J
ust order the crab. Commit
now, even before you pick
up the phone or flex your
clicking-finger to make the
booking. Commit to the idea of
plonking down $125 for a single
dish. You won’t regret a cent.
You could do Bert’s on the
cheap. The pâté en croûte, a
terrine of game and pork framed
by pastry and quince, lands at
$21, and then there’s a $33 plate
of pappardelle with a ragù of
duck braised in anise and vinegar.
Throw in an $18 elderflower and
passionfruit pav and a couple
of glasses of wine and you’d still
have change from your $125. But
you wouldn’t have the crab. And
that would be unfortunate.
Chefs Jordan Toft and Sam
Kane take the crab, roast it in
the wood-fired oven in their
gleaming open kitchen, pull
out every shred of meat, and
fold it with a little Basque chilli
powder and breadcrumbs. They
return it to the shell, and send
it to the table with a tiny silver
shaker of chilli, just in case you
like it spicier. It’s sweet, rich,
buttery and utterly devastating.
I ask the waitress how many of
the little shakers have disappeared.
We’ve only got three left, she
says with a grin. They’re quickneatly wrapped in muslin before
it’s brought to the table.
Think of it as a country club
where the only qualification for
membership is a love of crab and
Burgundy and a willingness to part
with serious money to get them.
You could complement the
crab with a Tenuta delle Terre
Nere white blend from Etna, or
a more voluptuous aligoté bottled
by Jean-Claude Ramonet, maker
of some of the finest white wines
in Burgundy. Or a lot more
besides: the wine list at Bert’s
is a joy, running from classic
go-Aussie stock that has been in
the cellar for years through to moreClockwise from
above: chefs
Jordan Toft (left)
and Sam Kane;
hand-picked
mud crab roasted
Basque style;
anchovy fillets
with lemon-thyme
oil and black
pepper served
with fried buns.A glam new brasserie atop The
Newport boasts crab worth crossing
bridges for, writesPAT NOURSE.
Join
the club
with a smile on the floor, and
they know their business.
A quality of thoughtfulness
runs throughout the Bert’s
experience. You might be atop
the heaving Newport hotel, its beer
garden clustered thickly with hens’
parties and free-range children,
but upstairs it’s a soigné scene,
from the fiddle-leaf figs and caged
finches at the entrance through
to the loungey, richly upholstered
and sun-filled spaces beyond. The
ceilings are masked in wicker to
soften the acoustics. The plates are
monogrammed, the bread plates are
lined with linen. If there’s a lemon
for the squeezing,it’ll have been54 GOURMET TRAVELLER