Des Harris, new head chef at Clooney Restaurant. Photo / Richard Robinson
Viva rating: * * * *
Where: 33 Sale Street, Freemans Bay
Ph: 358 1702
Open: Lunch Fri, Dinner Mon-Sat.
Cuisine: Contemporary classics.
From the menu: Gorgonzola and honeycomb cigars, grilled figs, witloof, walnut oil $22; Poussin duo, pear and onion soubise, glazed leeks, sage, prosciutto $36; Granny Smith apple tarte tatin, calvados crème caramel $15
Vegetarian: Options on menu
Wine: Expansive, expensive
When he opened the place about 18 months ago, Tony Stewart insisted there was no particular inspiration for its name: the word just looked nice when it was written down.
Perhaps he was being coy. Perhaps it was a tribute to the actor. Think of it: more style
than a Versace tux, more chutzpah than ... hey, George Clooney. But what about substance?
The recent arrival of Des Harris indicates that Clooney wants to be taken as A Serious Restaurant. The young man has more gongs than a country-house dinner-party and his reviews are on the ecstasy side of rave.
They loved his work at Logan Brown in Wellington (y'know, the guys who do the huntin' shootin' fishin' show that is, occasionally, about food); even more when he moved over to the Rimutakas to the vintage Peppers Martinborough Hotel, where his menu was only slightly overshadowed by the pinoirs.
The new boy hasn't wasted time in getting down to business at Clooney, hiring a new brigade, luring Natasha Parkinson, once also at Logan Brown, as manager; serving his first menu. A Very Serious Restaurant, then.
Citing the innovative Matt Moran of Sydney's Aria and other "confident" Aussies (is there any other kind?) as influences, Harris' style is classic and contemporary, refined and restrained.
We dithered over gorgonzola and honeycomb "cigars" - that French standard of blue cheese, honey, walnut, with witloof added here - before Jude settled on his starter of pork belly, scampi, oyster mushrooms with truffle butter and vincotto. This was an excellent introduction to the chef: a small dish, the pork crisp and unctuous, the scampi delicate - those condiments complimenting the underlying tastes.
Flavours burst from my pressed duck terrine. Subtly herbed, pear brandy jelly, the tang of date relish. Each asserting its right to be there; yet each knowing its place.
Good lord, no duck among the mains. And Jude had tried Harris' take on pork belly back in the first round. So she took his vegetarian suggestion, goat's cheese tortellini - not the pervasive tart. This was stronger stuff, fully flavoured cheese against beetroot pureed with balsamic, baby vegetables with the kick of herb vinaigrette. There's clarity in these dishes, and the execution is immaculate.
The bum note was the lamb duo. I found the combination of slow braised shoulder and gently roasted flesh didn't sit well. One side of the plate was smoky and veering towards stringiness; the other soggy and lacking flavour. Vegetable "potages", herb relish, preserved lemon, pine nut ranged around.
"Just as well Gordon Ramsay's not here," said Jude. "He's got a thing about too many flavours on one plate."
Our waiter had suggested side dishes: he was correct. The merest soupcon of anything other than meat made an appearance. When mains are in the high 30s and steamed broccoli and zucchini require another $8.50, you're adding quite a bit to what dear old Wm Blake called "the price of experience."
To dessert, where Harris' classical preferences were displayed again. None of those foams or caviars or pearls or garlic ice-cream here. Jude swooned over luxuriously eggy clafoutis, so rich that it needed the nearly tart plums to bring it back to earth. My vanilla panna cotta passed the wobble test; its peach partner and sauternes ice-cream surpassed the decadence test.
Clooney maintains its excellent cellar, though you'll pay for the privilege. We went by the glass and the staff's capable suggestions - Martinborough chardonnay 06 (pork belly), Rippon Jeunesse pinot noir 05 (terrine), Nautilus pinot gris 07 (goat's cheese) and Craggy Range Sophia merlot 05 (lamb).
The spare elegance of this food is in stark - perhaps that should be Starck - contrast to its surroundings. On a Monday night, with only 20 diners, Clooney can feel as empty as a shopping mall around the same time.
Brutally industrial décor, brooding techno music, it has the air of a space untimely ripped from an interior designer's Mac rather than being conceived by humans.
No matter, perhaps. For Des Harris brings to Clooney food that's not edgy, creative, molecular or out there. For those who want their dinner to look and taste like what it originally hailed from, less sous-vide and more superlative.
