proud gonzo
10/21/2006, 12:19 AM
http://media.apn.co.nz/webcontent/image/jpg/18_Monsoon_Poon.JPG
Monsoon Poon, Auckland CBD
18.01.06
By Ewan Mcdonald for viva
Herald rating: * * * 1/2
Here is a god-figure from Indonesia, there is a Chinese lantern. Here a Rajasthani door, there a Thai window, a Malay trinket. Here is a tandoori, there is a Vietnamese roll, a Thai soup, Singapore fried noodles, Sichuan stir-fry.
It bills itself as a Southeast Asian trading house, a high-camp confection of flavours from the last days of empire. But Monsoon Poon is a coloniser, too.
The northern brother of a Wellington favourite, here it claims a loveless corner next to a parking building, under a flyover and opposite the Tepid Baths.
The empire-builders own the capital's much-awarded Arbitrageur, Terrace Villa homestays and Boulcott St Bistro. Their figurehead is Mike Egan, the Restaurant Association president.
But this is not fine dining. "It's fun dining," I told Herself as we camped next to the open kitchen. The wait-elf hovered to ask if we wanted water. We did. The wait-elf will appear about as often as a full-stop here.
Monsoon Poon is the sort of place where you can rush in, order a course or two, and there could be up to 20 of you. Just before Christmas, office parties were doing just that.
It might be a fun place, but Herself and I were serious about testing it. The wait-pixie took a look at our frames, which tend to indicate that we have enjoyed life to the full, and suggested that, yes, the meals were large but we could probably accommodate a couple of courses. Apiece.
So, three platters from the entree list: Krishna pakora (cauliflower, peppers and potato fried in chickpea flour batter); chilli salt and pepper squid with lime, sea salt and roasted Sichuan pepper; grilled chicken satay.
Kosher, this is not: this is a mix'n'match melting pot of cuisines. Tossed together by a group of artisans on the other side of the bench, our choices were fresh and tasty, especially the spicy chicken satay.
Licking last splashes of sauce from fingers, Herself looked up at bowls of ingredients reflected in a mirror above the counter. "I didn't see the cashews," she said, greedily. "They're done in chilli and lemongrass," I said. "We could get some while we're waiting ... "
"You won't have time," said the wait-sprite. "Meals arrive quickly here."
Barely a glass into a spicy Churton pinot noir - they give good wine here, which you might suspect from their other establishments, and at remarkable prices - bowls of firecracker chicken, golden lemon chicken and coconut rice arrived.
A word about firecracker chicken, which is a signature dish, and that word is: hot. Rubbed with chilli and breadcrumbs, it's fried and served in a ha-ha-ha-searing Malay paste.
A sub-continent away, the other dish was fried twice, served in a lemon sauce. "Sweet and tangy," the menu said, and it did not lie.
These dishes go out at $18 for a fair-sized serving. These Wellington types might bring about a decrease in Auckland's conspicuous consumption.
Herself and I were on a roll, and desserts beckoned. No, they were waving at us. Chocolate cake with orange chutney and brandied vanilla sauce? "What about a dessert cocktail?" Herself suggested. Called Feng Shui, the architectural metaphor is unclear; the spiritual references were lime sorbet, papaya, limoncello, vodka.
We slurped our way through these high-camp confections, feeling this was a cruisy place you wouldn't mind going back to. And back to.
Monsoon Poon, Auckland CBD
18.01.06
By Ewan Mcdonald for viva
Herald rating: * * * 1/2
Here is a god-figure from Indonesia, there is a Chinese lantern. Here a Rajasthani door, there a Thai window, a Malay trinket. Here is a tandoori, there is a Vietnamese roll, a Thai soup, Singapore fried noodles, Sichuan stir-fry.
It bills itself as a Southeast Asian trading house, a high-camp confection of flavours from the last days of empire. But Monsoon Poon is a coloniser, too.
The northern brother of a Wellington favourite, here it claims a loveless corner next to a parking building, under a flyover and opposite the Tepid Baths.
The empire-builders own the capital's much-awarded Arbitrageur, Terrace Villa homestays and Boulcott St Bistro. Their figurehead is Mike Egan, the Restaurant Association president.
But this is not fine dining. "It's fun dining," I told Herself as we camped next to the open kitchen. The wait-elf hovered to ask if we wanted water. We did. The wait-elf will appear about as often as a full-stop here.
Monsoon Poon is the sort of place where you can rush in, order a course or two, and there could be up to 20 of you. Just before Christmas, office parties were doing just that.
It might be a fun place, but Herself and I were serious about testing it. The wait-pixie took a look at our frames, which tend to indicate that we have enjoyed life to the full, and suggested that, yes, the meals were large but we could probably accommodate a couple of courses. Apiece.
So, three platters from the entree list: Krishna pakora (cauliflower, peppers and potato fried in chickpea flour batter); chilli salt and pepper squid with lime, sea salt and roasted Sichuan pepper; grilled chicken satay.
Kosher, this is not: this is a mix'n'match melting pot of cuisines. Tossed together by a group of artisans on the other side of the bench, our choices were fresh and tasty, especially the spicy chicken satay.
Licking last splashes of sauce from fingers, Herself looked up at bowls of ingredients reflected in a mirror above the counter. "I didn't see the cashews," she said, greedily. "They're done in chilli and lemongrass," I said. "We could get some while we're waiting ... "
"You won't have time," said the wait-sprite. "Meals arrive quickly here."
Barely a glass into a spicy Churton pinot noir - they give good wine here, which you might suspect from their other establishments, and at remarkable prices - bowls of firecracker chicken, golden lemon chicken and coconut rice arrived.
A word about firecracker chicken, which is a signature dish, and that word is: hot. Rubbed with chilli and breadcrumbs, it's fried and served in a ha-ha-ha-searing Malay paste.
A sub-continent away, the other dish was fried twice, served in a lemon sauce. "Sweet and tangy," the menu said, and it did not lie.
These dishes go out at $18 for a fair-sized serving. These Wellington types might bring about a decrease in Auckland's conspicuous consumption.
Herself and I were on a roll, and desserts beckoned. No, they were waving at us. Chocolate cake with orange chutney and brandied vanilla sauce? "What about a dessert cocktail?" Herself suggested. Called Feng Shui, the architectural metaphor is unclear; the spiritual references were lime sorbet, papaya, limoncello, vodka.
We slurped our way through these high-camp confections, feeling this was a cruisy place you wouldn't mind going back to. And back to.