Absence Makes My Heart Grow Fonder
So, where was Wednesday’s post? Turns out as it was my 5th year wedding anniversary, my husband decided to spirit me away. A three-day, two-night trip that we are still working our way back from (writing this in the car on my phone) that has been filled with so many memories and magical moments. While it hasn’t left much in the way of time for my creative goals, I was able to tick off one of my life goals: I was taken to Attica for dinner. Some of you may know the significance of that without explanation but because I'm so excited by it, I'm giving one anyway. Attica is a restaurant in Melbourne that has for the last 10 years been ranked within the top 100 best restaurants in the world.
I was first made aware of it in 2014 while I was studying commercial cookery with a focus on patisserie. I started to daydream about experiencing such a high class of food and whatever might accompany it. But then I watched the Chefs Table series on Netflix. In the first season it has a full episode dedicated to the head chef and his journey with cooking. I was undone. Turns out he grew up within villages of my home. We shared childhood stomping grounds. I suspect my father may have even taught him while he was at school. After that the daydream was cemented, he became lodged in my mind in the role of food rabbi, and I his dedicated disciple. I followed each award he received and watched every documentary appearance. I daydreamed multiple ways a potential meeting may play out.
A couple of years ago, a few days before my 30th birthday, my dreams were both made true and dashed in a single breath. My husband had managed to get reservations and keep it a secret (a feat in its own right), right up until he told me he won’t be making them. He was being posted interstate for work and wouldn’t be able to join me. I could not bring myself to go alone. Such a whirlwind of emotions - a desire relegated to daydream was made tantalisingly possible only to be stripped out of reach again. Within 10 days of moving to a new state, my birthday was spent in a pizza joint without my husband, without Attica and with some exceptionally new friends (most I met for the first time that night).
After a period of mourning, Attica was again relegated to daydream. Until Wednesday.
Over breakfast on our anniversary, I was coyly told I needed to pack an overnight bag, a vast redirect from the day at the beach I was led to believe we had ahead. Unfortunately for him, as soon as I knew something else was going on, the whole thing was revealed. It seems the only way he can keep secrets from me is to make sure I have no clue they exist. Instant tears. After resigning myself to my imagination as substitute for the experience, to actually be heading to Attica was enough to make me cry. I have never been so happy to endure the tediously boring drive down the Hume Highway.
I may not have gotten to meet my food rabbi (he was home playing the dutiful father to his children), but I did get to experience his exquisite culinary art. There is no other word for it. The flavours, the combinations, the layer after layer that revealed itself with each bite, it was like being able to lick the Mona Lisa.
The whole affair took just over 4 hours, 15 courses each with non-alcoholic drink pairings (I didn’t know you could have those!). Each mouthful a burst of combinations my overactive imagination had never managed to conceive of. It felt like doors of possibilities were opened where I hadn’t even realised the door existed let alone the worlds behind them.
The whole affair was all that I had hoped it would be, and while exceedingly expensive for the student that I am, it was worth every cent.
I only harbour one regret, I didn’t go full blown food writer on the joint and take detailed notes whenever they told us about the dish. While they very thoughtfully present the diners with a personalised menu of what each has consumed, it contained the names of the dishes not the detailed ingredients and combinations as described. The absence most noticeable when the very first dish is a combination of 11 mini dishes and sauces, all, in my opinion, worthy of their own menu mention.
Upon leaving the restaurant, I left long planned food offerings of a Whittakers Dark Chocolate Peanut Slab and a Whittakers L&P White Chocolate Slab (kiwi favourites) to the head chef, who at once feels so familiar and close in my mind through our shared childhood experiences and yet so aloof and far beyond any skill I could ever hope to possess in the culinary arts.
Before the next post I will return to my creative tasks and continue making progress, but for now I will continue to bask in the awesomeness that is my husband and ride this high home.