Review: Camus, Northcote, Victoria

Camus, named after the French-Algerian author, brings a Middle Eastern fragrance to Melbourne’s mostly Euro scene.

John Lethlean

2 min read

12:00AMApril 08, 2017

Outsider in: Camus is unpretentious and welcoming, and serves timeless, fragrant food. Picture: Jesse Marlow

One trots along to every restaurant review with an open mind. Mostly. OK, over the years there have been a couple I expected to be dismal well in advance and they exceeded all expectations. But being prepared for it to go either way should be the default approach, which means a certain bias towards chefs’ own restaurants is a flaw. But there you have it.

When a chef opens his own place it can bring unshackled, passionate dining joy. Usually just before taking that one step too far towards the financial precipice. But, boy, there have been some great short-lived chef-owned restaurants over the years. Which is by way of introducing Camus, named for the French-Algerian author with whom chef Pierre Khodja shares roots and, I hasten to add, a restaurant I don’t expect to be short-lived in any way, all things being equal.

An outsider of sorts himself, Khodja has been kicking around Victoria for about 16 years following a career far from home in Paris and London. His short-lived time as a restaurateur on the Mornington Peninsula didn’t last long enough and so the man has been plying his take on Euro bistro food with a taste of the Maghreb in many different kitchens, for a variety of proprietors, since. Many dollars later in Northcote, an inner-Melbourne village virtually unrecognisable from five years ago, he has cut a jewel from a rough, Victorian-era diamond. The attention to detail and quality of fit-out reflect his many years in restaurants. Whoever advised on the design and optics did well: the result is fresh, a little luxe, unpretentious and very welcoming. With a real head waiter and reasonable prices, this new place has it all to lose. And that was never gonna happen.

As a product of the (Greg) Malouf era of cooking in Melbourne, when mature, clever use of Middle Eastern spices and other ingredients was widely embraced by chefs trained in more European ways, I really like this kind of thing done well. Cinnamon, orange blossom, pomegranate, nuts, fruit … fragrance is everything.

Starters are large and designed for two to share, as are larger dishes and side dishes. Super meaty chargrilled sardines sit on a subtly spiced chakchouka consisting mostly of sweet red peppers; the same fish is taken off the bone to form little fried “dumplings” on a Romesco-style sauce. Sardines two ways. Baby calamari are stuffed with prawn meat and mushroom and served with a mushroom borak (pastry) and a bisque-style sauce spiked with pastis. And half a giant marinated quail (pictured), chargrilled, is a riot of sweet, floral and bitter notes with a cinnamon jus, radicchio, apple and “dry fruit salad”. There’s skill in this cooking, but no fuss.

A whole snapper rubbed with chermoula is baked and served smeared with a jumble of pickled and wilted peppers, red onion and spears of okra. It’s more like a garnish than a sauce and all the better for it. Excellent alongside a fennel and iceberg salad and the improbable cinnamon, caramelised onion and corn macaroni cheese.

A mistake to forgo duck bisteeya and braised goat with apricot? Probably. But for every swing there’s a roundabout called the Turkish delight soufflé served with a piece of pistachio and kataifi pastry “baklava” and halva ice cream.

Throw in some interesting wines, and a personable approach from staff, and you have Camus in a pistachio shell, a lovely, time-honoured package: the chef-owned restaurant. Long may it last.