Taylor S.
Yelp
Ever heard of Veg-a-mite Butter? Well, I had it for the first and probably last time at the Royal Mail Hotel in Dunkeld, Victoria. Read on to find out what it was like.
P-R-E-T-E-N-T-I-O-U-S is the word that comes to mind after leaving this bland, modern, pub/bistro/restaurant situated in Western Victoria at the foot of the Grampians. Where is the beauty to match the grandeur of the location? Where is the down-to-earth warmth and charm of country Australia? I would have been happier with excellent quality ingredients prepared simply but expertly and served graciously, rather than what I got which was overly-priced food coated with bad sauces, tricked up with carefully poised parsley sprigs, displayed with artful drizzles, and served by an unctuous (though I am sure well-meaning) waiter.
The first course of oysters ($4.50 each) and sparkling wine from the region started off well. The oysters were fresh, though served with nothing but a lemon wedge. Nothing special. But they did set the tone for the meal which was SALT. The waiter offered the bread on a tray as if he was unveiling the Holy Grail. Then came the Veg-a-mite butter. At first I was intrigued. Could this be authentic Australian irony raising its head amidst the Europhilic formality? It came on a plate: brown and shaped, unfortunately, like a little fat torpedo. It tasted like . . . Veg-a-mite and butter mixed together. Or, if you are an American like me, it tasted like salty bullion with butter. Now I have nothing against getting an infusion of B vitamins with my butter in theory, but one really visits a finer eating establishment like the Royal Mail Hotel for something one cannot get at home. If I wanted to I could eat Veg-a-mite and butter on bread every morning! I ordered the lamb, or, as the menu described it: "Flinders Island lamb, turnips, chard, mint -- $45" This far from appetizing description reflected the salty boredom on the plate, and indeed the entire meal. Lamb tenderloin pieces arrived, glued together with a muddy, purple paste, accented with four spinach leaves, and arranged amidst a louche array of quartered turnips. Then, the "pièce de resistance"! The back-waiter, with the flourish of a baptism, thoroughly doused my lamb with a brown, viscous glaze, that, when tasted, possessed the saline tang of packet gravy. I tried to rescue a few pieces of lamb from this doom, but finally gave them up for lost and asked for an undrowned version. Even the $9 "pommé purée confit garlic" - AKA good ol' fashioned garlic mashed potatoes - were so salty my partner and I could not eat them.
After this grimness we were still ready to salve our wounds with a decadent dessert. But instead we saw this: "chocolate, beet root, ginger," as well as several other similarly cryptic lists of undelicious-sounding ingredients. We were ready to order dessert but could find nothing that sounded the least bit tempting. For this American sojourning "down under," what I have grown to love about Australia is its authenticity, cheekiness, uniqueness, beauty, and fabulously high-quality ingredients. I saw none of these qualities on display at the Royal Mail Hotel. We spent $180 on a meal we could have cooked better at home for under $50. Return to sender.