etcetera ... Bracu restaurant

Cured tuna

So tell me, why would you drive all the way into the city when you can have this?

It’s a perfect summer’s evening and we’re seated on a balcony overlooking olive groves.  We’ve opted for an early dinner and a few diners are smattered around the old villa that holds the restaurant. Conversations are low and unobtrusive.  I feel the day’s work and cares beginning to melt away.

So begins our evening at Bracu restaurant.

A last minute change of mind brought us here. I‘d been charged with a dinner venue for just the two of us. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the choice of restaurants in Auckland and I’d got to the stage of overthinking where to go. Then I thought about Bill driving home from work mid-week and having to drive back into the city for an evening meal. Why not stay local and have a bit of a splurge? We’d been to Bracu for brunch and had always been meaning to go for dinner. Now was the night to try it.

Fifteen minutes’ drive later and we’re there. An amuse-bouche is set before us with handmade bread and the estate’s own olive oil. With a glass of wine in hand, the relaxation vibes are really kicking in.

Not normally one to order seafood, I surprised myself by choosing (and enjoying) the cured tuna. It came with paper-thin apple spheres; tiny cubes of apple jelly; avocado and nasturtiums – exquisite little bursts of taste to complement the fish.

Bill opted for the heartier Rabbit and Duck terrine, which came with a delicious thick slab of homemade brioche and (I think?) a flavoured butter. There were so many extras on each dish, it was hard not to sound like an annoying child with constant questions for the staff. I am chiding myself for not photographing the actual menu presented and taking notes. I mistakenly trusted my memory to work and it proved me wrong yet again.

My main course of beef (meltingly tender), cauliflower, mustard and burnt onion was perfect. The cauliflower was so silken in texture it was hard to imagine it had once been tough and knobbly. The highlight though was the crispy, whisper-thin dried cabbage leaf – amazing.

Bill chose the lamb rump. Take a look at the photograph above - it tasted every bit as good as it looked. We shared a salad of fresh garden leaves and radish with buttermilk dressing.

Lastly, my favourite part of a meal – dessert, yay!  All the preceding dishes had been so good and the desserts were no exception. We decided to split the dishes as I couldn’t decide between the two berries on offer. Bill commented that in the time it took for him to photograph the strawberry terrine placed in front of him, I’d wolfed down half of the raspberry and dark chocolate dessert and was impatiently waiting for half of his. All I can say is that he’s lucky I didn’t eat ALL of it.

We found staff to be friendly, relaxed and knowledgeable (I was impressed - they had so much to remember!). When it came to choose a syrah for the mains, the wait staff were more than happy to talk us through a couple of options and offered us a taste to help us decide our own personal preference and we opted for two different choices. Picking wine by the glass has its advantages.

Pleasantly sated, we set off on the short trip home watching the sun go down over the Bombay Hills as we left.

This was such a pleasant and relaxing experience that we can't wait to return.  Why would we drive all the way into the city when we have this on our doorstep?  Why, indeed?

etcetera...

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

Aimee Bender

I’ve tried not to give too much away of the plot.  If in doubt, don’t read.

If you read my last Etcetera you’ll know how much I had anticipated the arrival of this book. But having heard whisperings of it - something a little strange and weird - I hesitantly turned each page.  Something disquieting was happening and I was soon to realize that the quirky title and light-hearted cover design belied the wistful story inside. 

Rose, 9 years old, is given a slice of lemon cake her mother has baked.   That is when she discovers she has a gift – she is able to taste and feel the emotions of the person who made the food.  In her mother’s case, the tastes she feels are ones of upset, distance and hollowness.  My mother’s hands had made the cake … but she was not there, in it.  From then on, eating food becomes a huge burden for Rose and as she ages we follow her journey through her feelings and thoughts about her gift; her relationships with her family; her school girl crush on her brother’s friend; to her awareness and an eventual kind of acceptance. 

Rose is a believable and likeable character.  She shows maturity way beyond her years and in spite of her gift appears to be the only “normal” one in her family.  Her parents and brother are less well drawn.  Perhaps this is intended to highlight their self-absorption and withdrawal from each other. Rose tries to anchor the family together, reassuring her mother and keeping secrets; trying to find a common bond with her father and to connect with her brother.  But in the end Rose must make her own way in life and find a way to live with her gift.

So far so good, but when the novel moves its focus to Rose’s brother, Joseph, it takes off in a different direction, one that I just found weird and not in any way as convincing as the first part of the book. The reason for Joe’s disappearances was confusing (I had to go back and reread it to see if I’d missed something).  It wasn’t satisfactorily explained. From this point, I felt less interested in the outcome and the remainder of the read was perfunctory.

If you ask me whether I liked it, I’ll tell you that I don’t know.  It was not what I expected, for sure. I can only say that it was a beautiful, melancholy read for the most part but overall it left me unfulfilled. The writing was beautiful and Rose’s childhood and teenage experiences were utterly convincing but in the end it was just a little too weird. I would still say read it – many people have loved this book.  I wanted to love it too.  I just didn’t.

A Family in Paris – Stories of food, life and adventure

Jane Paech

And so from kicking leaves to skipping through them, I picked up this book.  A memoir from Australian, Jane Paech, of observations, stories and anecdotes of the joys and maddening frustrations of living in Paris, this book was so enjoyable and amusing.  One of the delights of Paris is discovering what’s in each shop window or around each corner and so it is with this book.  Beautiful design and layout, great photos, easy, intelligent writing and thoughtful inclusions of her favourite places, this book will either make you want to go there or return.  I’m already making my list.