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fOOd \ kendall hill reviews bomba
(Maggie Bufe)
can see the waitress’ lips moving but her words drown in the din. She moves closer. I lean in. “It’s much noisier at this end,” she shouts, miming an apology face. This end is the Lonsdale Street, close-knit tables-and-chairs bit of Bomba, rather than the high-stools section opposite the copper bar or, better still, on the rooftop under the stars. There are no spare tables so we’re stuck in the raucous corner. I don’t recall Bomba’s forerunner, The Aylesbury – or even the Barbagallo pizza joint that was here before that – being this rowdy. But in its latest incarnation, as a “Spanish workers’ bar” with sandblasted brick walls and bare floors – i.e. industrial 101, the now-mainstream Melbourne fit-out – it’s awfully, annoyingly loud. And it’s not the just the noise that irks me. Remember a decade or so ago when newspapers ran squawking stories about posh restaurants charging $50 for a main course? The audacity. But wait until they find out Bomba charges $1.50 for a single olive. The price tag might be justifiable if these olives had been sourced, say, from the remotest part of the Pyrenees and had first passed through the digestive tract of a lynx before arriving at table. But these ones appear to be common, commercial-quality green olives, pipped and stuffed with a sliver of piquillo pepper and palm heart or salami. And they taste, overwhelmingly and exclusively, of brine. We sample almost a third of the menu (11 of 34 dishes) and it’s like a gourmet game of snakes and ladders – ups and downs. Sourdough bread baked in-house and served with Yarra Valley olive oil is good (and complimentary). Chicken, manchego cheese and smoked paprika croquetas – fried to a deep, George Hamilton tan – are oily and exceedingly salty. It’s a recurring theme. Of course fat and salt make things taste so much better but there needs to be restraint, a deft hand at the controls. The menu’s loosely defined charcuterie section includes air-dried tuna and wagyu beef, as well as standout strips of “Fisk’s” pickled pork belly, which I assume means chef Andrew Fisk pickled this Wessex saddleback himself. In which case, congratulations. The results, seasoned sparingly this time with a drizzle of olive oil and some sea-salt flakes, are crave-worthy. Even my (mostly) vegetarian dinner companion thinks so. Tomato-rubbed bread is Bomba’s take on the defining pa amb tomàquet of Catalonia, but with none of the rustic delights of the original. Even topped with a squirl of serrano ham, it is a drab, unappealing snack. But another toasted treat, this time smeared with goat’s curd and spring-bright broad beans and a slab of blood pudding (morcilla) made in-house, is memorable. The morcilla is brownie sized, heady with cinnamon, nicely crisp on the outside and crumbly within. Fried quail pieces with pistachio and buckwheat are fatty; a charcoal-grilled lamb cutlet arrives smothered in yoghurt spiked with paprika and, I think, garlic. It’s OK. One thing you can approach with certainty is the winelist. With its heavy bias to the Iberian Peninsula, there’s an opportunity to try unusual and rewarding
PedrO Ximenez braiSed POrk jOWl mOrcilla With gOat’S curd & brOad beanS
bottles such as the terrific Gabo do Xil godello by Telmo Rodriguez. It’s a delicious anaesthetic against the noise and a blessèd chaser after some of the less appetising eats. Like the freekeh and cauliflower salad with mint and pomegranate, which promises relief from the fatty fried stuff but it, too, leaves an oily film on the palate after each mouthful. “This sounded so nice, and it’s really not,” moans The Vego. To be fair, by the time the king prawns arrive we’re probably past the peak appreciation stage. It feels like a chore to consume these ringbarked creatures (heads and tails intact, bodies shelled), gathered in a clay pot in a pil pil sauce of oil and garlic. But a glimmer of pleasure returns with the gelatinous discs of pork jowl braised in sticky-sweet pedro ximenez sherry. The glistening meat pieces slump on a mound
of celeriac puree that only just manages to rein in the excesses of slow-cooked pig and caramelised liqueur. It’s not a patch on, or a match for, Movida’s PX-braised beef cheek with cauliflower puree, but it’s definitely one of the better dishes of the night. Chocolate croquetas with custard and hazelnuts are another letdown, another oily-mouth moment. There are definitely things to like about this place – the stripey Basque tops worn by staff, the rooftop perch, the Made in Japan stoneware and the linen tea-towel napkins. But the food? Not so much. Or, as a disappointed Spanish worker might say, No mucho. \ khill@theweeklyreview.com.au tO read mOre revieWS
www.theweeklyreview.com.au/food
eat this bOmba, 103 lOnSdale Street, city Cuisine \ Mediterranean
We rate it Chef \ Jesse gerner and andrew fisk
6
Hip Pocket \ about $45 a head for food Open \ Monday-friday noon-3pm, dinner daily 5-11pm Highlights \ The wine list, crockery, stripey tops. Lowlights \ Spanish food lost in translation. Bookings \ Knock yourself out
» bombabar.com.au
Phone \ 9077 0451 Stuffed OliveS
Out Of 10 DECEMBER 11, 2013 \ The weekly review 17