“Sohan o sashiagemasu,” (I shall begin to serve the humble meal) pronounces the host as he kneels on the straw tatami mat in front of the head guest and offers a black lacquered tray, his head slightly bowed.

The head guest turns to second guest and says “O-saki ni,” (excuse me for going ahead of you) and edges forward, accepting the tray and bowing to the host in return. He slides back to his original position and brings the tray closer, curious as to the contents of the two simple lidded enamelware bowls, admiring the elegant placement of sashimi on the mukōzuke (main dish).

As the host hands the rest of the trays to the remaining eight guests, he instructs “O-hashi o o-tori kudasai,” (please take your chopsticks), before deftly switching to English. “It is at this point that you may take the lids from the meshiwan and shiruwan”, he points at the two covered bowls, “and place one on top of the other to the right of the tray. You may then sample the rice. This is called ichimonji – the first taste of rice. It gives the guest an idea of what is to come.”

What is to come is a four-hour lesson in the art of cha-kaiseki, an ancient style of cuisine that accompanies chanoyu, Japanese tea ceremony. For the students in this small apartment in the inner suburbs of Melbourne, it offers a fascinating insight into a traditional art of Japan. For host and teacher of Ueda Sōko Ryū (‘Ryū’ meaning ‘school’ in Japanese), Adam Wojcinski, it is his passion. “Personally, the tea ceremony condenses all my interests and passions into the one form: Zen, art and Japanese. The greatest appeal of the tea ceremony for me is that I am continuously bettering myself through its practice and I feel it beautifies my relations and interactions with others.”

Japanese tea ceremony evolved over many centuries, encapsulating tea drinking rituals and customs first cultivated in the temples of Zen Buddhists. The practice made its way into the merchant and military elite, becoming popular as a form of hospitality. It wasn’t until the sixteenth century when a merchant’s son took an interest, that tea ceremony was truly formalised. Sen no Rikyū studied and then codified the art under the tutelage of various temples and tea masters.

The Ueda Sōko Ryū is a unique school of tea in that it originated from the samurai nobility under warlord leader Ueda Sōko. Ueda trained under Sen no Rikyū, and the customs, etiquette and values of the samurai are woven directly into practice. Schools such as this are known as Buke-cha. The form is said to be dignified and beautiful as it is performed in harmony with the breath and without wasted movement. The custom also values wabi-cha, a form of ceremony practised in small tearooms utilising rustic utensils, such as wooden stands without lacquer and tea bowls without glaze. It emphasises the simplicity, authenticity and imperfection of nature.

Adam’s interest in tea ceremony was piqued after attending tea ceremony at the Ueda Sōko Ryū in Japan. He had received a scholarship to study at Hijiyama University in Hiroshima in September 2000 and, as part of the annual University Festival, he was introduced to the art. “The sensei (teacher) liked my style in the tea room, and asked me to come back the following day to help.”

What followed was a weekly ritual of learning different styles of tea ceremony, appreciation of the other traditional Japanese arts such as calligraphy, ceramics, poetry, flower placement and kaiseki cuisine. “When I returned to Melbourne to complete my [academic] studies I continued tea ceremony by practising myself at home. Nearing the end of my studies I wrote to sensei asking if I could continue studying tea after graduation. I received an emphatic ‘yes’ and I returned to Hiroshima, to live this time, straight after graduation.”

Adam found the Japanese people to be very receptive to his sincere desire to learn the art of tea ceremony. One of the biggest hurdles was understanding the nuance and subtlety of the language, especially in the very formal world of tea ceremony. “I am sure I insulted and offended people many, many more times than I am aware of,” he confesses. “One person in my practice group had made a special dish just for me. I was very moved by what she had done and wanted to say ‘I feel bad’. I ended up saying in front of very senior sensei that what she had done ‘made me feel sick’. Japanese people almost never correct or admonish you if you make a mistake in language. That was one time I was very sternly corrected. I have never forgotten the expression ‘ki no doku (I feel bad)’ after that experience!”

Towards the end of 2005, Adam returned to Melbourne and was encouraged by his sensei to continue his studies and introduce the Ueda Sōko school to others. “The idea of having no formal tea practice left me with feelings of utter emptiness. I wanted to create, at least in some part, a setting where I could share my passion for the tea ceremony and love of practice. I also had in the back of my mind the understanding that any public performance or demonstrations here in Melbourne would be impossible without others.”

He started advertising a tea ceremony group on local noticeboards at Universities and in Japanese supermarkets, restaurants and related organisations. He also thought long and hard about what equipment he would need in order to teach Melbournians about tea. He even had to organise a special import permit with AQIS to bring in special low-smoking charcoal required for heating the water. “I tried making my own charcoal, but on the first run I almost smoked everyone out!”

Slowly Adam started to gather students around him who were as keen to learn about tea ceremony as he was. Classes are held each Saturday in his home, and around ten students attend on a regular basis. They practice temae (tea making procedure), with everyone performing at least once during the session. They also learn guest etiquette, how to serve and drink tea and sweets in the proper manner, the study of Zen and nature poems, kaiseki cuisine, Japanese sweet-making and even how to dress in kimono.

Interestingly, it is the diversity of Adam’s students that makes the class really special. Ranging anywhere from ten to sixty years of age, the make-up of the group swings from software engineer to retired architect, Korean travel agent to procurement consultant, student to soon to be English teacher in Japan. Despite the differences, a common love for the traditional arts of Japan brings them together.

Bria, a twenty-something procurement consultant, has been studying tea ceremony and kaiseki for about two years. She also has a keen interest in preparing the delicate food. “Adam and I were working till midnight last night in preparation for today, and I was up again early to head to the market for fresh ingredients. Adam wrote me a shopping list, but I couldn’t find red carrots, which are common in Japan. Anyway, I made it back to his place and we started again at 8am.”

The kaiseki ceremony commenced at 11am, and what proceeded was an exquisite and delicate seven-course banquet. “The idea behind kaiseki is it’s just enough to fill you up. Nothing too much. Zen monks used to substitute a small meal to keep them going through their training. The name actually comes from a stone they kept close to their stomach to keep them warm at night to meditate. With the same sort of idea, kaiseki is just enough to keep you going,” advised Adam.

“Some things we’ve done for the first time,” confided Bria with a grin. “So we were a little worried. But it was practice for us as well.”

Practice is something Adam definitely has learned the value of. “I remember the first time I did this in Melbourne, I did everything by myself. I was such a stickler for doing things the right way - by the book - to make sure it would be done just right. One of the things I tried to prepare myself was sashimi, and I failed miserably as there were a couple of bones in it. I’ve learned a lot since then.”

Hapuka sashimi with a little knob of wasabi to the side

Thick, creamy Miso soup made with about 80% white miso. A round of daikon sits in the middle, garnished with a dollop of hot mustard and two red beans

Shrimp and tofu dumpling in a deep red bowl of light dashi broth, artistically placed with a walnut kernel, single sliced green bean, conjoined mushrooms and a few curls of lemon rind

The aemono (dressed dish) consisted of blanched spinach, enoki mushrooms and konnyaku (jelly made from the konnyaku root) with a flavouring of konbu dashi, sake, mirin, shoyu and Murray River pink salt

Lightly grilled tempeh with nori and avocado

Oysters with a panko and yuzu

Japanese style pickles including daikon, takanazuke and eggplant

Omogashi

After the kaiseki meal, the group moves on to the omogashi - the main sweet offered before the koicha tea ceremony. The guest opens the fuchidaka (stacked box of lacquered trays) to reveal the sweets; small balls of sweetened bean paste, decorated with three goji berries. It becomes apparent how important design is to each dish. “The sweet looks quite effective with the black. The thought behind it is that when you open up the black fuchidaka in the dark room, the red is more striking against the black background as compared to the orange of an apricot that I have used for this sweet in the past. I wanted to raise the tension in the charged atmosphere, which is the atmosphere of the koicha.”

Koicha, a thick version of macha (green tea), is prepared for tea ceremony. “It is made with the very youngest leaves of the tea plant. So just as the leaves are starting to shoot up the youngest ones are taken off and ground up. That’s why you can have it so thick, as it doesn’t have the astringency of the older leaves on the bush. The older leaves are used to make the thinner version of macha, usacha.”

Adam preparing the koicha

As Adam prepares for the tea ceremony, the blinds are drawn to intensify the mood, the charcoal stoked and the hot water rises to an intense boil. Adam ritually cleans each utensil in front of his students – tea bowl, whisk and scoop. Once this is done he measures the macha and places it into the bowl, adding a small amount of boiling water. He then begins to work the tea in with the piping hot water in slow, steady movements – the utensils and body coming together in harmony. “You don’t want to create bubbles in koicha, so you work the tea into a liquid in controlled movements. 150 times to be exact. At 150 the beverage takes on a natural sheen.”

The tea is served and the head guest is the first to sample the thick green brew – the flavour is vibrant. The head guest cleans the rim of the bowl and passes it to the next guest with a bow.

After all the guests have taken tea, Adam cleans the utensils and prepares them for inspection and admiration by the students. The appreciation of bowls, tea caddy and tea scoop is an important part of the tea ceremony and the utensils are handled with extreme care as they may be antique or unique. Adam collects the utensils and bows his exit from the room.

Once the ceremony is over, the mood becomes more casual and the students gather to wash dishes, discuss the next lesson or demonstration, and to chat about previous and up-coming trips to Japan (a very common theme). Adam, too, was excited to report from his last trip, “Things took a step up last year in October when I had talks with the 16th Grandmaster of our school, Ueda Sokei, on a study trip to Japan. Everything is still in its infancy, but we are now going ahead to establish a formal practice location with direct support from the Schools Headquarters.”

Such fervent dedication to the art of Japanese tea ceremony requires patience and perseverance. When asked if it was difficult to start the school and share his knowledge, Adam replied “I must answer bluntly that nothing seems difficult when you love what you’re doing.”

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Japanese Tea Ceremony practice is held in Hawthorn on Saturday mornings, and new members are welcomed. Contact Adam at:

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Note: You may have noticed this is not my usual style of writing, but I hope you enjoyed my foray into feature writing.

The motto of Creperie Le Triskel is “Arrogantly French” - it is cheekily written on their window and business cards. From what I’ve experienced at Le Triskel so far, I think it should be “Delightfully French” instead.  Located in the perenially busy Hardware Lane district, Le Triskel (along with Sette Bello) is culinary breath of fresh air in sea of less than inspiring cafes and restaurants. Why? Well there seems to be an aura of authenticity, and of pride in producing something unique and good.

It is also overtly French; from the owner and staff (who all chatter away, sing and even whistle in French), to the food (galettes and crepes), reading material (French magazines - Vogue etc.), soundtrack (yes, I did hear Serge Gainsbourg crooning there at some stage), drinks (French cordials such as Grenadine and softdrinks such as Orangina) and coffee (oh yes…proper cafe au lait…in a bowl!).  What is most impressive, and what we are here for though, is the food.

Galettes. Yes, the proper buckwheat type. Served as a savoury dish along with a crisp green salad.  And crepes. Yes, the wheat kind. These are kept for the sweet stuff.

I chose the La Broceliandre, a buckwheat galette enveloping (literally) Swiss Gruyere cheese, bechamel sauce, mushrooms and prosciutto. The galette itself was still supple and tender, yet easy to cut with the knife. A mixed gourmet leaf salad was served in a bowl to the side, garnished with sesame seeds and a light vinegarette. Two small rounds of crispy baguette sat to the side.

The filling?  Well as you can see, it was good.  The cheesy nutty creaminess of the Gruyere and bechamel was a good vehicle for coating the mushrooms and salty Italian cured ham.

Dan went with the L’estivale galette - smoked salmon, ricotta and chives, topped with semi-dried tomatoes, bocconcini cheese and a wedge of lemon. He just about licked his plate clean.

I couldn’t leave without sampling their sweet crepes, and in this instance, we shared the French Chestnut puree.  Oh my.  The crepe was so delicate and light, it was almost as thin as a wafer. It was spread with just the right amount of sweet chestnut paste too. To be honest, this left Concorde for dead.

We went back for breakfast on another day and had the cafe au lait (in a bowl) with toasted baguette and strawberry jam.  They served the toasts on a communal plate; four long batons of baguette spread generously with butter and jam.  I just love dipping the bread into my milky coffee.

I like this place, even though I think they’re still finding their feet a wee bit (sometimes service can be a little scatty).  But I say that in the nicest possibly way - just smile and say c’est la vie!

I don’t know who Georgio is, but heck, he makes a damn fine ricotta! You can pick a tub of the good stuff at Bill’s Farm at Vic Market. The supply is haphazard at best, so if you see it, grab it and eat it…quickly. It is apparently made in Thomastown, so I’m wondering whether it might a little pet project of someone over at Pantalica or Floridia Cheese? Either way it absolutely rocks - it is wickedly creamy, a little nutty, semi-sweet with a delicate texture. Spread simply on toasted baguette, it has to be one of the best ricotta’s around.

For those of you who were interested, Palau Cafe (that little Indonesian/Malaysian eatery located in the bright orange hallway of a public car park) is no longer. Perhaps it was the whiff of car exhaust fumes which drove all the customers away? Or the lulling sounds of accelerating and speed-bumping cars, and coins being dropped into PayStations?  Or maybe it was just the bad Malay/Indo bain-marie food on offer?  Anyway, we needn’t worry about such things now. Shabu Shabu Buffet is coming soon to Lonsdale Street.

At least they’ve gone a little way to making it feel a bit more like a restaurant. They have erected a glass wall to muffle the sound and obscure the view of the car park. I only hope they have improved the ventilation!

But my mind ponders the concept of Shabu Shabu Buffet. Is it an all you can eat hot pot type place? Or will it be more dainty and Japanese like? Hmm…keep you posted.

I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Shoya (you can read about previous experiences here, here and here).  They have often taken my breath away with the quality of their ingredients and execution of their dishes, hence the reason I keep returning. At other times, well…I am just stumped at how wrong they can get it.

On this occassion we chose the $100 Chef’s Omakase - upsold from the $85 degustation at the promise of some delectable Hokkaido crab.

We started with the unagi canape, a stunning mouthful of flavours that must be taken in one singular and mouthwatering bite.  On the bottom, a caramalised slice of unagi (eel) marinated in miso, topped with sweet flakes of crab meat, some finely sliced chilli, salty poppy salmon roe and a dirty big slice of black truffle.  Oh yes…this one was bang on right.

Also a winner was the grilled miso sea perch (which is similar in style to Nobu’s black cod with miso). It was layered with a slice of foie gras, creamy tomato mousse, a slice of sweet and umami smoked perch roe and a singular edamame.  Once again a perfect creamy combination of flavours.

One thing they do *really* well at Shoya is the sashimi, and this assortment was a study in how sashimi should be done. Sitting in an iced dome, tiles of orangey-pink salmon, deep red tuna, opaque and perky swordfish, a rosette of kingfish (with tobiko roe in the centre) and some sea urchin roe spiked with gold leaf. If it was any fresher it would be swimming and blowing bubbles in water, and each piece elicited one of those eyes-closed-savour-the-moment type moments.

This canape was unusual and teetered on the “I’m not so sure” fence, possibly because it was lukewarm verging on cold.  A spinach pancake/sponge contained a farce (fine pressed mince) of beef, topped with a slice of grilled ox-tongue. The plate was decorated with jus, edamame and pine kernals.  All the flavours were there, but it was just not right; the plate and the food were cold.

Then to the dish we were waiting for - Hokkaido crab.  The long meaty legs (these things were 30cm long!) had been mostly shelled with only the tips remaining incased, and then tempura’d in crisp batter.  Wedges of lemon and a dish of green tea salt sat to the side, perfect for seasoning.  This really was the highlight of the night. The crab meat was succulent.

Almost toro-like tuna had been rolled in shreds of nori and grilled quickly to remain pink in the centre. Unfortunately (like the ox-tongue) this dish was tepid and served on a cold plate.  As the kitchen is downstairs, I’m wondering whether it sat on the pass for a wee while?  I don’t know if it’s just me, but sometimes you can taste when food is “alive”, when it’s just been seared or grilled or dressed or prepared.  This just felt a little on the “dead” side (no pun intended).

Next up was the wagyu, which *should* have been a highlight of the meal.  It was served on what I gather was a baked sliced potato torte, which was stale, overcooked and not at all pleasant. The wagyu, grilled rare to the point of raw, was submerged in a truffle sauce and garnished with even more slices of black truffle. The elements of this dish alone would have cost an arm and a leg, yet they f#@ked it up by serving it cold!  I just don’t get it! You can see it was hot at one stage as the black tuffle slice on top had gone limp (not like the perky slices on the unagi canape). So why serve up such premium ingredients so poorly?

Anyway, it was the end of our omakase and we were onto desserts.  We had their siganture sea urchin cheesecake, which is described as a “surprise mix of fresh sea urchin smothered and cooked to make perfect and surprising cheesecake”.  Surprise! It was indeed an interesting dessert - quite unexplainable actually.  To the side was the kurogoma panacotta, or black sesame pudding covered with soy bean and green tea powder. Despite the fact it looked like a blob, and was ever so disconcerting colourwise, it tasted a treat!

So, at the end of this experience, what were my thoughts?  Well, I thought the food was hit and miss, the biggest miss being the wagyu.  The first couple of canapes, the sashimi and the crab were absolutely awesome.  I also found the presentation, while it looked a stunning, to be difficult to manage.  There were five of us eating, and some of the canapes especially were hard to pick up without ruining the integrity of the presentation.  The service on the night was also good, which is a great improvement on some previous visits.

The Meat Pie is as iconic as they come as far as Australia’s National Dish is concerned. This hand held package of pastry, meat and gravy is as much lauded as it is loathed (body parts and gravy anyone?). Despite that, I reckon you can’t beat a good meat pie, and one of the more traditional versions can be found at Dinkum Pies in Block Place.

This pie shop feels like it has been time-warped out of country Victoria circa 1960.  The shopfront and decor is incredibly retro, and not in that forced designer cool kind of way either. This my friends is the real deal.  Inside…well, lets just say that your eyes won’t rest long for want of something to read while you consume your pie. Laminated posters adorn most of the walls, with one particularly amusing piece advising “When it’s brown it’s cooked. When it’s black it’s buggered.”

Luckily we chose the non-buggered versions. To start with the pie case is made with a good shortcrust pastry - firm and not too soggy. Then check out the layers of lovely buttery yellowy puffy pastry on top! You can just tell that this is going to taste good.

Inside, the beef, gravy and mushrooms (yes, you can see one peeking through to the left) is hearty and flavoursome. Slather the lot in tomato sauce and bite in, careful not to scorch the roof of your mouth.

Or you might go a Shepherd’s (otherwise known as the Meat and Potato) - short crust pastry filled with a beef mince, carrot, onion, celery and tomato gravy. Instead of a puff pastry top, a piped swirl of yellow mashed potato prevents the meat from escaping.

Along with the regulars (and yes, they even have vegetarian pies), they also do a roaring trade in country bakery type pastries; hedgehogs, apple cakes, matchsticks, fruit mince slices, scones, yo yo’s and eclairs.

For more Dinkum Pie goodness check out the review at Secret Melbourne. But if it’s just pies you’re after, you can’t go past Piecon.

I just love that you can find such an honest, authentic, down to earth bit of Australiana smack bang in the CBD.  All is not lost!

I had managed to elude the siren-like yell of Concorde Crepes for months, despite the alluring aroma of cooking batter wafting down the street near the GPO.  It was just never the right time to partake in the extra calories; I was always coming back from or going to a meal, and the internal argument dialogue I had with myself always talked my stomach out of it.  Then my friend Bria suggested we try it for lunch one day, and my resolve was shattered.

Concorde Crepes is the brainchild of Maurice Manno (formerly of Superfino and Aix), who seems to have the golden touch (similar to Mr.Christopolous) with starting up funky new eating places/spaces. He’s got the theory right - do something simple, but do it well, with only the best of ingredients. Tick, tick and tick.

I started with a savoury course - wafer thin slices of prosciutto, freshly podded peas, torn basil leaves, slices of tomato and fresh buffalo mozzarella ($9.90). On the menu it was also listed with anchovies, but I didn’t really feel like them so asked for them to be left out.  Too easy. So nice to see it made fresh before my eyes.

Even nicer was to eat it hot off the crepe plate, warm and oozing with mozzarella cheese. The crepe was thin and tender, wrapped around the filling and placed into a cardboard holder for your eating convenience.

Also on offer are crepes such as vegemite and jarlsberg cheese ($5.50 - I must try this next), free-range tandoori chicken with raita, mint and coriander ($9.90), or even peking duck, cucumber, baby cos lettuce and hoisin ($12.90).  All the other cheesy and/or traditional favourites are also there.

Next was dessert, and despite being tempted by the banana, ricotta, almond and maple syrup ($7.90) or stewed apple, cinnamon and organic Gippsland yoghurt ($6.90), I went with the simple yet satisfying honey version. Oh yes. This is the way to end a meal.

I will be back.

Over the next 10 weeks the RSS feed on tummyrumbles.com will feature on the hospitality industry and food focused website I eat I drink I work.  We won’t be alone - Ed from Tomato and Lucy from Nourish Me will also be sharing the spotlight. Thanks guys for having us on board!

Apart from eating, drinking and working (which we do, some more than others), ElegantGourmand (now outed as Dan) and I (Mellie) also shop, play, live and sleep in the city.  Yes, we are two dainty CBDites who are passionately keen on eating our way across town and keeping a log of it for posterity.

So welcome to any new readers who come here via I eat I drink I work. Please feel free to leave your thoughts, questions, ideas etc. in the comments. Happy eating!

Von Haus has been the darling of the dead-tree media the last few months, which is probably reason why I’ve held off writing about it.  The problem is, Von Haus is cool, and oh so cool at that. It is also teeny-tiny, and when EG and I first popped in for a drink and a bite, it was so deliciously quiet and romantic that we held this dear little secret place close to our hearts.  Then came the media, the throng - and that coveted spot at the window overlooking Crossley to Pellegrini’s is one of the most sought after bar spots in Melbourne. There is now a buzz in the air, and I must admit I lament the loss of what was so deliciously hidden.  So why post about it now?  Well since everyone is talking about it, I may as well add my two cents worth! To be honest, I’m also excited by their food (and drink), and wish to share some of the great dishes we consumed.

The Crossley Buildings in which Von Haus is located was erected in 1849, even before the colony of Victoria had been declared a state (which is why the logo for Von Haus says it was established in New South Wales). The space seats a cosy 30 people and you perch yourselves on high wooden stools at small share tables or one long communal table. The walls are distressed and there is a definite patina about the place - it feels like it’s been around forever.  The details impress; the mirrored splashback in the kitchen were shaving mirrors found in boxes in the old storage room of the building post wine bar renovation, and the botanic displays are care of Rupert Duffy’s (owner of Von Haus and ex-Manager of Misty) wife - a very talented lass.

Take your pick from the small menu which changes every few hours on the Chef’s whim, and wines by the glass are the first four bottles of red and white opened on the day.

This is the kind of fare that has people clamouring. The ploughman’s plate: aged west country cheddar, boiled egg, apple, cornichons, pickled onion and chutney with thick chunks of sourdough bread and serve-yourself butter ($12). And how can you resist a glass of the finest Henry of Harcourt apple cider ($5). The perfect match to such a rustic dish.

EG was feeling virtuous and chose a bowl of organic brown rice with fresh and pickled vegies, kelp, sesame seeds and tamari ($12). It was health in a bowl if I ever saw it, and EG savoured every mouthful.

On another visit (it was a particularly cold wintery rainy day), I was lured by a leek and potato soup ($8.50). Now what I loved about this dish was it wasn’t all pureed to a mush (my biggest pet peeve). I love a soup with chunks (…not the cold tinny type), that has body, substance and bite. The potatoes and leeks were sliced thinly into discs, and sat in the thickish infused stock.  A dollop of sour cream and a garnish of black pepper and chives finished it off.  Well…nearly.  Then came the (again) magnificent sour dough bread with the serve yourself butter.

EG, on this cold wintery day, went with the other special, a chicken stew with ‘haus’kraut (sauerkraut) and parmesan potatoes.  This is a perfect example of the type of slow cooked dishes you can expect on the daily meny. Hearty, peasanty, honest to goodness fare.

Oh…and just in case you can’t find it, this is the door.

Top tier: Umeboshi plum (mmm, I so love these at the moment), and Japanese short grain rice mixed with a few multigrains.

Bottom tier: Pan fried chicken, steamed broccoli stems (don’t let them go to waste!), cherry tomatoes, sauted red peppers with daikon and sesame.

The pan fried chicken was really easy to make, and was lovely and moist.  I cut scallops sized chunks from a single chicken breast (this fed two of us) and flattened them out a little with my hand. I dreged them in a little seasoned rice flour and dipped them into a beaten egg.  Then time to cook - straight into a hot pan with a dash of olive oil and a few drops of sesame oil (for taste).