Vale Taphouse | SA Weekend restaurant review

With glimpses of the sea in one direction and Mount Lofty in the other, the setting is stunning – but it’s not enough to distract from the contagion of staff panic which colours the whole experience.

Vale Taphouse at McLaren Flat. Picture: Jarrad French

It’s just like they say in the ad: “I don’t like beer any more.” Actually, that’s not completely true. I still enjoy the occasional pint of ale in a decent front bar, and the quenching thrill of an icy cold stubbie after a day in the sun. But after one or two I’d much rather shift to something with less bubble, less hops and less likelihood of feeling bloated.

Safe to say then that it’s not the chance to sample a dozen-plus different frothy ones that is the big attraction to the Vale Taphouse, a brewery-meets-cellar door restaurant outside McLaren Flat.

This stunning development is the new home for Vale Brewing, makers of Vale Ale, a company that, in its fledgling years, was one of the great disrupters of the pub status quo.

Now it is part of Vok Beverages, a sister company to Bickford’s, and owner of close to 30 alcohol brands from 23rd Street distillery to Queen Adelaide.

The hilltop on which the Taphouse sits has been ceded from the estate of Beresford winery, another part of this portfolio. And what a setting it is, with glimpses of the sea in one direction and Mount Lofty in the other, the slope immediately below covered in immaculate vineyard rows.

A table of food at Vale Taphouse, McLaren Flat. Picture: Jarrad French

The orientation of the black-clad building has this view in mind, with a wall of glass sliding open to a terrace and lawns where drinkers laze in bean bags and young folk play Jenga.

From our vantage at an unexpectedly flimsy table inside, it’s certainly a compelling scene. And the food, from former Sean’s Kitchen chef John Rankin, is OK, if not ever achieving the promise of a menu that pops with fresh ideas.

Unfortunately, none of this is enough to distract from the service road-crash that unfolds over the afternoon.

Little things, individually, might be put down to the inexperience of a young crew still on their L-plates. The pint glass lifted from the top so fingers touch where lips will soon go … The plates carried against the body … The clattering of dropped cutlery … The unwanted sauvignon blanc that is brought back four times (and still ends up on the bill) … Confused food orders …

Smoked lamb shoulder to share at Vale Taphouse. Picture: Jarrad French

But as these incidents accumulate and structures unravel, a spreading contagion of panic colours the whole experience.

Even a seductive-sounding snack such as “Port Lincoln monkfish, sea urchin butter, hash brown, lemon mayo” can’t lift the mood. Both the flaked fish and crisped potato cake are fine but there is not a hint of urchin or butter. A more grounded combination of crushed peas, shimeji mushrooms and goat curd laid on a dark rye tortilla proves more popular.

Wood-fired carrots – the smaller ones roasted whole until wrinkled and black, the larger ones cut into thick discs – are tossed with cumin, dukkah and a splash of sherry vinegar. So far, so good. But a labneh made from coconut yoghurt, presumably to keep the dish vegan, is like wearing a Hawaiian shirt around the souk. A dairy version could at least have been an option.

The theme of a disappointing outlier element continues with the mains. For the skilfully cooked, sweet-fleshed trunk of flathead in caper butter, it is a scattering of pipis that are chewy, tough and have a strong fish-bait flavour. For a gnarly, untrimmed pork cutlet, it is the cold “noodles” of shaved squid tube and fennel tangled on top.

Crab lasagne at Vale Taphouse, McLaren Flat.

Blueberry pavlova at Vale Taphouse, McLaren Flat.

The brewery and bar at Vale Taphouse. Picture: Jarrad French

Crab “lasagne” also mixes temperatures. A ring of crab mousse is draped with a single gossamer sheet of pasta and sits in a light bisque broth. On top of this is a mound of fridge-cold picked crabmeat and a quenelle of what could pass as a herb and cream cheese dip. Strange.

Dessert is another riff, this time on pavlova, with whipped cream, lemon curd, fresh and poached blueberries, shortbread crumb and the meringue represented by little whirls baked separately and embedded in the top.

The merit of such deconstructions would normally be a topic for discussion on the drive home. But all we can think about is the service, the unfortunate young staff thrown in at the deep end, and how such serious investment in a venue like this wouldn’t be accompanied by similar investment in the people.

For more reviews visit delicious.com.au/eatout