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GRACE NOTE
Clockwise from above:
the pass at 12-Micron;
interiors designed by SJB;
rôtisserie-roasted duck
with duck-fat potatoes,
spinach and pan juices.
The kitchen pass is done in lovely spotted gum.
The coat-hooks on the back of the toilet doors are
small works of art in themselves. Not much wool
to speak of, though.
There is a lamb dish on the menu – just the one- but I don’t think that’s the hook. So I delved deeper,
dear reader, and unearthed this piece of information
from one of the restaurant’s publicists: “The name
12-Micron is a nod to Australian farmers who are
dedicated to producing the very best products that
we source for the kitchen.” Okay, then. Glad we could
clear that up.
Nourse’s third law of restaurant common sense:
if your concept or name is too convoluted to be readily
explained by your most junior floor staff, it’s probably
time to go back to the drawing board. I’m also not sure
how all the designer Italian furniture and the lovely
Cutipol cutlery square with the celebration of Australia.
Besides, wool is not something I want to think about
while I’m eating. And that goes double for when I’m
eating sheep.
But eat the sheep you should, because it’s cooked
beautifully. It’s under the Land section (To graze on
the land the gods gave them) and, just to really gild
the lily, it has a special name in italics:Homage
to Flinders Island.
The meat has that fine, pale grain that makes the
Flinders stuff so appealing. “Shoulder, loin and lamb
gland,” intones the young man who brought the plate
from the kitchen as he points out the three cuts on the
plate. The shoulder is a neatly cut, burnished tile of
a thing, the loin cooked with just as much care. The
lamb... gland is a sweetbread (the thymus, I’d guess),
a pretty little chicken nugget of a thing, its bounce a
clever complement to the varied textures of the other
cuts and the attractively scone-like damper on the
plate. There are leaves of some sort of native spinach
in the mix, a ribbon of zucchini and a trickle of sauce
with not too much ironbark honey in it. Nice.
Also nice: fat little baby root vegetables baked in
paperbark, with a slick of goat’s curd. And the careful
curl of tortellini piped with goat’s cheese and dressed
with brown butter, cut with the sweet-sour tang of
fresh currants and charred radicchio. There’s a lobster
omelette that’s been done in the French way seldom
seen in Sydney restaurants – the egg a pure pale
yellow on the outside with no hint of browning.
A scatter of finely cut chives cooked into the inner
side is an elegant touch.
Can chickens fly enough to justify a place on the
Air section of the menu? Sidestep the argument and
order the duck instead. Their ability to fly is not in
dispute, and they come off the 12-Micron rôtisserie in
great nick. Many Sydney restaurants cook their duck
bagged in plastic in a water bath, giving it a quick sear
afterwards to try to crisp up the skin and impart some
flavour. It’s an approach that helps these kitchens offer
consistent results, but they’re not generally that great.
The fat doesn’t render out much and the meat often
has all the textural appeal of pink Hubba Bubba.
The duck at the Micron, though, has been roasted
emphatically, and has flavour and texture for days.
Where so much else in this restaurant is overdone,
there are pleasing moments of restraint in the food.
The choice to let the duck stand on its merits simply
with potatoes cooked in duck fat, a little spinach and
a splash of roasting juices is one such grace note.
Restraint is not a word I’d use in the context of the
dessert menu. For reasons known only to the Microns,
it’s called Scented. You might encounter a bit of a spiel
from the staff at the restaurant about it being all about
Australian produce, but I don’t think the team at the
dessert bar got the memo. Over my visits to 12-Micron,
I’ve seen the dessert list offer cherry blossom, mandarin
and yuzu, all out of season and quite possibly sourced