Simon Wilkinson reviews Fire and Vine: ‘People are hungry. They want their meals. Now. Insurrection is in the air.’

In 30 years of writing about restaurants, Simon Wilkinson has never seen anything like the chaos that unfolded at Fire and Vine. Strap in, this review is a wild ride.

Dark wood dominates this dining space at Fire and Vine restaurant, Glenunga.

It’s nine o’clock on a rainy Friday evening and the mood in eastern suburbs restaurant Fire and Vine is rapidly darkening. People are hungry. They want their meals. Now. Insurrection is in the air.

“Have they even got a chef in the kitchen?” a diner at one table asks another. Then they take action.

One group of eight, out for a family celebration, get up, settle whatever is owed and head out the door without eating. The trio from over in the corner follow their lead, leaving an empty room. In 30-plus years of visiting and writing about restaurants, I’ve seen nothing like it. It’s a tough one to write. There are few positives (other than a couple of well-cooked steaks) to take from an experience in which service has gone so badly awry.

This, then, is a cautionary tale. First, of course, it is aimed at readers who might intend booking. But equally it should serve as a warning to those entrepreneurs intending to throw themselves into the world of hospitality.

George Melissourgos certainly started with the best of intentions. He had a job in finance and IT but was looking for a change when he came across the home of the old Cork & Cleaver, a steakhouse run by Stratos Pouras for more than four decades. The property, just off Glen Osmond Rd, had been empty for two years and might easily have ended up as townhouses.

Melissourgos saw an opportunity to save a piece of Adelaide history and continue the steakhouse legacy. He invested in major updates to the decor, including new carpets and paintwork, as well as revamping the bar. A chef with experience in a well-respected cellar door came on board and the new Fire and Vine opened in September.

Steak tartare at Fire and Vine restaurant.

Things, however, have not gone to plan – not surprising at a time when even the savviest of operators are struggling. These difficulties are obvious from the moment we are shown to a table, not in the large rear room that had been used by Cork & Cleaver and was the focus of the latest renovations, but rather the smaller space directly inside the front door that still has the original dark timber, feature lights and straw ceilings.

Then there is the single-page menu that has significantly less choices than the one still appearing online. And it soon becomes apparent that Melissourgos is the only staff member front of house – taking orders, delivering plates, clearing tables, pouring drinks … no wonder the poor bloke is looking flustered.

Scotch fillet steak at Fire and Vine restaurant.

He explains later that two regular waiters are unavailable for several weeks. On this particular night, a few extra tables booking in late has made the situation worse, particularly in the kitchen where a new chef, working alone, is still finding his feet. No surprise, then, that things start to unravel.

We aren’t immune to the delays. Entrees take a good hour to arrive, particularly mystifying when they don’t really need cooking. One is a decent version of classic tartare: the diced beef of good quality, the traditional cornichons, capers and (too much) onion stirred through, a raw yolk plopped on top, the accompanying toast hard and dry.

Tuna steak at from Fire and Vine restaurant.

A prawn bisque has not been reheated properly – not that the tepid temperature matters to me when to my tastes it’s, well, horrible. I try two spoons struggling to decipher what has gone on and find a few descriptors. Let’s just be thankful it is no longer being served.

Much better (and warmer) is a rustic stew of plump lentils with chunky pieces of carrot, green beans and celery in a tomato-based broth sharpened with a splash of vinegar. Based on a traditional recipe for a dish known as “fakes”, it reflects the owner’s Greek heritage, a concept that might be worth him pursuing.

For mains, a tuna steak coated in dukkah-style spices has been seared quickly and then sliced in two to show off the pretty pink flesh in the middle. If only it had still been (1) warm and (2) not served on an unlikely mortar of bearnaise sauce and wild rice.

Steaks are priced around the $60 mark, which isn’t so unusual, but sauces are another $7 for a large jugful. The scotch fillet looks a little shabby around the edges but has a nice smoky charred crust and is medium rare as ordered. Tenderloin can be a trickier cut to perfect but this 180g piece has been well managed, with good colour on the outside and tender, rosy centre. The chips in both cases, however, are cold and flabby.

Desserts? Well, it’s been a long stay already and the atmosphere around us is becoming hostile. We get up to pay at the bar just before the others come charging over. They head out the door leaving an empty restaurant and their meals uneaten.

A terrible experience for all concerned and one that no one – including owner and staff – would want to be repeated.