Simon Wilkinson reviews Apoteca, formerly Apothecary 1878 on Hindley Street
A seat among the pharmacy cabinets of Apoteca is a remedy for the less civilised elements of its city strip, writes Simon Wilkinson.
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It’s Friday night in the city and we’re sitting at a brass-topped table, nibbling on chickpea and olive fritters and drinking a ravishing Blaufrankisch from the Adelaide Hills.
Outside, crowds from the big car race start to meander by, posing for selfies beside a rum-loving polar bear that is walking laps along the footpath.
Welcome to the recently rebadged Apoteca in Hindley St, where being part of such wonderful cultural collisions is part of the fun.
For nearly 20 years, most of them while known as Apothecary 1878, this multi-levelled restaurant and bar has offered a refuge from the thumping bass beats, shisha smoke and colourful, occasionally confronting, characters that give this precinct its edge.
For most of this time it has remained hidden, the barbarians kept at bay on the other side of frosted glass.
Now, along with the name change and a tweak to the decor, its owners have decided the time is right to embrace the location and welcome in the passing parade.
Chairs and tables have been set by the roadside; windows now allow equal viewing rights in both directions and double doors are left open to let in the summer breeze.
Inside, the changes at ground level have toned back the formality. No one would dare remove the 140-year-old mahogany pharmacy cabinets, of course, but the shelving now has mirrored backing and strip lights. A chandelier that loomed large over the room has been replaced by more modest glowing spheres.
Along with the antiques, wine is Apothecary / Apoteca’s claim to fame. Its cellar is immense, with more than 300 labels across a spectrum of styles and budgets, though this is distilled into a list of more manageable proportions.
It means co-owner/manager Paola Coro or her team can usually find what is right for any occasion … like our Blaufrankisch, a medium-bodied red successfully translated from Austrian to Australian by the clever folk at Hahndorf Hill.
Given the focus on what’s in the glass, chef Mirco Ruthoff works within some clear parameters, sticking close to the Mediterranean shoreline and avoiding any excessive acid or chilli that might tarnish a $500 Barolo. Some may find the approach a little too safe; others will appreciate cooking with well-grounded ideas, strong technique and more concern for pleasing customers than massaging egos.
Tapas-style snacks and salumi are displayed at the bar, while a single page menu is divided into pharmacy-themed sections such as “Vitamins” and “Proteins”.
Chickpea fritters are random shapes and sizes of batter with a few chunky bits left intact to keep the texture interesting. A protein-free variation on the fried nibble, they are given a significant lift by the big dollop of black olive tapenade plopped on top. Order an aperitif or dry riesling and it will make even more sense.
Each dish, in fact, seems designed for a vinous partner, matchmaking that has way more logic to it than anything seen on Married at First Sight.
A full-bodied white such as chardonnay would play beautifully beside portobello mushrooms, fried with plenty of thyme and other herbs, and topped with a gooey slice of melted taleggio and egg yolk.
Octopus tentacle is grilled so that, while its tips are charred, the meatier sections remain pure and succulent, particularly good beside a simple salad of cherry tomatoes, basil and shavings of fried garlic. All it needs is a pinot gris and a sea view.
Moving to red territory, “lamb croquette” is a crumbed and fried log of pressed shoulder meat that is so delicate and free of fibre we want to know how it’s done. A tangle of red cabbage, pickled red onion, parsley and walnuts helps keep this concentrated meatiness in balance.
For more of a traditional roast accompaniment, add wedges of roasted pumpkin, smeared with zhoug (a spicy Middle Eastern herb sauce) and plenty of Persian feta.
To finish, a plate of grilled peaches and nectarines, ricotta and honey captures the season well, though a gluggy apricot paste should have been edited out. However, I suspect many diners will opt for either cheese, a single chocolate (from Steven Ter Horst) or a glass of single malt, cognac or something along those lines.
Alternatively, they might call nearby for beer or a Bundy. Now, where is that bear?