|
|
Index Previous Letter
Next Letter
|
A Dash of New York at Eight Mile Creek
There's more than a little of New York at the new Australian restaurant, Eight Mile Creek, at the "Little Italy" end of Mulberry Street in downtown Manhattan.
True to my word I have now dined at this much written-about piece of Australia which is nestled comfortably in the heart of bustling New York.
"You've got to expect it", a good New York friend of mine recently said, when I'd complained about how often things go wrong in the Big Apple. And I suppose he is right - with there being so many people, so many things to do, in this exhilarating metropolis.
None of this "getting it right" slick-Lygon-Street-style at "Eight Mile Creek". The restaurant "lost" our reservation listing. We found out this slip-up when the third member of the party - another Australian New Yorker - phoned the restaurant the day before to add herself to the reservation, only to discover there was was nothing in my name. This was remedied, only to be followed by another "error" by the restaurant staff.
The same third guest - the discoverer of the missing reservation - arrived around 7:30 about ten minutes after myself and my Ukrainian friend - who sat drinking her White Russian (the best she'd had in America, she told me), while we waited patiently for the third person to "show up".
Meanwhile this very person was of course waiting patiently at the bar area of the restaurant. Having arrived about after us, she'd been erroneously told she was the first of the party to turn up, and was seated at the bar where she was waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
The food at "Eight Mile Creek" reminded me of experiences I'd had in Bali many years ago. The recipes were spot on, but try as you may, you just cannot make the real thing with the not-so-real produce. I remember my son ordering a Shepherd's Pie in Kuta (Bali) It looked like a Shepherd's Pie, but there the resemblance ended. In much the same way, the Black Sea Bass at "Eight Mile Creek" looked like Australian nouvelle cuisine, with the two paper-thin slivers of red pepper, elegantly placed and complimenting the duck comfit mashed potato that accompanied by the Black Sea Bass. As did the pavlova look look like a pav. But in the case of the pav, the resemblance mirrored the Balinese shepherd's pie experience. I don't know where it went wrong, but suspect the ingredients. Castor sugar is hard to get here, and I think the US passion fruit pulp probably has added sugar. It was definitely too sweet, and perhaps this was a deliberate move to cater for American taste. It also seemed too homogenous in favour and texture, missing that necessary and sharp distinction between the fresh fruit, particularly the tang and crunch of passion fruit, and the sweetness and crumbliness of meringue.
As for the main course - the Black Sea Bass was of course was my Ukrainian friend's choice of "Mains". She said it was excellent. I had the Flash Comfit Duck Breast. I thought it was tasty, but would have preferred less meat and more vegetables, to bring it in line with the style of top Sydney and Melbourne restaurants. The Australian New Yorker had Sautéed lamb served over Herbed Polenta. She was more than happy with it, but although it was real imported Australian lamb, it had somehow acquired some of the gamey taste of the New York variety.
I like the Eight Mile Creek's choice of the word "Mains". It is rather international in feel - the word "Entrée" meaning main course in the US but pre-main in Australia. For entrée/appetizers (dubbed "Starters"), we chose the Spiced Kangaroo (apparently it was delicious) and Grilled Cheese Salad. We recommend both. The Cheese Salad King Island Blue was delicious as ever, and this dish definitely "worked", illustrating the fact that a native dish is best made with native ingredients.
The wine list is obviously selected with care. Being a drinker rather than a connoisseur of wine, I do not feel it is appropriate for me to comment on the quality. Much to the horror of my fellow Australian New Yorker, I'd ordered Ridge Vineyards Coast Range Blend 1997 (a Californian Zinfandel), while she was waiting for us to "arrive". There's only a couple of non-Australian wines on the menu, and so we made sure we finished off with a Coldsteam Hills Pinot Noir, Reserve 1998. Both wines were reasonably-priced by Manhattan standards. We gave the Grange a miss. Australian readers may be interested in the cost of this famous Australian wine - The 1995 Shiraz is $385, but if you are budget-conscious, you can always try The 1994 Henschke Shiraz from the Hill of Grace Vineyard, Barossa Valley, at $340!
A very nice touch to the end of the dinner, was the coffee. There's a choice between "American" and Australian. American coffee is listed on the menu as "American Coffee". Australian coffee comes in several varieties, including Short Black, Flat White, Long Black and Latte. Latte is Australian Italian coffee with heated milk. Reminds me of the Italian-born Australian Lygon Street waiter who was initially surprised when, on visiting Italy and ordering a "latte" he was given milk.
If you're in the neighborhood, you could do worse than drop in to the "Eight Mile Creek. Its relaxed atmosphere and good food, not to mention the wine list, make it a must-indulge, in New York.
A New York Moment
It was hot, humid and dark when I was dragging two heavy cases from a friend's apartment in the Village, to one several blocks away. I could barely lift them and was alone. After struggling down, first in an elevator (one of those old fashioned ones with grids at eye-height, and where the door opens out like a 1940's movie), hauling them down two small flights of steps, unlocking two heavy external doors and then making my way down even more steps, I heaved the cases onto the sidewalk and spotted a cab.I ran like a maniac, lugging the cases with me, and the cab stopped, but the cabbie refused to lend a hand with the bags. I stood there stunned and then a tall late-thirtyish American came to my aid.
From there on it was what we call "a New York moment".
The man introduced himself to me as "William". He gave the driver a piece of his mind and an argument ensued. "Shut-the-f*** up, Shut-the-f*** up!" William kept yelling. He had my cases and was so furious that he seemed to have gained superhuman strength. He was literally waving the cases in the air. I told him I didn't want to go with that cab driver anyway so he strode off looking for another cab. None in sight.
He then approached an "illicit" cab. Not a New York License Yellow Cab, but a private car type one - a sort I avoid. "How much to take this lady 20 blocks?" he asked. The driver demanded $20. William offered him ten. They started to argue. I was getting worried. I just wanted a "normal cab", I told William. "OK", he sighed and just then one pulled up. But this was not the end of my "moment".
As I entered the cab, a rather good-looking and distraught woman came towards us. "William, what are you doing?" she demanded. She was irate. They'd obviously been arguing prior to him coming to my aid. Seems that William had been going from one argument to another that night!
"I'm helping this lady get a cab!" he yelled back. "Ha! she said, "don't give me any sh*t! I HEARD you offer that man in the black car $10!".
"It was to drive me somewhere", I explained, while William continued yelling at her in the background. She seemed semi-convinced and shrugged, at the same time glaring at William who was throwing my cases in the trunk as if they were paper-light.
As the cab turned on the ignition William stuck his head in the driver's side-window, "Make sure you go RIGHT to the door for the lady", he demanded. "Look after her - she's my sister!"