Review: Cliché Exhibition

Our local food trends seem to be eternally trying to keep up with the rest of the world. One season it’s food truck insanity and the next it’s Japanese-Korean with a scattered hint of modern Australia. But what’s wrong with a little tradition once in a while? Adelaide’s culinary ingenuity may be at its peak, but we habitually seem to lack focus. Enter Cliché. And they’re not afraid to admit it. Even though it is part gallery, part bar and part restaurant, Cliché Exhibition is completely and unashamedly French. It says so out front, on the walls, on the menu and in the bathrooms. We are even given a glimpse of stereotypical Parisian service – though this example has little to do with a language barrier and more with an abrupt waitress intent on giving us the full Champs-Élysées experience – walking off when we’re only part-way through ordering drinks (I’ve never had such service in France, for the record). Refraining from snapping my fingers, I wait patiently until she returns to take entrée orders and then request a Blanc de Blancs sparkling white called Lois, hailing all the way from The Lane Vineyard in our very own Adelaide Hills. Sounds French enough, non? We fill the time awaiting our meals by slathering Pepe Saya cultured butter over warmed bread, while looking longingly at the diners inside, as we endure the ambience of exhaust fumes and bus engines screeching their way up O’Connell Street. The venue failed to explain, while booking, that outdoor seating is actually roadside. A lesson for next time, I suppose. Through paned windows, hints of colour and frivolity are visible. Art adorning the walls looks wonderful, if only we were seated closer to enjoy it. But, back to the wine that is helping us cope with ending up in the cheap-seats. A bottle of Clos Clare Watervale Riesling keeps it local while sounding fancy, and then entrées arrive. Winklers Wonderful Duck Pâté is served with the promised accompaniments including a knife and a napkin. Two morsels of pickle, and a few slices of oven-dried breadstick, try their best to be present but would be better off left aside. The pâté itself has a light foamy texture and subtle meatiness but lacks seasoning and its usual herbaceous flavour. The Classic Beef Tartare is comparably more French, nicely flavoured with capers and herbs, topped with the yolk from a quail egg and accompanied by (surprise!) two morsels of pickle and a few slices of oven-dried breadstick. Given these dishes are designed to share, I expected a larger portion, but a waylaid cherry tomato on the plate adds an extra mouthful at least. Porc Me is a play on words that follows through on the plate. Crispy pork belly has a base of sour cabbage and radish slices that add crunch and a slight bitterness to fight the sweetness of the perfectly cooked swine. Escargots are lovely in a sauce of garlic butter, white wine and parsley. A sprinkling of chopped chives adds some oniony goodness to each little mollusc. Vive la revolution! A slow-braised beef cheek regains my faith on behalf of French cuisine. It is melt-in-your-mouth incredible, served simply with a baked tomato, saffron eschalot and a pile of crispy kale chips that, despite my initial superfood reservations, are actually delectable when dunked in a side of onion aioli. Bébé Bébé Bébé is a tongue-twister of stuffed spatchcock that is nicely cooked then glazed. The two petite breasts are succulent with hints of lemon and herb, served next to a cute little nest of fried potato that houses a softboiled quail egg and sprigs of herbs for colour. Corn puree is artistically spattered across the plate and a handful of kernels complete this bantam masterpiece. At last, a dish that ties the whole place together, even if it is a little cliché. clicheexhibition.com