Helm, who was prowling the room in a long blue-denim apron dispensing wine advice and urging diners to ask about his bin-end bargains, was a charming host, who seemed genuinely happy to see people. This is remarkably uncommon in the restaurant business; I get a cheerier greeting from my dentist than from most maitres d', though to be fair I give him about five times as much money as I give a restaurateur so he should be delighted.
But I digress. You'll be wondering about the food. Well, the technical term for it is bloody good. Let me explain.
There is nothing more calculated to ease a diner's anxieties than a short menu. The one we were offered had four items each in sections labelled "Smaller" and "Larger". There were three sides and two nibble plates, one of meat and one of cheese, if that's all you fancy.
You make your choice while munching on superb bread, fresh from the oven with a whipped burned butter (trust me; it's sensational) and if you are like me, you regret not having come in a group of four so you could have tried everything on the menu.
Choosing is a serious, even heartbreaking, challenge. We had to pass over smoked salmon (with celeriac, black rice, apple and horseradish) and tuna (with grapefruit, persimmon and radish). These were smart ideas, unusual but unfussy, that put me in mind of the excellent "new Nordic" food we enjoyed in Copenhagen in June.
But we had no complaints with what we did choose: a tortilla of gamey, high-country lamb, minced and combined with feijoa and tangy sheep's-milk yoghurt into a wrap to beat all wraps; and a dish of disassembled brussels sprouts leaves (they call them cups) filled with goat's curd and dotted with shallot jam and pine nuts. It is uncommon for me to fight with the Professor over a meatless dish, but I did so here, all the while suppressing the urge to bellow "Eureka!"
Mains were even better: a boil-up used a small chunk of smoky wild boar and a small slab of rissole-like pork terrine to make a genuinely fresh take on the classic of Maori tucker. These came with a big wodge of soft and pale kumara in a broth both hearty and delicate and topped with glisteningly fresh watercress. A real treat.
Meanwhile I loved the slow-cooked ox cheek which had something of the texture and taste of tongue and, on top of a medley of roast swede and barley, was excellent winter food.
We shared a divine dessert of a creamy ball of chocolate with pear poached in a cardamom syrup, the whole lapped with a sauce containing tiny nutty seeds called chia, which originate in Mexico. It was the perfect end to a fantastic meal. A day later, as I write this, I still have a big dumb grin over my face, and I can't wait to go back.
Verdict: A genuine original
