Eight Miles High
The Age
Tuesday August 22, 2000
Once upon a time in New York City there were two brothers, miners from outback Whyalla renovating a friend's shop, never knowing they were building their very own Australian fairy story.
Will and Frank Ford would look more at home in the front bar of any country pub instead of mixing with Manhattan's hoi-polloi. Will sports short-cropped hair and a low-slung wrestler's physique, while the less physically imposing Frank, with his tatts, goatee and long stringy hair, looks ready to head for the next surf break.
Eight months ago, neither had worked in a restaurant. Today their Eight Mile Creek on Mulberry Street, nestled in the shrinking centre of Little Italy (overflow from the ever-expanding Chinatown has already seen hokkien replace penne as the noodle of choice in some of the street's prime locations) is a culinary hit, courtesy of an unexpected endorsement from The New York Times.
"This place, they got two stars in the Times," says one dining companion, a local foodophile, breathlessly. Frank, who has popped himself at the end of our table stubbie in hand - typical of the laid-back style so anachronistic in the world's fastest-moving metropolis - makes it sound as if good fortune has fallen off the back of a truck.
"There was no plan to it, it just all happened," he says. "We got this great review after two months. The phone started ringing off the hook, we were swamped.
"It made us realise what we had, and how much we were disorganised."
The Times critic, William Grimes, snuck in quietly, apparently planning to play for laughs. "When a restaurant announces that it will be serving Australian cuisine, you expect good comic material, not good food," Grimes wrote. "At Eight Mile Creek, a brash newcomer wedged into a narrow Soho storefront, the joke stops when the kangaroo salad arrives."
Frank Ford arrived in the US six years ago and had an LA stopover in a friend's garage. Further travel was abandoned after meeting his now-wife Karen, a jewellery designer. Will arrived a couple of years later, in transit to India, only also to be entranced by America, and New York's bright lights.
The trio decided to take on the Big Apple about two years back. Will and Frank offered to renovate an old Mulberry Street bakery for Karen's jewellery store, Push, and did it in typical Australian fashion; lots of mates pitching in and beer all around at the end of the day.
They thought the old butcher's next door could be a drinking hole for their friends, maybe even a restaurant upstairs, and convinced the landlord to let them at it.
They set about restoring original features inside and out, an approach that won the endorsement of yet another New York institution.
Directly across the street is John Gotti's old club, the local mob headquarters until targeted by an FBI wiretapping operation, Frank explains.
"One day this guy walks in with a jacket and a cigar and says 'we really like what you've done with this place. Anyone gives you any trouble you come and see me'. A complete movie scene," laughs Frank. "Mate, seriously."
Things were falling into place. They had befriended a local chef, Ken Addington, who had fine-dining experience but a hankering to take on less pretentious airs. Original plans for "an Australian meat pie place" became more ambitious.
Inspired by a touch of homesickness, the brothers decided to show New York what Australia could do. "Once you move away, you understand what you really liked about home," Frank says. "We wanted that to come across."
The produce would be fresh and Australian, the decor natural wood and ochre, the atmosphere relaxed and Australiana banned. To Ken's consternation, Frank insisted on a solely Australian wine list.
The menu does boast the obligatory roo, even emu carpaccio, but overall it is an inventive blend of new-style Australian cuisine, happy to borrow from European and especially Asian traditions.
Our entrees, when we grab a bite between Frank's story-telling, blast away any lingering doubts. A warm oyster "meat pie" is full of plump oysters bathed in a white wine and leek sauce with a touch of tarragon, the emu carpaccio with black truffle vinaigrette similarly delightful and seared tuna served over a melange of Asian flavors, including poached squid and Korean seaweed noodles, faultless.
Before the mains we farewell Will, who has been rung with news of a break-in at his apartment. "How?" I ask. "The fire escape, they always force their way in through the fire escape," my New York companions nod knowingly.
Such urban cares feel a world away from this little celebration of Australia. The laid-back staff, warm colors and crowded, narrow dining room combine to create a peculiar familiarity.
The mains enhance this comfort zone. Black Sea bass, skin seared to a crisp, is accompanied by rich mashed potato and enlivened with duck confit. Prawns, with a sesame omelette and an apple and bacon vinaigrette, were simple and delightful. And a tender, pink loin of Australian lamb is served over herbed polenta with Maitake mushrooms.
By now the food, and company, has wiped away any small-town insecurities surrounding an Australian's first Manhattan adventure.
Frank and Karen happily talk of bigger plans. Investors are already keen to back a West Coast outlet. And Karen's jewellery is going so well she has had to boost prices, following complaints from customers that they were too low.
Downstairs the bar is bustling, serving Australian beer, wine and snacky food such as pies, lamb shank sandwiches and the obligatory fish and chips.
"I just think I like challenges," says Frank. "And everyone told me you couldn't do it."
As The Times mused: "It's one of life's little oddities that Australia, land of wide-open spaces, should find itself compressed into a container the size of a genie's lamp. Give it a rub, though, and no worries."
© 2000 The Age
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