PETITE MORT

No little death for degustation dining

In the discussion of our recent visit to Tiny's, we spoke about the not-to-be-forgotten gems of Perth's dining landscape; restaurants that sought to hold up a culinary beacon during the dark days of this city's "Dullsville" identity. Fortunately, we opined, nowadays this label is sticking less and less convincingly, thanks in no small part to the many new venues that we have visited and written about for this website. But that is not to ignore the fact that prior to what we might call the "Great Small Bar Renaissance" (which hit Perth roughly five years ago with all the momentum of the bubonic plague in 13th century Europe), our sleepy town was kept barely out of the doldrums by a handful of restaurants truly doing special things.

One of those restaurants was Petite Mort. Situated in the leafy suburbia of Shenton Park, Petite Mort has focused on a degustation offering since opening in 2011. Chef Todd Stuart has admirably stuck to his guns; steering his eatery unnervingly through the tapas obsession, the dude food fetish and the share plate craze; trends which have all come and gone with the frequency and lacklustre of a new season of the Bachelor. Nothing evidences this more than the "Death by Chocolate" dessert course, which has remained on the menu for 7 years and is considered the restaurant's signature dish.

Stuart's cuisine could be described as modern European; classic French touches on his plates betray his classical training. However, it's also rather accessible for fine dining – sure, there are a few vibrant dots and streaks of sauce, and a few artful garnishes perched prettily atop the food – but the bistro-fare foundations of each dish are readily discernible, and at no point is flavour or technique sacrificed for the sake of unnecessary theatrics.

“Eating like this is about the entire experience…”

The degustation concept is divisive: some people see it as the pinnacle of the restaurant experience; others as a pretentious and self-indulgent pursuit which is more or less a masquerade for chefs to charge nose-wrinkling prices for bite-sized portions. But really, it is just another type of dining – going to a degustation is a choice to be made in the same way that you might decide on any given night you feel like a share-plate experience, or a buffet. It is not necessarily better or worse than any other restaurant experience, it's just different. Often, ironically, time spent at a dego is less about the actual food than other venues. The most satisfying dishes I've ever eaten have not been part of 12-course menus; despite the price tags, the quality ingredients, the army of cooks. Eating like this is about the entire experience, from the décor to the service to the drinks – all of these elements combining to make some sort of statement. Or at least, that's the intention. Other dining styles don’t really have this raison d'être – the only statement your neighbourhood Italian is making is that you will leave so full of fettuccine alfredo you'll probably need a lie-down.

On the night of our visit, Petite Mort was serving its signature 9-course degustation, which I am given to understand has been around for some time. The enduring popularity of this place was further emphasised by the relatively busy dining room for a weeknight in the 'burbs.

“…devoid of unnecessary showiness”

We were greeted by thickly-accented European staff, and shown to a smartly dressed table in the back corner of the long, modish room. The venue is intimate but not cramped; a typical Shenton Park shopfront given a few upmarket touches. Bare brick walls are offset with bright cyan bench seating and adorned with a series of artistic nudes – such as a bare bum, magnified in the frame so as to almost appear like a landscape of sloping earthen hills. I'm no art critic, but my comment is that at best you'll find these works cheeky (pun intended), at worst, a bit much. There's nothing cheeky about the service, though, which is professional in that assured European way. Complimentary sparkling or still water could have been more frequently refilled, but dishes arrived smoothly, tableside finishes were executed confidently, and ingredients explained with knowledge and most importantly, genuine excitement.

To start, slices of house-made bread (focaccia and baguette) were tonged onto our side plates. A tiny blini, placed atop oyster meat and caviar, sat in the centre of a deep bowl into which our waiter poured a silky celeriac and horseradish velouté. This dish was a standout; the velouté was creamy and possessing a deep flavour which belied its simple form. The horseradish was not overpowering and the caviar provided salty, fishy bursts to contrast the richness of the soup. Next, raw salmon, cured simply in sugar and salt and chopped crudo style, arrived with a perfect quenelle of acid-green wasabi sorbet, wakame, and ginger. This course was a demonstration of competing textures; the coldness and sharpness of the sorbet, which was surprisingly zesty, combined beautifully with the room temperature fish; the pungent ginger lifting the plate with mouth-coating spice. The wasabi sorbet was one of few overtly 'cheffy' elements across a meal which was otherwise devoid of unnecessary showiness; appropriate for a fine-diner of this level of focus.

A palate cleanser of earl grey granita with compressed plum was both intriguing and delicious; paving the way for a dish of Linley Valley pork, presented as a precisely cooked cylinder of meat, with a dollop of fruity quince and what tasted a bit like a textured hash-brown, adorned with schmaltz, a type of rendered fat, typically chicken or goose, used in Jewish cuisine for frying, or as a spread. The pork 'sausage', despite its even cooking technique leaving it it a not-so-palatable pinkish-grey colour, was full of flavour. The 'hash brown' was interesting; I enjoyed that the gritty texture, and the presence of fennel, gave it a bit of playful mouthfeel, and the schmaltz was light. Next up was beef, presented in two mediums; a perfectly blush fillet crowned by a tiny fried quail egg, and a square of brisket. A pale circle of smooth béarnaise in the centre of the plate was a concession to Stuart's classical French skills, and was flanked by two smaller dots of unctuous onion jam. This dish was intricate but also quite familiar; essentially a play on the bistro staple of steak and egg. Of the nine courses, it's perhaps the best example of how the food at Petite Mort is at once complex but understandable.

“…a play on the bistro staple of steak and egg”.

The final savoury dish is the diner’s choice; either chicken or salmon, and we both opted for salmon, which came sous-vide on a bed of leeks and bacon, accented by a rich, umami-filled broth poured tableside. This was another standout plate – the generous fillet was cooked perfectly, the moreish broth singing with salty, master-stock flavours. Just prior to serving, the waitress gave us each a spoon, "for the sauce", she explained, "it's that good". Truer words have never been spoken – forget the spoon; next time, I'll take a straw.

Pre-dessert was small but elegant; a scoop of icecream, a tiny expression of stiff Bailey’s custard, a segment of caramelised banana and 'hokey pokey'; what they call honeycomb in New Zealand, according to our waiter. Stuart uses his grandmother's recipe. The second dessert course is the infamous Death by Chocolate. When asked at the till what her favourite dish of the night was, I overheard a customer reply, "still the Death by Chocolate" – it's obviously got a cult following.

But what actually is Death by Chocolate? It's a plethora of chocolate 'treats' arranged rank and file on a long curl of salted caramel sauce. There's a mousse, a macaron, a ganache, and a raspberry coulis, amongst other things. It's a stunning display of technique; the culinary equivalent of a sketch artist’s portraiture study – one idea, or ingredient, broken down and rebuilt in a variety of different ways. It's easy to see why this plate may have buoyed the restaurant's success over the past years. It's a unique and novel concept pulled off with aplomb. But the fun doesn't end there. Post-meal, a selection of madeleines, shortbread cookies, and flavour-of-the-day macarons are brought to the table, artfully arranged in a box of stones (almost to appear like flotsam on a river bank). This petit fours course is accompanied by the suggestion that the liquor trolley swing by for a visit. It must be reported that the ATE. team are nothing if not accommodating of suggestions like these.

“…it's obviously got a cult following.”

Petite Mort is a memorable dining experience. It's a place to visit on a special occasion, with special people, but it's not somewhere only serious foodies will enjoy. The food is accessible, thoughtful and delicious. The service is professional. The wine list is not extensive, featuring just Australian, New Zealand and French wines, but there are a variety of bottles to suit most price points and palates. For fans of the degustation concept, and those wanting to give the whole thing a go, it's a sleeper hit. You won't leave so full of fettuccine you can barely walk, and if you want actual steak and egg you won't find it here, but what you will get is quite an exquisite experience, unlike any other.