Sunday, 22 March 2009

Modern Primitive: Wickedly Good

The question I always ask myself before escorting (some say frog-marching) visitors up the stairs to Modern Primitive is, "Have I talked it up too much?" Later, I find myself nervously holding my breath as they take their first bite of entree (e.g. spanner crab and gruyere thermidore on sourdough toast with harissa dressing). Eyes begin to widen in amazement and delight. And then the murmuring starts: "The flavours ... these flavours are incredible ..." Vindication. Yet again, this award-winning restaurant has lived up to its glowing reputation.


In the two years they've been open for business in Eumundi, owners Steve and Jo have left locals feeling rather smug that one of the best restaurants on the Sunshine Coast - make that Australia - can be found in their cosy little hinterland town. Okay, here is where I really start to talk it up:

1. Wickedly inventive menu. Take the rabbit, pistachio, bacon, marsala and cornichon terrine with goat curd and blueberry vinaigrette. A typical reaction on first reading is: "What the ...?" But the further you read, the more your imagination and taste buds awaken. You begin to drool. Thankfully someone had the foresight to laminate the cards.
2. First class produce: locally-sourced, homemade, and/or organic. Steve is as passionate as he is uncompromising. The man makes his own butter for heaven's sake. And his own bread, and ice cream ... If he doesn't have time to make it, it simply isn't on the menu.
3. Divine meals. There is some sort of alchemy happening out there in the kitchen - these dishes are far more than the sum of their parts. The other evening, we all fell for the duck. It was layer upon delicious layer of flavour, intensifying with each mouthful. A pomegranate vinaigrette had given a sticky sweet caramelisation to the crispy skin, below which the rich, perfectly cooked meat fell gently apart. Add the smoothness of creamy fetta, counterpointed by the crunch of cashews, shallots, and just the right amount of heat from the chilli and - hello taste bud heaven!
My fork dropped. Emboldened by a second glass of cab sav, I headed to the kitchen. "You're a genius," I announced. "No, I'm not ," Steve snorted, dismissing me with an airy wave of his knife. Meanwhile, back at the table, Phil was fielding a phone call: "I'm eating the best food in the universe. Go away!" (or words to that effect).
4. Blissful atmosphere. Out on the deck with the lights twinkling through the palms, the music tuned to chill, the summer rain falling softly on the roof, and under the spell of Jo's warm, relaxed, and yet perfectly attentive serice, you can't help but kick off your shoes and feel completely at home.
Steve, Jo - I have one thing to say to you. Never, never leave.


Modern Primitive:
Old Bakery Building, 101 Memorial Drive Eumundi. 5442 7946
Open for dinner Tuesday - Saturday from 6 pm. (lunch also possible - but phone ahead) BYO
Check out their uber-cool site but be warned, menu changes frequently due to availability of produce, and Steve's hyperactive imagination.
Postscript: Sadly, since the time of writing, Modern Primitive has closed its doors in Eumundi. But we're looking forward to eating more of Steve's amazing food - somewhere,  sometime soon.
(And it was one helluva farewell party!)

Thursday, 5 March 2009

Pining for Vinyl

To the left is Phil's Beomaster 6000 - a now vintage Bang and Olufsen, circa 1982. Sadly, the turntable is broken. Actually, it's been broken for a couple years, and may remain so for some time yet. Inspector Gadget has only so many hours in the day after all. Believe me, I'd clone him tomorrow if I could.
In the meantime though, I'm left pining for vinyl, and have been since the 19th of June 2007, when I scribbled the following entry in my diary:

In Lismore there's a cool record shop selling only vinyl, everything lovingly cleaned and in plastic sleeves, that makes you want to buy up all your old music again and listen to it slowly, on a turntable, and to hear it the way it's supposed to sound.
We were taking the long way home after a holidayette (read weekend) at Girraween Environmental Lodge. God that was a cold winter. It had been cold enough on the Sunshine Coast, and yet we'd decided to up the ante and spend a couple of days in the Granite Belt. But it was all part of a cunning, mini-hibernation plan: a cosy cabin, a crackling wood fire and a plump sofa; nothing outside but trees, a particularly bitey wind, and the odd wallaby; and best of all, no decisions required - at least, none more taxing than which cheese to eat with which local wine ... and which video to watch.

And there, waiting at the bottom of the thoughtfully provided basket of of DVDs, was Almost Famous, Cameron Crowe's autobiographical masterpiece for the children of seventies - or indeed (to quote groupie Sapphire) for "anyone who has ever loved a band, or some silly little piece of music, so much that it hurts". A film I'd foolishly overlooked until just this moment, it was about to join my top ten of all time.

Favourite scene number one (for me and just about everyone else, it seems): As William's sister Anita leaves home, she turns to whisper in his ear, "Look under the bed ... It will set you free. Listen to Tommy with a candle burning and you'll see your entire future." Cut to Anita's room, where a wide-eyed William uncovers her box of cherished albums, and slowly, one by one, flips through those magical, heartbreakingly familiar covers. Waves of nostalgia wash over me. I recognise that look of revelation and wonder in his eyes. For William, a portal has been opened on another, far better and more wondrous world.
Suddenly, quite suddenly, I want all my old records back.

The next day, on the long road home, I see the cool music shop.
Lismore, of course, is far from the only place selling vinyl. These days it seems almost every market stall and second-hand shop reserves a spot for records - often thoroughly dusted and catalogued, as opposed to cobwebbed and tossed in a pile. Despite its anticipated demise in the early 90s, the big black disc has hung on bravely, thanks mainly to all those audiophiles, rappers and DJs who wouldn't settle for anything less. And now, of course, there's the nostalgia factor, the collectability factor, and, for those poor deprived children of the digital generation, the romance of discovering a by-gone era.

For me though, it comes down to the Zen factor. It's why, despite my fondness for internet radio (no voices - lovely), and the joy of compiling quirky party playlists on I-tunes, I yearn for those familiar, almost forgotten rituals: the kneeling before the altar/turntable; the gazing at the beauty of the artwork; the reading of the liner notes; the gentle placing of the needle on the groove, and finally, the sinking down into deep pillows of aural bliss ... 

Home.