Restaurant review: Stokehouse

The new Stokehouse is better than the old in every way.

John Lethlean

2 min read

12:00AMMarch 18, 2017

Foreshore thing: Stokehouse knows its target market, and delivers beautifully. Picture: Jesse Marlow

As a metaphor for a reborn institution, it’s a good one. At one table of six, a cluster of women – 40s, well-groomed, properly accessorised – lunch long. It’s Thursday. At the other end of the New Stokehouse, as it is inevitably called these days since burning down and rising again in spectacular fashion, a gang of girls celebrates a friend’s 21st. They’re conspicuously beautiful, dressed according to the weather (minimally) and make their presence felt by constantly strolling through the dining room as they head out to the balcony.

The women look at the bright young things disapprovingly; the BYTs don’t notice the women. But somewhere, behind the scenes, someone must be smiling like the proverbial. For here is a dining room filled with both the past and the future. A demographic for which Stokehouse has always been a lovely spoil, and a whole new generation who aspire to the brand. And everyone’s having a good time.

Stokehouse, right on the St Kilda foreshore (please note, Perth), was an institution. What an intriguing dilemma they faced when the joint was razed in 2014: how to recapture what people loved about the old timber pavilion but in a vast, new concrete structure?

Let’s get down to business: the new Stokehouse is better than the old in every way. The hiatus has given management a chance to rethink what the place should be. They’ve repositioned – the prices, particularly for wine, are down. The look is a mix of adventurous architecture and relaxed interior design, and the foreshore is now more accessible to diners than ever.

The affable, professional service, always a hallmark of this restaurant, is still there. And as for the food, Stokehouse knows exactly what it’s doing, who it’s doing it for. Sunny, confident, thought-through; youthful and fresh enough to be hip, not so young as to be tragic. Produce is exceptional, flavours harmonious. You won’t marvel at radical thinking, but you should be very, very happy with what you taste and experience. The pitch is straight to the glove.

So there are morsels such as pickled oysters in the shell under seaweed froth, with just the right acid and briny intrigue. Or a most complex beef tartare blended with lime, fish sauce and shallot, finished with a toasted Parmesan streusel and a splodge of black fermented garlic puree. Classics, reimagined.

Dark and glossy grilled octopus (pictured) gets pickled tomatillo, romesco sauce and a black spring onion vinaigrette: a lovely, clever pas de deux of earthy smoked paprika and bright, citrusy fruit.

Not sure about “burnt onion and orange powder” but it looks lovely scattered on a penetrating sea parsley risotto made with scallop and orange stock. It goes on just like that: chicken breast wrapped in jamon and fresh peach, dusted with native spices, is outstanding; chargrilled pork fillet is equally so, served alongside honeydew melon, compressed with pink peppercorns, crisp saltbush and saltbush powder; even side dishes such as raw yellow zucchini batons with pickled walnut and a swipe of black curry paste on the bowl will make you sit up.

And then there’s The Bombe, the signature dessert. Sponge, white choc parfait, strawberry sorbet, torched Italian meringue, macerated strawberry slices: a classic that is better than it has ever been, by which I mean utterly brilliant.

Something else both sides of the room will agree on? This phoenix sure has wings.