childfree days are precious ’round these parts, so errands are carefully scheduled and executed with military precision (that is, the precision of an army of flying monkeys).

for example: last friday morning, in the three hours after peeling the kid off my arm at playschool — “hold my hand,” she cried to me as miss sarah carried her off to the playground, “very tightly.” — i bought a package of large envelopes from kmart, then hustled over to my accountant in surry hills to deliver a year’s worth of receipts and bank statements stuffed into one of these envelopes; i just made the train to the blood bank, where i deposited 470ml of my finest red; afterwards, there was exactly enough time to try (and fail) to find a refill of shichimi togarashi at the japanese minimart on clarence street, before crossing the street to bécasse.

the last of which, i suppose, wasn’t really an errand at all. hurrah!

deborah and i were doing lunch as part of good food month, and there was a lot of lunching going on when we arrived. it was close to 2, but most tables were still occupied. we were led up the stairs at the back of the main dining room, to a table right at the very back corner of the mezzanine. it’s a very strange space, is becasse: a beige (gold, if you’re being kind) curtain runs the entire length of the restaurant, for acoustic reasons i guess; there is interesting feature lighting down front, but up where we were, it was recessed downlights and vents galore in the low, white ceiling; the wall alongside our table was white too, with a disconcertingly drippy sort of stain beneath the airconditioning vent; the carpet was beige. it all lent an air of function-room-in-an-office-building to the proceedings.

fortunately, instead of annoying paper salesmen, there were efficient waiters gliding across the floor, and it wasn’t long before one of them brought a small platter of amuse bouche to our table. small bites served in chinese soup spoons usually irk me, but the fleeting and delicious mouthful of shaved fennel and smoked trout more than made up for it.

we’d been presented with the special let’s do lunch menu, and it contained a number of extras with which to supplement the $35 main course price tag. we eschewed the two entrees (a scallop risotto and a wagyu beef salad), made a note of the dessert (a praline parfait for $15 — regular desserts are around $20), and boldly asked for a serve of bread. “one each?” asked the waiter.

alright then.

we were each served two adorable little rolls — poppyseed and sourdough — and a wonderful and aromatic rosemary… um, vine, with a block of olive oil emulsion. which was a cold mass that held its shape until it hit your tongue and liquified into a rich, fruity taste. pretty good for $5.

the main course of slow roast provencal lamb with spring vegetables, olive and herb vinaigrette arrived. oh! so pink and tender! so casually adorned with broad beans. so buttery and herbalicious the quenelle of potato. and, most importantly, so appropriate a size as to allow ample room for dessert.

the room had mostly emptied by the time we’d finished eating our meat, and our waiter had grown ever more personable. we hesitated only the briefest moment when he asked about dessert, and he read the situation correctly, and offered to bring us the regular dessert menu because it was “more exciting”.

and this is how we ended up with a surprise pre-dessert course: a tiny, delicate panna cotta with wine-poached pears, wearing a fine, tasty biscuit at a jaunty angle.

pre-dessert!

oh yes, we did chortle at our good fortune, and were somehow still overcome with wonder when dessert proper was brought to the table.

my chocolate and caramel cadeau was just as the waiter had described — a dome of chocolate mousse with a caramel heart, encased in chocolate, and then more chocolate “to make it shiny” — only better. just look how it shines! the mousse was icy cold and dense, almost solid really, and a burst of intense chocolatiness. the milk sorbet was perfect respite.

deb’s strawberry trifle with cinnamon donuts was an impossibly pretty dish. all the key ingredients were there: sponge cake at the very bottom, vanilla-flecked custard, a pure and genius layer of strawberry jelly over the lot that served as a bright canvas for the donut artistry. they were chewy delight, still hot from the fryer, with the cinnamon flavour echoed in the cinnamon ice cream.

by the time we were done, our $35 booking had just about doubled. my wallet was empty, but my heart and stomach were joyously full.