GARUM
Et tu, gnocchi?
Garum is a traditional Roman fermented fish sauce, made by crushing fatty fish like anchovies or sardines, putting them in brine, and leaving them in the sun to evaporate down to a thick paste. If you've ever walked past commercial bins outside a fishmonger during an Australian summer, you probably have a good idea of how horrific this would have smelled. Although just contemplating a sauce made from decomposing fish probably has one dry-retching, condiments that we know and love today – like Worcestershire sauce, HP sauce and even some barbecue sauces – trace their roots back to this accompaniment from antiquity. Of course, Garum is also the name of celebrity chef Guy Grossi's first Perth outing, an elegant restaurant in the heritage Hibernian Hall building, serving Roman cuisine – well, a contemporary take on Roman cuisine. You can imagine a few complaints from the guests of the Westin if there were buckets of fish heads sitting outside in the sun.
What is Roman cuisine? Concerns about culinary excellence are bound to arise when considering any society that was wiped out centuries before the invention of fridges, ovens, or really, hygiene itself. But just like garum the sauce, a surprising number of dishes you have probably enjoyed in your lifetime originated in some form or another in Ancient Rome. Pasta carbonara is one example, as is amatriciana. An early version of bruschetta, which you've probably had topped with avo and feta on any given hungover Sunday at a chic cafe in Fremantle, could feasibly have been served to Caesar (possibly on a hungover Sunday, although probably not in Freo). At Garum the restaurant, the "Roman" tag applies less to describe the menu's authenticity than its style – flavourful ingredients turned into simple, rustic dishes.
It would be remiss to not talk about the venue: the restaurant is housed in the heritage Hibernian Hall, which began life in 1902 as an Irish social club, designed by local architects Cavanagh & Cavanagh. In 1947, the hall was converted into a chest clinic, for the diagnosis and treatment of tuberculosis patients. The building's gorgeous Federation-style brick façade; replete with narrow, arching windows, sits well within the modern surrounds of Hibernian Place and the Westin Hotel; even the Hall's tin roof is preserved underneath the glass and steel hotel superstructure. Squint and you could almost be looking at a countryside manor somewhere in Italy. Inside, no luxury has been spared. The space is cathedral-like; at one end sits a vast open kitchen, with a beautiful white marble bar – surely one of the most impressive kitchens in town. Planter boxes strung high with greenery divide the dining area, creating booth seating for intimate tables, whereas larger groups might find themselves on longer tables in the centre of the floor. The only issue with the cavernous venue is that unless it's truly pumping you can feel a little bit marooned in all that space, dwarfed by the high ceilings.
The menu, divided into entrées/tapas, pastas, mains and sides, suffers from the "it-all-looks-good" syndrome; an attempted order of two entrees, two pastas and a main and side to share prompted our waitress to advise dropping a pasta, lest she be required to arrange some form of heavy machinery to remove us from our seats later on. Begrudgingly, we agreed; although it meant sampling fewer savoury dishes (for research purposes, of course), it turned out to be solid advice –and meant we had room for dessert. A starter of Fremantle octopus ($22) came on a tomato, olive and caper sauce, with a shard of crisp sourdough; this dish purportedly inspired by a pie unique to the Italian city of Gaeta, in Lazio, the area where Mr Grossi's family are from. The long, thick tentacle was bursting with charred flavours and melt-in-the-mouth tenderness, no casual achievement in a town where octopus's ubiquitous presence on menus rarely correlates with its successful cookery. The tomato braise was tasty enough, small juicy olives rendering sweetness, but the accompanying sourdough crispbread slice didn't add much except some minor visual excitement. This isn't the sort of food you eat as if piled on top of a cracker, and crispbread doesn't really possess any ability to effectively mop up sauce, being, as it is, pretty damn crisp. This was not a game-changing issue, however, and overall the dish was delicious. We also enjoyed the actual dish itself; a flat, ceramic number that was both elegant and functional. In fact, in general we were big fans of the cutlery and tableware, which included soft linen-blend napkins; everything striking the balance between rustic and refined – perfectly complementing both the food and the space.
Fior di Zucca, ($18), were two lightly battered and fried zucchini flowers stuffed with baccala – salted cod – served with a basic caponata. Presentation was superb with the strangely bulbous flowers visible beneath the wispy-thin batter, certain to prompt a Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory-esque "is this really edible?" reaction from many. With its creamy flaked fish stuffing, these flowers may be the most boujee fish fingers you've ever had.
A difficult decision had to be made regarding which of the pastas to try. In the end, on our server's recommendation, gnocchi in pomodoro won out ($24). Another ubiquitous Perth dish, and again, Garum's version was of an excellent standard – the gnocchi were pillowy light and the tomato sauce tangy and sweet with basil leaves providing a flavour punch. This is a simple dish, but the point here is that each quality ingredient, handled with care (and restraint), combine to make something much greater than the sum of its parts.
The same difficulty occurred when deciding on a main – in the end it was porchetta with slow-roasted cabbage ($45). A large disc of pork, appropriately fatty and sporting an impressive crackling exterior, came resting atop whole cabbage leaves, coated with pan drippings and drizzled with a subtle salsa verde. The meat was flavourful if a touch dry in parts, rescued by the moreish drippings and the salsa. The cabbage was soft and moist, its slight bitterness cutting nicely through the fattiness of the meat. Again, a simple dish showcasing top-notch produce that has seen minimal kitchen intervention. A side of pomodoro ($12) presented as rings of tomato doused in balsamic and olive oil, flecked with shallots, and accompanied by the sourdough crispbread last seen with the octopus. Here, however, the crispbread played a hero's role, lifting the dish immeasurably by providing a crunch underneath the fleshy tomatoes and the tart balsamic. Earlier, the bread had been unnecessary; here it was a deft touch, showing that the big kitchen isn't just a pretty face.
Dessert was a white chocolate semifreddo with chocolate mousse, and it was excellent. Probably not something that Ancient Romans had a chance to enjoy, the semifreddo came covering half of a round biscuit base; the other half providing the foundation for a quenelle of chocolate mousse and dollops of rich caramel. This dish alone would be worth crossing the Rubicon.
As you would expect of a restaurant of the character of Garum, the service evinced some clever and considered touches. Mere seconds after making the unavoidable decision about our preferred type of water, individual lemon slices were carried over on a tray and tonged into our glasses. This was shortly followed by complimentary bread - sliced from beautiful house-baked round loaves – and a spread; a ricotta, coriander and parsley mixture which is a nod to moretum, a traditional Roman herbed cheese paste. Impressively, recognising that we had ordered one pasta to share, the kitchen sent out our gnocchi divided into two separate bowls, each dressed with parmesan, saving the awkwardness and messiness of eating out of one dish in the middle of the table. Considering some places in Perth flat out refuse to provide this sort of convenience to diners, having this happen without even asking demonstrated the commitment of the staff and chefs to ensuring that every guest's meal is as enjoyable as possible.
Garum the restaurant is not dissimilar to garum the sauce in that its rich and complex final form defies the simplicity of its constituent elements. There is nothing that will surprise you on the menu here; no avant-garde flourishes, and each plate is kept minimal, with no more than a handful of ingredients. But there's no denying that those ingredients are of excellent quality, and in general, the cookery is very good. This rusticity is the manifestation of the restaurant's Roman aspirations, and as long as you know what to expect, it delivers. The venue and the service exude a level of formality, thoughtfulness and luxury that befit Garum's price point; this is not a place to come wearing a Bintang and a cap. This is a place to come with friends or family for a special occasion, or a loved one for an intimate meal, in the knowledge that it is, at its core, an excellent Italian restaurant, and certainly Perth's most beautiful.