available at many Mövenpick hotels and resorts across the Middle East. There is even a current promotion. Mövenpick's four venues in Dubai are all participating (Bur Dubai, Deira, JBR and Ibn Buttuta Gate) and includes items such as Fruit sushi, "paint your own" carrots, ninja power lunch (bento box), curry caterpillar, chicken breast with carrot crisps, construction breakfast (above), mac and cheese with a difference and some great desserts too.

Why don't you comment below if you can name some other restaurants that really know how to treat the kids.

Kids Chicken Urumaki

So pretty. I love japanese food, but my kids don't. I used to look longingly at children in malls munching on sushi cones while mine dragged me towards the chicken nuggets. All that lovely flavour, nutrients like iodine omega 3 and zinc that their diets are so deficient in. Eventually I just stopped looking and longing and accepted my fate - I am a mother of fast food junkies.

Not any more.

This is the first step in getting my kids to eat sushi. They love it. Not only that, they love making it - ahh, my dreams of being mother to a great chef are not shattered after all. Thanks for the inspiration Movenpick (post here about kids menus)

Ingredients:

• 200g boneless chicken thighs, trimmed of fat then pan-fried and sliced into 1cm ribbons
• 1 avocado, sliced
• 100g lean lardons (bacon cubes), panfried
• 1 cucumber, sliced lengthwise
• 3 cups cooked sumeshi rice (preparation guide here)
• nori sheets
• mango pulp (puree or push through a seive) and blanched edamame beans for garnish

Instructions:

1. lay sushi rolling mat, then cling film, then nori, then 3/4 cup rice in that order - then spread rice, flattening with wet hands and flip nori and rice over (the sushi master has step-by-step instructions here)
2. line each of the chicken, cucumber, avocado and lardons along one end (not too much- kids need to be able to fit this in their mouth.)
3. roll like a sushi ninja, slice into 1.5-2cm wheels, and throw a splash of mango and a couple of edamame beans on top.

This should make about 4 sheets worth. You many need more than one avocado and cucumber if they are small. Remember to keep the ingredients in each roll to a minimum, and to be firm when flattening the rice and rolling - otherwise they will fall apart once you cut them, and if they are too big to eat in one mouthful they will also explode between bites. Use a very sharp knife to cut - this will give you a better appearance. 

If this looks too hard, you can always roll a standard maki, spreading the mango coulis inside - but beware - if kids can see the seaweed, they may not want to eat it. If your kids are very scared of green, you could omit the cucumber and spread the avocado like butter on the nori - they won't even see it.


PS - I told my kids that edamame beans are what is used to make white chocolate and they believe me. I'm treating it like a tooth fairy white lie...

The Press Club - distinctly impressive

I'm anticipating great things. It's a precarious position. On one side is a full belly, tickled senses, giddy smiles, a little blissful inebriation and a wonderful story to tell. On the other is "meh" and an empty wallet.

So far, my introduction to the Press Club is faultless. The brass plate out front of the classic entrance of the gracious Herald and Weekly Times building (1920s) invokes memories of entering all those stuffy Melbourne institutions - the Atheneum, the Savage Club, and of course the Melbourne Club. Every city has them - those disgracefully mysogonistic gents clubs - the expensive ones without the lap dances - the ones full of pompous business men, hobnobbing and cigarillos, superb cheap winelists and winter roasts in Summer. I used to wine-rep, and strangely I now almost miss my clandestine entries at such venues to natter to the cellarmaster and flog him my wares.

Fortunately, the similarities to this Melbourne club and THE Melbourne Club don't go far past the entry. Inside it's sleek. Dark, but contemporary, and not a Chesterfield in sight. And thankfully, women abound. In fact, the place is full of them - it's the early sitting, all the blokes must still be warming up at Melbourne lane-way bars.


I was introduced to another take on Greek cuisine by Mini (sadly closed) restaurant in 2005, which was opened by Charlie and Paul from my favourite after-work-friday-night-winebar-with-great-food (Syracuse). I'd graduated from a 3am souvlaki to Greek fine dining in one giant leap when I first visited Mini, and I liked it. Also enjoyed was the discovery that Greece makes wine that is not called Retsina. The Press Club opened about a year after Mini, by an up-and-coming Melbourne Greek-Cypriot chef who had wowed us all at Reserve - the best restaurant in the newly arrived Federation Square, which for some obscene reason, despite its quality, shut down. You might have heard of him. Boom Boom, shake the room, it's George Calombaris (yes, that's right, Aussie Masterchef).

I'm with my oldest friend (the friendship is old, not her), and I've not told my husband, but I'm shouting her. I've missed birthdays, Christmases and girls nights over the last 4 years that need to be made up. This puts me in a wonderful all-out position. Degustation menu? Yes please. Glass of Dom Perignon? Of course. None of this watching the budget stuff. Let's have the lot, times two!

I both hate and love a degustation menu. On the plus side, they are guaranteed to be seasonal produce, inventive, fresh, and fulfilling, because they are nearly always 5 courses or more. (The Presss Club's is 8). They also put you outside your comfort zone, which is more often than not, a good thing. The down side is lack of movement (one menu only), a possibility that the dish is disjointed, untested, or simply running out the food that is about to go off, or that the whole putting out of your comfort zone may turn out to be.... well, uncomfortable. Also, tasting menus often have so many dishes (e.g. 8) that the size of each item is reduced to a point where it is merely a speck on your plate. Fine if you're not so sure about the taste, but if you really, really like it? Oh. Oops, it's all gone. And if you forgot to pick up that little teardrop of gel with your mouthful so you could experience the entire taste sensation? Bad luck, it's the only thing left on the plate. I wonder if the Press Club is going to be one of those places that do the tasting menu well?

The sommelier has already put us in a fine mood - a cheeky Barcelonan - a little James Bond-ish in his well-cut suit and cheesy wink. He knows his stuff, steering Kate towards a Basque white that blows our socks off. I'm like a kid in a candy store - they have 1/2-glasses here, and I start with the new release of Mount Mary Triolet.

Plate one is a pretty pot of beetroot sponge with appropriate crunch, sweet and salt. It's better than "meh", but not boom-boom. Second course moves our excitement from wine to food. Trout done two ways - green-tea-cured next to a tartare with avocado wasabi. Not strictly Greek, but great, and gone in two seconds. A second fish dish arrives moments later - a substantial serving of baked snapper - a chunky fillet with crispy skin, and a broad bean salad bed that makes me wonder what on earth those wet-cardboardy, grey things my mother used to serve me were. I'm converted.

Fourth arrives - chicken, our waiter tells us, then giving it a Greek name that sounds far more exotic. And the dish suits the exotic name - sure, there is chicken on the plate, but not that bland-tasting meat that usually accompanies the title, but a melange of goodies including a black-salted baby chicken egg (Kate and I decide this means an egg laid by a young hen), jelly, wilted lettuce, sweet corn, pop corn and is that sponge? It works. Very, very well. More wine - 1/2 a glass of Leeuwin Estate Art Series Chardonnay.

We proceed through a good pork dish with a lovely stickiness, but that is completely overshadowed by the lamb. Now this is what I call gourmet greek. The tiny, juicy, lean medalions are not the highlight on this plate - no - it's the presence of the chiko roll. Sure, I could get one of these in a Sydney Road fish and chips shop for about $3, but it wouldn't taste like this. But it's not just about the taste, it's about the animation of emotions and memories that I discover once presented with such an unusual item on a fine-dining restaurant plate. Along with the popcorn, it makes me realise that George and his team understand food flavours in a way I will never replicate, and many will never appreciate. And not only that, they realise that a restaurant experience needs to provide more than just food. If you want your customers to walk out remembering your food for years, then tricks to spike their memories, inspire or bewilder them are necessary.

We take a break. Our new amigo has brought a Jasper Hill Georgia's Paddock for me, and 1996 Bannockburn Pinot out of the cellar for Kate. The Pinot is so good I almost die. Kate is selfish - she knows I adore wine while she only just loves it, but she refuses to give me more than a sip. She's lucky my wine is also good, or there'd be a fight going down.

Desserts (yes, two) are wonderful. A classic berry and meringue mix cleanses our palates, and a masterpiece of pineapple sates our sweet craving whilst enlivening us with all that lovely acid to balance it. I'm not a big fan of pineapple. I would never order a pineapple dessert, but here the degustation menu plays it's favourite card -welcome surprise. Pannacotta, sorbet, a cannolo (which is more like a ginger-filled brandy snap), lemongrass gel - the blend is simply perfect.

And before we know it, it's all over. We finish with champagne, it's worth celebrating. For only 5 minutes with the beetroot sponge before us, we thought this was going to be just ok. But it's been wonderful. Kate is almost in tears as we leave - she really doesn't get out enough. And tomorrow, she's going to send me an email telling me I have woken her up, made her realise that there is still life out there she needs to experience. And I'm going to take the credit, even though I didn't cook the meal or lay the table, but because I was clever enough to take her there. And because I know that one night at a great restaurant equals 100 nights at ordinary ones - probably more.

The Press Club does it. The degustation menu finds a wonderful balance between wow and weird. The service also finds a level between friendly and quietly efficient. The wine list is perfect - superb selection by the glass, and plenty of fine Hellenic wines for those who want the entire experience. The ambiance is fancy but not stuffy, dark but not dusty, contemporary yet welcoming. But is it "Greek"? Who knows, who cares. I would suggest it is distinctly "George", and that's probably better.

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The Press Club

72 Flinders Street
Melbourne 3000 Australia (map link)
admin@thepressclub.com.au

ph. +613 9677 9677 

Lunch   Mon-Sat: 12pm–3pm
Dinner   Mon-Sun: 6pm–10pm
Reservations Essential

(The Little Press and Cellar is a more casual bar experience next-door - you may be able to find service without a reservation)

Vienna - what did I miss?

Inside knowledge.

It’s not as important in some places. Paris, for example, is hard not to enjoy, as are Tuscany, and sunny happy places like Byron Bay. Travel is easy where the sights and culture of destinations reveal themselves spontaneously. But there are other places where what lies on the surface is only a fraction of what is available underneath – in Bologna, for example, Melbourne, Dubai. And my latest to add to the list, Vienna.

I needed a stop-over on my way to Dubrovnik this year – a difficult place to reach directly from Dubai - and rather than flying Al Italia or Air Croatia from Rome, I opted for Vienna (and the better reputed Austrian Airlines).

When friends and acquaintances discovered I was going to Vienna, they generally erupted in glee. “I LOVE Vienna!” they would tell me. “Ooh the music!”, “Deliciously old-fashioned!”, fun, beautiful, genuine, they would say. They had lived there, studying, working, spent two months shacked up with a ski instructor in the off-season. One would say they built me up.

I found a pretty and clean city with very little soul.




But of course, I understand that I just didn’t “get” it. You see, what can be seen on the surface of Vienna is a little too squeaky. No grit, no grunge, no dirty culture, no swindlers and petty cons, beggars, or trashy locals, rudeness, swearing, fetish shops in inappropriate places, or drunks on the streets at 11am. It’s just too perfect. I’m a bit hard to please, aren’t I? One would think that the lack of all those things would make for a perfect holiday, but for me, it feels like I’m living in a cardboard cut-out. It’s all a bit “Truman Show”esque.

I do like Vienna. I just don’t love it. When I was in my twenties I worked for a half-Austrian man named Dan Murphy (yes, I know, a very Austrian sounding name). He was a little the same. He was charming but hard, quaint but conservative. A man of cut crystal. Many of the Austrian wines share these characteristics – they are elegant, but also austere, sweet-smelling but oh, so dry.

Maybe its because the Lipizzaners were on holidays. In a princess fairy town like Vienna, it seems criminal not to see the pretty dancing horsies. My children were very disappointed. Instead we delved into the equine by taking a fiacre around the main sights. The price is fixed. No bargaining, no rip-offs. (€40 or €65 depending on time). It’s worth it – so much more ethereal than a double-decker bus tour. True to Vienna form, the streets are un-befouled with manure because each carriage is fixed with a catchment. The kids marveled at the ingenious contraption, until it was splattered with olive-coloured farmyard excrement.

The food was no great disappointment, and in fact, Wiener Schnitzel lived up to its rap. I finally figured it out, and thanks to the paper-thin piece I indulged in with artisanal sienna-hued ale at the oldest pub in Vienna (Griechenbeisl on fleischmarkt), I will forever-more cook a good one myself (recipe here). Café Le Bol, opposite our hotel was another treasure – they do a superb breakfast, complete with a glass of Prosecco, much to Hambone’s delight. Judging by the crowds we saw lining up to eat at lunch and dinner, this little French eatery is a known gem.

The cakes were by and large as I had hoped, except for Sachertorte. Foodiva had tweeted her love of this famous chocolate-orange cake to me, which I later sampled at the pretty Café Mozart. It was dry, completely forgettable. The cakes and pastries at Café Central more than made up for that unfortunate tasting. Famous for it’s ballroom-like arched interior and previous patrons such as Trotsky and Lenin, but not resting merely on reputation. It is eerily silent – the only sounds are muffled whispers and the tap of the waiter’s leather-soled shoes on the marble floor. The booths are warmly circular, and it’s easy to imagine plotting a revolution in whispers in a cozy corner. The patisserie is marvelous. Brioche filled with light custard as soft as a cloud, vanilla sponge-cake with rose petals bejeweled with a single drop of dew-like toffee, perfection, perfection, perfection. Considering the quality and experience, it’s wonderfully inexpensive. The Vienna coffee I'm still trying to understand - a non-blending blend of hot hot coffee with an iceberg of whipped cream - hot chocolate was often much better, smooth and bitter-sweet, rich and warm enough to fight those winter drafts upsetting our summer vacation.

We tried to eat at Braunerhof, Thomas Bernhard’s preferred kaffeehäus. But an angry little man who looked exactly like Freud slapped down menus as if he was spanking bottoms while sneering at our children. We escaped while he was not looking and went back to the hotel, veering through the food store in Pension Nueur Markt for some gourmet take-out. It’s a Viennese Galeries Lafayette style food-hall, but cheaper, and with a superb wine collection downstairs, extensive deli and grocery, plenty of tasty prepared food and three levels of architecturally superb space.

The gardens and Palaces are stunning, but after being subject to an obscene number of international ornate interiors as a child, I have made a promise to myself that I will not do that to my children, at least until they are old enough to appreciate the material wealth and architectural splendor left by people who died hundreds of years ago. We tried to be a little more child-friendly and have a picnic beside the roses in Volksgarten instead. It rained. We tried again. It rained again. Maybe I should blame the weather – it was summer, but never got over 22°C.

For another outside trip, we took a train to the Alte Donau, where the tourist information had suggested we could hire a boat and putt-putt on a waterway beautiful enough to have a waltz named after it. Under a cloudy sky, the Danube is not blue, but a bleak mirror of the heavens. The area is also drear – no signs from the railway station, just bitumen paths and graffiti leading to a back road with no pavement. If not for the iPhone map, we would have been convinced we were in the wrong place. The waterway itself was not lined with elegant manors or castles like the Loire or Dordogne, but instead with eclectic and ramshackle boat houses. Not ugly, but no better than taking a canoe on Melbourne’s Yarra River. It rained.

We stayed at the Ambassador Hotel. This, I can rave about. It’s position close to St Stevens (and pretty much everything else in Old Vienna) is alone enough to take you there, but the rooms are enormous and carefully furnished with what appears to be keepsakes from Mozart’s attic. We took connecting rooms but could easily have fit the four of us in the one. It's a tripadvisor favourite, usually a fairly good guide.

But what does the location mean when the city itself is hibernating? Where were the music, the life, the people? I’m sure they were there, just not where I stumbled around, and certainly not where the tourist information desk sent us. Since going, I have remained troubled. I have asked many people what they loved so much about Vienna, and I can’t help but think they are talking about a different place. So all I can assume is that there is a Vienna existing in a parallel dimension that cannot be accessed in three days on foot. 

Please comment - let me know where I SHOULD have gone, what I SHOULD have done. I'd truly love to be enlightened. Or, maybe you can share some inside knowledge on other locations...?

 

Schnitzel

Before visiting Vienna (read my food path through old Vienna here) I had only had one great schnitzel in my life, and that was at the Tivoli Club, in Prahran, a German club with platter-sized schnitzel, cheap boutique beers and lederhosen to be enjoyed in the glow and tinkle of the inevitable poker machines that you always find in struggling Australian pubs and clubs. The schnitzel was to die for – it came about 15 different ways, in varieties of pork, turkey and veal, and with various flavours – Jäger, Zigeuner, Paprika, Käse, Rahm, or my favourite, Holstein – with fried egg, onions and capers. But to be honest, it’s really all about the schnitzel itself. It’s the kind of meat that every carnivore loves, including the super-fussy three-year-old kind of carnivore.

Ingredients:

• 500g lean meat, preferably pork or veal 
• 2 eggs 
• splash of water 
• ½ cup plain flour 
• salt and pepper 
• 1 ½ cups breadcrumbs 
• oil for pan-frying (canola best)

Instructions 

1. In three separate bowls place; seasoned flour; beaten eggs with a splash of water; breadcrumbs. 
2. Slice meat then flatten with a rolling-pin (thump, don’t roll) until twice the size but half the thickness. 
3. Coat the meat in the flour, then the egg, then the breadcrumbs, then pan-fry until golden brown.

Serves four

It's easy to make an ordinary schnitzel - so how do you make a great one? It's also easy. The secret to schnitzel is two-fold – cut of meat, and how you cut (and smash) the meat.

Firstly you must buy a medallion style cut - a roundish slab that can be sliced into thin steaks. It should be grissle-free and fairly fat-free. You know those lovely looking pieces of meat like veal girello and pork loin that look great when raw, but always seem to turn into bricks when you cook them any other way? Those are the ones. The reason they are difficult to cook is because they are almost devoid of fat, and from a heavily used muscle. Tough, lean cuts of meat need lots of work or lots of fat to make them taste good.

I prefer pork loin, but veal is traditional. I like to buy it in about a 15cm slab, and then trim the outside fat off, and slice into pieces just smaller than a centimeter wide (about a ¼ inch). Then I take two sheets of cling film, and sandwiching the thin steak between, get all my frustration out with a rolling pin. Some would use a meat tenderizer, but I find it puts holes in my Gladwrap. Bash to about half the thickness you started with – too thick and it will be tough, and too thin and the end result will just taste like breadcrumbs.

Then simply coat each slice in seasoned flour, then an egg-wash, and finally breadcrumbs. For a nice finish (or if you’re just really angry), you can beat the breaded schnitzel briefly again before frying it. Then pan-fry until golden in a well-coated pan – this will only take a minute or less on each side. I like to serve simply – with a sprig of fresh thyme, lemon and pepper.

Schnitzels can easily be prepared ahead to two different points – you can crumb them and then freeze raw (with cling-film between slices) for later cooking, or, you can pan-fry and set aside, then place in a fairly warm oven for about 5 minutes or so to warm later – because the meat is already quite a dry cut, you don’t lose too much moisture doing this.

Chicken or Turkey schnitzel (breast meat is best) can be prepared a little thicker, as the meat is already quite tender. Schnitzel is also known as cotaletta Milanese (veal), can be made with variation to become chicken or veal parmiagana, and there are other un-crumbed versions such as veal escalope, scallopine and veal saltimbocca.