Dinner by Heston, Crown Casino Melbourne

Act I

I was lost. I was well and truly lost inside a five star casino on Melbourne’s South Bank. Unlike the London equivalent, the walk along the riverfront hadn't been littered with talented street performers, skating youths and street food vendors. As I sauntered towards my destination, a dozen restaurants and bars had beckoned to me through the grey drizzle. High-end barbecue joints - whatever they are - had wafted tantalising aromas of slow-cooked meats towards me as one would attempt to convert a vegetarian with the smell of bacon. Arriving at the Crown Casino had been akin to entering the doorway of any one of London’s eponymous hotels. As I had walked through the lobby, an air of familiarity before unseen in this delightfully casual city had greeted me like an old friend. Now that I was inside, I felt under-dressed.

I navigated my way through a warren of well-lit and spacious corridors. Although the spaciousness -and grand vaulted ceilings in the case of the mezzanine - drew the eyes towards the ceiling, the labyrinthine qualities of the hotel and casino’s layout threw me off. Signs pointed up staircases protected by intimidating armed guards and renovations prevented other routes. Finally, after a short ascent in a lift on the other side of the complex, I found my destination.

A grand swimming pool and spa sat opposite the entrance to Dinner by Heston, Melbourne. As I sat on a firm yet comfortable futon, life as usual at Crown Casino continued. A Chinese family walked past in swimwear and towels. Two Arab gentlemen passed me by as they retreated from a scalding sauna treatment, Kiwi fruit-like torsos glistening with sweat. The clock struck twelve, and as if by magic, a frosted black glass portal opened.

When arriving at Dinner by Heston, one feels isolated. The door - if timed correctly and you enter alone - can often close behind you, leaving you in a darkened corridor on a slight incline. Ahead lays a glowing green LCD screen which displays a graphic of ever-changing salad leaves, vegetables, fruits and herbs. Suddenly after a brief time at the end of the walkway, a second secret door pops open to your right, casting the sunshine from the restaurant’s bay windows into the hallway. Like an anglerfish leading its prey towards the light, I realised that the restaurant experience had begun before I had taken a step into the dining room. The restaurant had already begun taunting me and, in the words of Grant Achatz of Alinea, “poses the question of how else they’re going to mess with you.”

As I walked through the revealed entrance, I was greeted by the host and shown to my table. The first thing that hit me was the scale of the view. The entirety of Melbourne’s Central Business District (or CBD as the Aussies like to call it) was held within my gaze. Opposite my table and across the river sat the SeaLife Aquarium; behind it the skyline rose, dwarfing the structure. I caught a glimpse of Flinders Street Station and railway to the far right, before being interrupted by incredible views of the network of bridges that spanned the Yarra.

Act II

The kitchen is visible through a thick glass pane. No sound escapes the room but the hustle and bustle of the kitchen is clear. The chefs here work with a sense of quiet urgency; each movement seems calculated, deliberate and aware of its surroundings. Cold and hot larder stand to the fore, with garnish behind. Back further still lie the fish and meat sections, with a Josper oven to the right and pastry to the far left, across the pass and service walkway.

The table is made of darkened wood and is simply dressed. Studio William Larch cutlery in sterling silver sits on a neatly folded napkin to the right, with a menu folded in the centre of the place.  The sommelier swiftly descends upon me to deliver a hefty tome of a wine list, which I set aside. After a meet and greet with the Restaurant Manager, a charming fellow Home-county Briton named Jonno, I order my usual orange juice and take in the view, swapping seats to catch a better glimpse of the East side of the city. The glassware is gossamer-thin and delicate to the touch, thinner than that of the Greenhouse in London. Sourdough is brought to the table and exchanged for the wine list. The butter is lightly salted. The bread warm in the centre, whilst crunchy outside. Surprisingly, my teeth make it through a piece of restaurant sourdough unscathed; most unusual in my experience.

I open the menu and review the offerings. The article is neatly folded and wrapped in a card wallet, looking akin to a baby wrapped in swaddling cloth. A five-course offering appears as a separate piece of paper, with an A La Carte option making up the full body of the document. I notice a few Blumenthal/Palmer-Watts classics in the form of Meat Fruit, Salmagundy and Chicken and Lettuce, most of which are available on the lunch selection. The rest of the menu contains the meat; choice cuts of Josper-roasted Black Angus and Wagyu, brushed in clarified butter. Both look heart-stoppingly good at the table across from me.

The lunch menu is, to my eyes, well-priced at $160 Australian, or £99 for the UK. I usually have a thing against express lunch menus costing any more than £40 or the equivalent but this was far more of a tasting menu than a reduced selection.

Officially, there is no tasting menu at Dinner by Heston, Crown Casino. I took it upon myself to make my own.

The Salmagundy is a clear favourite among the staff, with both Jonno and the sommelier recommending it highly. The traditional ‘Snail Porridge’, which Heston is famous for, has been altered and uses local black-lipped abalone instead of snails. Both are swiftly added to the lunch menu to increase it to a recognisable 7 course tasting menu. I am, if nothing else, a greedy bastard.

The “Hay Smoked Ocean Trout” falls upon my plate far more expeditiously than I expect. There is a refreshing lack of amuse-bouche or canapes from the usual London experiences. Not that amuse-bouches or canapes are a bad thing. However, I admire the fact that Dinner is remaining true to its local roots of zero tolerance for the unnecessary; the lack of tasting menu really attests to this, no matter how I may disagree with them on the latter. The fish is heavily smoked, but not overly, and the flesh is firm. On occasion I have been subjected to interpretations of “smoked XYZ” to mean “smoke is all you will taste, with XYZ as a medium to transfer the acrid stench of hickory”. Not here. Surprising bursts of smoked essence pop from ebony caviar-looking spherifications.

The infamous “Meat Fruit” is next onto the table. It’s meat. That looks like fruit. Who knew. After a swift table clearance by attentive staff this fine, mother of all second courses is presented on a scratched wooden board with visible evidence where a previous heavy-handed diner had laid into it like a side of meat. The mandarin is accompanied by toasted ciabatta, which crunches like glass but in a good, less painful way. The mandarin gel is underwhelming at first but the creamy, rich parfait in the centre packs a glass-hammer punch. The parfait is second to none, perhaps only challenged by the Foie Gras parfait of the Hand and Flowers, Marlow. I am brought some more bread after I finish the first, which I refuse. Many restaurant managers gawp at my ability to eat liver parfait neat, straight off the spoon. Many more gawp at the fact I ask for it instead of pudding and eat it neat...again, straight off the spoon... I know what I like. The flavour is robust and lightly perfumed by the alcohol within. It sits firmly in the depths of the gut with a presence that means you know you have eaten it. For me, the “Meat Fruit” is decadent comfort food at its best.

A flying saucer of vibrant green heralds the arrival of the second infamous dish from Chef Blumenthal. The “Porridge” lands, adorned with a crown of soft herbs and leaves. Thin slices of abalone replace snails and sit atop sliced fennel, which add a resistant crunch to the dish. Oats cooked down in chicken stock are mixed with parsley to create a light aerated liquid, heavier than foam but not as thick as a veloute. The liquid is surprisingly rich and is cut through well by acidity brought by pickled golden and red beetroot. The abalone could be argued to be a bit firm - however its inclusion pays not only homage to local produce - but also adds a different layer of texture to the dish. I am loathe to return to snails after tasting this.

The “Salmagundy” is presented next. Chicken oysters, my favourite part of the chicken, are coupled with pieces of smoked bone marrow, endive, chicory, and horseradish cream. This collection of well thought out, considered components is cooked to perfection. The oysters are tender and juicy, with crisp skin around them. (I have a feeling protein glue has been used here - but this is only after Jonno told me that they use protein glue to attach the skin from pork belly back onto the meat.) The bone marrow cubes initially seemed too small, but the flavour contained within was more than enough. The smaller size also allowed for the obligatory marrow fat-smear to be omitted from this plate.

A risotto appeared next, in an historic modern interpretation of “Rice and Flesh”. The rice is slightly too powdery for my taste, implying it’s on the wrong side of al dente and the flavours here are strong. A lot of parmesan and mascarpone is added, slightly overpowering the saffron in the rice and reducing the saffron’s contribution to natural food colouring. The curried kangaroo tail steps in to take the place of calf’s tail, and this is tender. I struggled to identify the curry notes here, and a coating of amaranth puree tricked me into thinking it was a simple braising reduction. However, the meat fibres are defined but it isn’t dry; natural moisture from the meat is amplified by the sticky reduction on the outside. Amaranth cress finishes the dish and provides a nice freshness to the otherwise hearty dish.

The main course from the lunch offering is “Chicken cooked with Lettuces”, and is a tasty collection of, well, chicken and lettuce. What seemed a bit perfunctory on the menu is revealed as delicate cooking, well pronounced flavours and interesting textures. Cooked lettuce, something of a staple in my Chinese upbringing, is paired with an aioli-like onion emulsion and smooth spiced parsnip. The chicken is water-bathed and its skin (once again I suspect protein glue) is crisp and flavoursome. The chicken itself is tender as can be and matches well with the other components, especially the shards of chicken skin. The kitchen also included Oyster leaf - a leaf which until now had never tasted of oyster to me. The three leaves I was given were incredibly oyster-y, to the point of catching the back of my throat.

For dessert, the “Tipsy Cake” is a buttery, alcohol filled, buttery, sweet and buttery ‘end’ to the meal. The pudding is presented in a small cast iron pan and is dusted with sugar. Once cut into, the buttery caramel and rum sauce mixes into the light and airy brioche; the sponge soaks it up and begins to break down the cake. With one final gasp, the cake relinquishes what remains of its structural integrity and expires into a delightfully soggy mess. To cut through the butter, spit roasted pineapple is offered as an accompaniment. The pineapple is simply roasted, maybe with some sugar on top, and it could have been brushed with liquid butter. Did I mention that this dessert contained butter?

The grand finale of this ultimate fine dining experience comes in the form of ice cream made at the tableside. A gentleman who had seemed pretty melancholy all service perks up at the prospect of being asked to make ice cream. He explains the process thoroughly and begins to create his masterpiece, pouring liquid nitrogen into vanilla custard, and churning it using a traditional yet modern hand churner. Ten seconds later, I hold an ice cream cone in my hand. Greek pastry, slightly sour and salty, encases the scoop. Soft red berry compote sits at the base of the cone and the scoop is dusted with a mixture of dehydrated apple, popping candy and fennel seeds. Many of the people I know take issue with ‘theatrics’ in the dining room and claiming these things are a gimmick. As I experience the delight and the uproar that clouds of water vapour causes in the otherwise tranquil dining room, and the number of diners taking videos or photographs puts me firmly in the ‘ayes'. Heston Blumenthal is famous for creating fun, challenging ways of improving the diner’s experience and beckoning a feeling of nostalgia. I imagine myself on the Isle of Wight, between Compton Bay and Freshwater Bay, eating a scoop of dairy-flavoured ice cream from a little stone farm house on the top of the hill with my dad.

 Act III

After a kitchen tour and a long stroll through the city, I took a few days out to think and consider the meal so I wasn’t caught up in any hype. After some careful second food coma-inducing reflection, I am firmly of the belief that the experience ranked in the top five meals I’ve eaten. The variation in complex flavours, skilled cooking styles, simple plating, interesting textures and attentive service made this a meal to remember.

Dinner’s cooking was exceptional overall. Chicken was tender without a risk of food poisoning, ingredients were treated with care and chosen to reflect local produce, and the treatment of vegetables was done with both finesse and delicacy. I had a few slight niggles in the form of powdery rice, tougher than usual abalone, too much parmesan in the risotto taking away from the saffron and curry notes in the kangaroo, and underwhelming mandarin gel whose flavour eluded me. I was also marginally grated by the procurement of extra bread for my Meat Fruit. The team were working with their best intentions and as I finished my first slice a waiter was immediately despatched to the kitchen to retrieve another. This is a small point but, as someone who genuinely hates food waste, I would have liked to have been asked if I needed more bread. The sad fact of the matter is I know that in high end restaurants - and to be honest all restaurants I would dare eat in - the bread would be discarded as it had passed its optimum. It has to be said that these drawbacks pale in comparison to the truly excellent features of the meal.

Epilogue

A foodie friend of mine told me that locals don't like the fine dining scene as the real food culture lies in the food you find at street level. I don’t disagree with the centre of Melbourne’s food culture being more accessible; it hits all the spots that diners are looking for. I love that Melbourne is a place where eating pressed lamb shoulder at 8am is acceptable. I love that Melbourne is a place that made me think I COULD happily be a vegetarian here. I love that Melbourne has embraced the food from all migrant cultures. But I will not accept that Melbourne doesn’t like fine dining. Fine dining appears to be where fine dining was in Europe fifteen years ago. I don’t mean in terms of style, but in terms of where it fits in the social calendar. 

In the UK even ten years ago, fine dining was reserved for a special occasion; a 50^th birthday or a tenth anniversary. Now an increasing number of diners (I won’t do you a disservice by making up statistics) are investing in the experience of fine dining on a more regular basis. The big birthdays have come down to every birthday, Mother’s Day may have taken a step forward from the local curry restaurant to something more refined. The UK has undergone a culinary enlightenment with Saturday Kitchen, Great British Menu and Masterchef becoming regular viewing in the television calendar. These programmes create Social Media Sensation Chefs and put culinary bolt-holes on the map. Netflix has taken it a step further by allowing viewers to stream high quality documentaries about chefs and their lives in the form of Chef’s Table, Chef’s Table France, Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations, Masterchef Australia, and so on. Masterchef Australia is one of the most popular programmes released each year, with audiences building (again, I can’t give you accurate figures but it is definitely on the rise!). 

Perhaps the food culture of Melbourne has gone in a different direction, where they prioritise accurate cooking of their vassal food cultures over fine dining. This isn’t to say that the local take on dining is wrong. In most cases they are very right; lamb for breakfast is a fantastic thing and this should be made socially acceptable in the UK immediately! The general standard of cooking in Melbourne and its surrounding suburbs is far higher than that at home in the UK. But, when you have that special occasion to celebrate, and if you want push the boat out a little further, fine dining locations such as Dinner by Heston can really push it beyond the great and into the incomprehensibly tremendous.