Published: Canberra Times, July 2012
Author: Gareth Meyer
Momofuku Seibo
the star | 80 pyrmont street, level g
www.momofuku.com
It may well prove easier to pass through the eye of a needle than enter Sydney’s newest gastronomic temple – Momofuku (translation: – Lucky Peach). On-line only booking offers a narrow window within which to secure seats for the following ten days.
Physically, it’s no easy find either. On foot, one must first penetrate Darling Harbour’s paved paradise. And once at the re-badged ‘Star’, the neo-pink bling of Adriano Zumbo’s world of sweet creations distracts attention from the adjacent, sleek heavy-metal façade of Momofuku.
But it’s an inclusive, not exclusive culture being cultivated within. All the young dudes and dudesses on the floor are slipping the sake-laced kool aid to 30-odd happy little lucky peaches. And their happily skipping to the beat of one of eleven Ipod playlists compiled by Korean-American rock-star Chef David Chang. Neil Young’s saw-tooth guitar, the anarchy of the Sex Pistols and some Stooges feature over aperitifs. Large monochrome images deify Chang’s local hero – Angus Young. But think New York gallery, not Hard Rock Café.
Obligatory tattooed arms. Asbestos hands. A young, muscly and international kitchen crew sweats it out beneath Bradman baggy-green-meets-New-York-Knicks caps. Their adorned with the emblem of a peach centred within the Southern Cross. Patrons can take their court-side seats at the bar, as point guard Ben Greeno calls the shots and his teammates pivot skillfully during an eight course degustation lunch (fifteen or so at dinner). Masterchef has helped make cooking a spectator sport. Chang takes it an extra step.
In fact, it’s a food bloggers paradise. The atelier model – pioneered by French culinary luminary Joel Robuchon – is the kitchen equivalent of social media. Patrons join the conversation with the crew – lured into their world of mis-en-place (or ‘meez’ in the local vernacular), sauce dotting and dashing. The intellectual property underpinning the contemporary kitchen toolkit – siphons, sous vide and the like – is shared openly. Chefs present and explain the food, but desist from the prescriptive eating advice that accompanies fine dining.
And diners can spot the hand-written dates on the plastic containers of already prepped crackers that kick off proceedings. They’re a smart cultural reference to the ubiquitous prawn cracker – but with edgier flavours like boudin noir and walnut paste, potato and smoked nori, and pig skin with togarashi spice.
The real action starts with Chang’s culinary moniker – the pork bun. Already the Stairway to Heaven of his repertoire – it would be futile to attempt to drop it. And it’s pretty obvious why – an incomprehensibly soft, steamed and spongy bun plays host to a soft tranche of caramelised pork belly, pickled cucumber, hoisin and sriracha. But a dish of sashimi of trumpeter with rhubarb proves a bottle of soy in the hand is better than some unremarkable saltbush. Any spare pork buns by any chance?
Shortly after the grungy guitar motif of Nirvana’s On a Plain is unleashed, signaling a shift in pace and impact. And Chang starts to find his voice. He’s grabbed the baton from Tetsuya, crossing East-West frontiers with ease – as Asian flavours and aesthetics combine in a restrained take on the experimentalism of Northern Spain, Chicago or Bray.
Remarkably airy puffs of potato gnocchi are sparsely plated within a siphoned pincer movement of intensely flavoured watercress puree. Gently poached strands of spanner crab within miso, soft custard and panko crumbs – celebrate textural diversity. A stunning pea agnolotti with Serrano ham, and parmesan foam leans further to Europe. And the short rib – the new shank of the slow-cooking movement – dissolves on the tongue. Carbon emission consciousness plays second fiddle to the transforming power of 48 hours of sous vide cooking. And speaking of carbon, Chang applies an extreme form of smoking to pureed eggplant. In the words of faux rock heros Spinal Tap – this could get ‘none more black’.
As the accompanying flight of boutique wines and sake take hold, even a bathroom odyssey provokes thought. Beating a path through the kitchen past a bubbling reduction – it’s a throwback to the suburban Asian diner. In the bathroom a poster of the Heimlich maneuver in Chinese script could be art, a legal disclaimer or subliminal primer for the courses to follow.
Cheese precedes dessert as the French would insist. And Chang takes a very contemporary compositional approach. Grated pecorino is sprinkled liberally across the horizon of the plate, forming a snowy blanket that covers some spelt and crab apple jelly. And the sweet course follows the Pollokesque scatter and splatter of colour and texture – in this case hazelnut soil, a honey-infused custard and Chang’s other accommodation of indigenous ingredients – some muntries (native cranberries).
Momofuku Seibo will no doubt inspire imitation in the way it rocks up fine dining pretensions. The global mish-mash of flavours, aesthetics and concepts is difficult to resist – as is the cross-generational fusion of musical tastes and social attitudes. The absence of tea and coffee service seems a missed opportunity – but perhaps this is a statement too. Limited space is the excuse offered. Well even Bradman managed only a duck in his last innings. Score 99.94.
