For those who have just moved to London, Milk Beach is an Aussie-themed joint, and proud of it, mate. “Let’s go for an Aussie” isn’t a phrase we use much round our way, and I was keen to see what that entails.
Duck under the arch from Greek Street or take the back alley from Charing Cross Road, and you feel like you’re being let in on a secret, a world away from the traffic and bustle “out there.”
Aquamarine seashell designs cover acres of wall. Creamy paint and dark wood timbers conjure elegant bistros in sunnier corners of the world; those smart beach bars in Cannes, Miami, Athens, Dubai, or… Sydney.
I order a mango chilli margarita. The tanned server eyes my Atlantic-beach-rain complexion and warns me it’s quite spicy. I say, bring it on. They’re right. And so was my choice. Mezcal and Campari layered through sweet mango nectar, with a snap at the back of the throat from the chilli. It’s spicy and it’s ace. My guest has the Papa Salt Paloma; basically gin, pink grapefruit and soda — with a rosemary twig dunked in. A bold choice; setting up the barbecue flavours, perhaps? It does the job, though not as much fun as my chilli-mango adventure.
To get things started, we share a plate of Granny Elly’s banana bread with coffee jam. It is fantastic: moist, sweet, and rich, tasting fresh out of the oven. OK, so I am a banana bread fan. They had me at, well, banana bread. But I’d never heard of coffee jam. Don’t get me wrong, I understand what both words mean, but on the same spoon? I eagerly spread it on the bread and instantly know why they did it. Wonderful. A simple hit of sweet, with the complex bitter-but-not-bitter infusion of coffee. Comforting and interesting at the same time. Granny Elly is a real person, apparently; and her bread is the real deal. Am I writing a whole paragraph on banana bread and jam? Damn right.
We move on to scrambled eggs on toast and aubergine karaage with a miso crumb. In doing so, we accidentally represent both the European and Pacific influences on modern Australian menus. Maybe that’s what Aussie cuisine is: all from somewhere else.
The eggs are fine. I’ve yet to have a memorable portion of scrambled eggs; but that’s not what they’re for. Just don’t screw it up. And they don’t. These are topped with a dollop of stracciatella cheese and come with a fun chilli-oil dip. Well made, but not mind-blowing (like the coffee jam. Did I mention the coffee jam?). Maybe that’s the thing about eggs on toast: it’s not the dish, it’s where you have it and who you’re with that makes it memorable. Like lager. And Milk Beach delivers on that. In (buckets and) spades.
Karaage is a bit like tempura, only the ingredient is usually marinated, and it’s coated rather than battered, giving a thinner crust. Real aficionados should probably head to a specialist Japanese restaurant for this dish. But mine is tasty enough and sits admirably within the whole Milk Beach vibe.
If that’s where you want to end your visit, you won’t be disappointed. But this joint is all about not rushing, and enjoying the company and atmosphere. It’s now way past lunchtime, so we switch it up for the main menu.
The grilled pork tomahawk is a little pricey at £39, but I recommend stretching the overdraft. Maybe for the meat, which is delicately marinated, well seasoned, and perfectly cooked; but certainly for the glaze. It is bloody excellent: a bright orange tamarind, honey, garlic, and fermented chilli concoction, deep and lively at the same time. And it comes in a generous dollop on the plate. You’ll want to dip every bite in it, and there’s plenty to do so.
The prawns have been vacuum-packed with garlic for a bit, then flame-grilled, giving a succulent smoky flavour. They’re dressed in lime powder, paprika, and chilli, which cut through the smoke and brighten the sensation. Delicious.
The whole joint has that bubbly, effortless charm you only really find in the New Worlds. Our server gives us a detailed and well-informed history of Grenache Blanc viticulture in Australia, finishing her insights with, “but that might all be bullshit.” Shane Warne would have been proud.
“Really?” I say. She laughs, winks, and then tells me they’re about to start a season of dinner events in which the menu is structured by the sommelier, not the chef. “We pick the wines and the chefs have to come up with dishes that match,” sommelier Yvonne tells me. Resisting the temptation to make some antipodean upside-down-back-to-front comment, I wonder how that’s going to work. “Each month from now till the spring we partner with an Aussie winemaker to lay on an intimate evening of Australian wines.” “With some food pairings,” she adds, as an afterthought. “We want you Brits to know our wine is a lot more than Yellowtails and kangaroos.” It’s a celebration of Aussie wine called Toast Australia; which is, er… exactly what it is. With only 20 seats at each event, I venture it’s going to be both intimate and informative. “Yeah, I suppose so, but basically we want you to leave full, happy and pissed.”
Yet again, I’m left feeling she knows a lot more than she’s letting on. There are some award-winning producers on the list who make excellent wines. But if “full, happy and pissed” is the minimum guarantee, that’s fine by me.
Maybe that’s my answer. That’s what “going for an Aussie” means: good food and drink in the company of people who take the actual food and wine very seriously, but aren’t serious about it. Refreshing.
The next Toast Australia is on the 29th of October, and monthly after that.
Milk Beach Ilona Rose House, Manette Street, London, W1D 4AL (access via: 13-14 Greek Street, London, W1D 4DP) – +44 204 599 4271 [email protected]