‘Tom Tilbury’s cooking has a similar unforced, elemental power to it. Ingredients are celebrated for what they are’
A CHEF with an innate talent for getting the most from his ingredients is a perfect match for a cellar door setting.
A SHORT stroll from Coriole’s cellar door and restaurant, past the beds overflowing with daisies, lavender, geraniums and a riot of other early-season blooms, there is a garden patch that, on first viewing, looks like a wasteland.
Get closer to that bare expanse of dirt, however, and you will see a mass of pointy heads on slender stalks poking through the surface and pushing determinedly skywards like a volley of little green arrows.
Excited? You betcha. Asparagus that emerges when nature calls in early spring, and makes it to a plate within a few hours of being lopped, is one of the great culinary treats in my book.
It makes choosing what to have for lunch much easier, especially when that veg is in the hands of a chef with an innate talent for getting the most out of his ingredients and showing them at their very best.
Tom Tilbury has joined Coriole after closing Gather in Robe earlier this year and moving to Adelaide. The result, I reckon, is a winery restaurant with its own vernacular, one that has the potential to be considered among our most appealing and appropriate expressions of regional dining.
Coriole’s dining space is exquisite, with tables set on a veranda and courtyard that have been adapted to provide some protection from the weather when necessary without losing the impact of a vista that spreads as far as the distant Willunga range.
We sit by a sliding window through which two ancient, lichen-covered trees – a cedar and a mulberry – are framed like paintings in adjoining panes. The furniture is patio-style timber slats (slightly weather-beaten) and the plates a variety of glazed ceramics. It all feels in synch with the landscape.
Tom’s cooking has a similar unforced, elemental power to it. Ingredients are celebrated for what they are, not what they can be. Compositions flow together naturally. Tricks are few and far between.
The first plate, for instance, looks as if it bears only two fresh, folded sorrel leaves. Tucked inside is a little mound of shredded (blue swimmer) crab bound in a touch of cultured cream, while a salsa underneath echoes the gentle lemon sourness of the leaf.
More pared back again are two bouncing baby corn ears, sprinkled with a sriracha salt, their husks charred enough to release a lovely, smoky waft when picked up to eat. Or half a red cabbage that has also spent time over coals, before being cut into three wedges, scattered with pearls of finger lime and laid on an emulsion of turnip, butter and katsuobushi (dried fish). From the tender core to toasty outer leaves, it just about steals the show. Also contending is baby octopus, braised in red wine, laid on a white bean puree and crowned with a wreath of leaves and succulents. It’s even better when you hit a little curl of lardo, like sizzled bacon fat.
A tartare of chopped kangaroo is mixed with native herbs and powders that give it a menthol hum bringing to mind eucalyptus. “It’s like eating koala,” my partner says, only half joking. When combined with other elements, including a blob of savoury panna cotta, charred onion, quandong and fried saltbush, however, the hum is softened to a lingering whisper.
Crisp-skinned slices of roasted chicken thigh are crowned with the asparagus, in both whole spears and shaved ribbons, as well as leaves of rainbow chard that we’ve also seen in the garden. A sharp-edged nettle emulsion, porcini chutney and restrained jus take the place of a heavier gravy.
Every part of the pumpkin has a role in the next dish – the flesh roasted and pickled, the seeds turned to a paste, strips of the skin dried into a crisp. The lozenges of fried gnocchi, however, are a little tough and too heavy-handed on the cheese.
A brisk walk around the property clears some room for a shared dessert – the divine booze-soaked sponge of a rum baba, with slices of orange and blood orange on a cushion of anglaise.
All in all, it has been a fabulous meal, one I’d drive a lot further than McLaren Vale to enjoy. Robe’s loss is Coriole’s gain. This is one of those fortunate matches of person and place that is greater than the sum of its parts.
GATHER AT CORIOLE
Chaffeys Rd, McLaren Vale
8323 8305, coriole.com
OWNERS Coriole CHEF Tom Tilbury
FOOD Contemporary SMALLER $4-$18
LARGER $30-$45 DESSERT $17 DRINKS Coriole’s range of Italian-accented varietals are an excellent fit, especially with older vintages available. Also a small selection of international benchmarks.
Open for
LUNCH Thurs-Sun
SCORE 8.5/10