Petrichor on Rundle Street – more miss than hit

Its name refers to the end of a dry spell but Petrichor, like the weather forecast, doesn’t always deliver, writes Simon Wilkinson

Petrichor on Rundle St. Photo: AAP/Mark Brake

Uh oh. As warning signs go this is up there with hearing the ping of a microwave or finding a piece of plastic wrapping in the garden salad. We’ve mulled over the strange, dated menu for some time before settling on a pair of mains from the half-dozen listed, the only two that really suit this warmish autumn eve, only to discover from one of the fledgling wait staff that neither the market fish nor the smoked and grilled baby goat are on tonight.

This leaves pork belly, duck, chicken and moussaka, as well as two meat-fest share plates.

Which raises a few questions. How can a kitchen run out of fish before 7pm on a midweek night when less than a third of tables are filled? Why aren’t we advised from the start about these scratchings, particularly when there are so few options available? And, most importantly, should we pay for our drinks and do a runner while we can?

Barbecued spatchcock at Petrichor. Photo: Image AAP/Mark Brake

I’d had a few concerns about Petrichor before then, to be honest – starting with that poncy name, which means the smell of rain on dry ground.

The concept, a broadbrush European bistro using the “finest ingredients to produce these mouth-watering artefacts”, sounds a little flimsy as well, particularly when measured alongside some of the sharper neighbouring operators of the East End where it has set up in what was a chocolate shop and cafe.

Of course, all these misgivings would be quickly forgotten once inside if the food was top-notch, the place hospitable.

The orange and brown livery of the old Cocolat on Rundle St has been retained, though the decor also includes the chiselled features of Greek gods Zeus and Apollo in a mural on one side, and a hanging “garden” on the other.

The front section of the venue operates as the restaurant, while the narrow rear part is a bar, known as Epicure Kitchen, that serves a loose version of tapas based around some of the same dishes.

“Chef Make Me a Tartare Please” – jokey name and the balance isn’t right. Photo: AAP/Mark Brake

Service is greener than that hanging garden. It falls into two categories: constant pressure to place an order at the start; and a vanishing act from then on, particularly as other tables fill. Glasses are left empty, plates not cleared, details such as specials (or unavailable dishes) not mentioned.

The cooking, similarly, is more miss than hit.

Beyond its jokey name, “Chef! Make Me a Tartare Please” is a moulded cylinder of decent-quality beef, hand cut, mixed with chopped onion and herbs, and crowned with the traditional yolk to break and stir through. For some reason, however, gherkins are served whole, so they can’t be included in the blend, and the capers are fried and seem stale. The balance just isn’t right. And why are there streaks of mayo across the plate?

A very similar dressing has been drizzled over barbecue prawns that are without doubt the high point of the night.

Venue manager Michael McConnell at Petrichor. Photo: AAP/Mark Brake

A trio of hefty specimens have been splayed open and thrown on a ferocious grill so their shells become brittle and charred, with a sweet, crustacean reek. The meat, shielded from the heat, is kept supple and springy, and can be either prised out to eat alone or, even better, chomped shell and all.

The only downside is the promised accompaniment of “charred greens” appear to be more likely baby spinach wilted with a little butter.

The kitchen likes to present its food hidden under a tangle of snow pea tendrils, which, in the case of the blackened skin of a barbecued spatchcock, is probably a good idea. The little bird looks like it has gone to perch on a high-voltage wire, the heavy char making the skin flaky and bitter. The accompanying pumpkin hummus is full of little lumps suggesting it hasn’t been cooked long enough before processing.

Grilled tongue, which can be sublime, has also been hammered on the grill, and the parsnip mash underneath is unbelievably stodgy. The “seasonal green vegetables” are more of the spinach that has been included on most plates, as well as a couple of limp beans.

Then there is the “Perfect handmade vanilla ice cream” for dessert, which doesn’t show a trace of real vanilla that I can see and could easily be mistaken for the stuff that comes from a supermarket tub, and not a good one at that.

It’s easy to come up with a restaurant concept, to write a menu full of promises. The hard part, as Petrichor shows, is delivering consistently on that pact.

PETRICHOR 281

281 Rundle St, city

8359 3555; petrichor281.com.au

OWNER Umesh Dhanushka Randeniya

CHEF Pierre Richez

FOOD European Bistro

ENTREE $14-$22
MAIN $24-$70
DESSERT $12-$16

DRINKS An eclectic list of both established, boutique and Euro labels, with an emphasis on food-friendly varieties. BYO $15

OPEN LUNCH and DINNER Daily