Tuesday. Bloody awful evening. No one will be at Depot and I won't have to wait for a table.
Fat chance. It's heaving at 6.30 and they're taking cellphone numbers. But two slots open up at the bar. Within moments, we have iced water and a snack of carrot and cumin puree with pita triangles in front of us.
Packing the punters in night after night is a kind of alchemy and at Depot, Al Brown shows a wizard's command of it. The casual atmosphere belies a sophisticated touch with the food; service is slick but welcoming; the menu caters to grazers and gluttons alike; prices are reasonable. Better, the place is always buzzing. Perhaps people are clamouring to get in because it was closed for six weeks after a kitchen fire and they've missed it, but more likely it's because it's the best table in town.
Since my first visit, shortly after it opened almost four years ago, much of the menu has changed, but the feel is the same: in-season ingredients are imaginatively handled with none of the smart-arsed busyness that makes the chef more important than the food.
Case in point: kingfish belly - replaced by hapuku that evening. A massive slab was agreeably charred to black crispiness on the edges, but meaty, creamy and marvellously moist right through. Served with a mild kasundi - an eggplant chutney of Bengali origin - and lime, it was probably the best fish dish I have ever eaten, with the possible exception of the legendary black cod at Masu next door, although that does come from the other side of the world.
I urged the Professor to try the roasted bone marrow, to expunge the memory of a bad experience at Molten. She remained unimpressed - she's a sort of vegetarian, really - but that was no problem because I was impressed enough for both of us with the delicious gloop, spread on crostini with an astringent shallot salad to cut through the richness. Gnocchi, sliced in big round slabs, come with creamy pumpkin, crisp fried cavolo nero and a dollop of milk curd, making a winter-friendly mess that's hard to share.
This is also the place to overcome your loathing for brussels sprouts, which are served with croutons, pancetta and walnuts. And a quince tarte tatin was a perfect balance of astringency and sweetness.
The speed with which the food comes out attests to the almost military efficiency of Kyle Street's kitchen, but our decision to order in two stages caused an inevitable hiatus. This is a place for the unrestrained ordering of group dining really, rather than an intimate soiree a deux, but however you slice it, Depot remains at the top of its game.
Verdict: The welcome return of a top performer
Oysters: $4.50; plates $16-$34; sides $6-$10; desserts $14