William Norbert-Munns doesn’t like the term ‘gastro pub’. He doesn’t like it at all. Suggest that his and his brother’s latest venture is akin to that which might be described precisely as such in, say, London, and the New Zealander hisses through clenched teeth: “Bistro! I was going for bistro!”
He has a point, not least because the word ‘gastro’ can have less-than-pleasant connotations in the developing world. Public House, Will and George’s newly opened “bistro” on Street 240½, is less pub – of any hue – more Antipodean Escape.
So busy was the soft opening that we jackals in the press eventually had to find food elsewhere, but our return the following night was triumphant. The intertwining aromas of newly carved wood and fine food, the latter courtesy of an open kitchen policy, are almost as intoxicating as the cocktails (the $5 Mekong Breeze – vodka, cranberry juice and grapefruit juice – is a must if you don’t want to waste any time on the road to oblivion).
Rears planted firmly in soft seating overlooking the alleyway, where the city’s below-the-radar movers and shakers slink in and out of Bar Sito, another of the brothers’ brainchildren, you can take a moment to let your eyes wander over the vaguely sports-themed paraphernalia atop the bar: ancient wooden tennis rackets; a toy yacht. And on the otherwise pleasingly Spartan walls, maps of… um… Thailand (yes, they know).
Onto the menu: mains include corn fritters with salsa, rocket and bacon ($5); cold pan-fried beef on green papaya salad ($5) – a crisp, pleasing study in the word ‘crunch’ – and Shepherd’s Pie with mixed leaves ($7). Roast duck breast on couscous salad ($6) occupied my plate: 5mm medallions of tender, dark meat balanced on top of a small mountain of golden-coloured couscous with no shortage of green crispy stuff. My partner in crime stole most of the pan-fried beef, but I’m told it was “good”.
Perhaps the piece de resistance, however, was the pudding: one lemon tart, one pear tart (both $5). Even if you’re not normally of a sweet-toothed mentality, spare a thought for Public House’s shrines to pastry: expertly coaxed into elaborate fold-over affairs, the tarts are worth every red cent – all 500 of them, to be exact. “They’re REALLY good,” volunteered our otherwise-tight-lipped Art Director. The oracle has spoken.
Public House, Street 240½