The Hunter Valley's newly two-hatted restaurant is the most exciting in the region
Sit ringside, and Fawkner is equally attuned to the dudes fresh from the cellar door at Tyrrell's, plotting how to break 90 at The Vintage golf course, as he is to the clued-in couple toasting their anniversary in the next seats. On his advice, they might add a coffee stop at Meltdown in Huntlee and a dry-aged burger from Hungerford Meats Co to an itinerary that already takes in sundowners at Harkham Wines.
EXP. sits comfortably among these more new-school operators, but it doesn't discard the old. It makes a point of repping local – Red Gate Farm duck, Binnie Beef wagyu, Mother Fungus mushrooms – but feels expansive, right through to a final box of bonbons, choux and jellies.
And just as the Hunter seems on the cusp of a tilt towards something new, by sharpening its focus, EXP. has put itself at the centre of what comes next. In doing so, it's transformed from a restaurant to work into a long weekend in the Valley, into the very reason to plan one.
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ABC News
13 hours ago
- ABC News
A Nice Indian Boy is a tender queer rom-com starring Deadpool's Karan Soni and Jonathan Groff
There's not a drop of cynicism to be found in A Nice Indian Boy, which puts a queer twist on rom-com tropes for a fun and ultra-romantic film with a surprising tenderness that sneaks up on you. What: An all-in rom-com about a gay Indian doctor opening up to love, executive produced by Mindy Kaling. Starring: Karan Soni, Jonathan Groff, Harish Patel, Zarna Garg Directed by: Roshan Sethi Where: In cinemas now Likely to make you feel: Giddy and ready for a big romantic gesture A soft-spoken, handsome gay doctor, Naveen (Karan Soni; Deadpool) is a romantic who longs for a Hindu wedding like his sister Arundhathi's (Sunita Mani), a grand, colourful celebration that opens the film. Sitting glum on the dancefloor's sidelines, he nods politely as aunties and uncles tell him he's next, while wondering what it would look like for him to bring home a nice Indian boy of his own. Where the siblings' parents (Zarna Garg, Harish Patel) continually prod Arundhathi to get married and have kids, they actively avoid discussing Naveen's love life. As he narrates, "They know I'm gay, they just haven't seen me be gay" — and he's decided that's the best way forward, rather than confront any awkwardness. This discomfort sits undisturbed for years. After the wedding, A Nice Indian Boy zips forward six years, with Naveen now in his early 30s and having avoided serious dating, therefore never having to introduce a man to his family. Until Jay (Jonathan Groff; Frozen, Hamilton) enters. He's a cute photographer who asks Naveen on a date after a series of serendipitous meetings, including during a moment of prayer at a Hindu temple. A free-spirited artist, Jay isn't exactly the model man to win Naveen's parents' approval, least of all because he's white — surely a non-negotiable for his status-anxious parents? But Jay is the film's unconventional Nice Indian Boy — an orphan raised by Indian parents. It's a slightly clunky backstory, but one that sits as awkwardly as Jay does in Indian culture, especially now that his adoptee parents are dead. Jay's cultural heritage is A Nice Indian Boy's most evident twist — on the surface, it's otherwise a fairly straightforward rom-com, with no pretence. There's the second-act fight, the grand romantic gesture, the sassy best friend (Peter S. Kim) and the sappy happy ending, all to tell a story about how love can cut through social mores and cultural expectations. They're well-worn tropes but done well, and there's something to be said for showing how familiar a queer man of colour's love story can be to audiences who rarely get to see them. But what makes A Nice Indian Boy more interesting — and surprisingly affecting — is Naveen's relationship to both his queerness and family. Unable to reconcile the two parts of him, he's self-defensively retreated from both, severing himself from his family and Jay. Despite their instant chemistry, the two are at odds. Jay is forthcoming, free and outgoing; Naveen is guarded and self-conscious, though sweet. Take their first date, a screening of Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (DDLJ), a romantic Bollywood classic so beloved that it has played daily for 30 years in a Mumbai cinema. Swept away afterwards, Jay breaks out into song on the street while Naveen winces, arms folded — somewhat entranced, but not showing it at all. "I think a lot of people find Bollywood a little much," Jay says. "But I think it's because we're all a little embarrassed by the bigness of love." Naveen is one of those people, struggling to move their relationship forward, or sabotaging it in strange ways, like neglecting to tell his family that Jay is white before they meet. Eager to be let into their son's life, his parents try to be accommodating the best they can. "We think it's wonderful you're white," mum Megha deadpans. Other attempts to bridge the distance are wonderfully specific, well-studied jokes, such as the stoic dad, Archit, silently watching For The Love of DILFs. Connection is embarrassing and awkward, but everyone except Naveen is trying. In someone else, Naveen would be a frustrating character, but Karan Soni carries the weight of his clashing shame around sexuality and culture well. You might be frustrated by Naveen but you always understand him, thanks to Soni's vulnerable performance. He gestures towards darkness that the script doesn't spell out. That discomfort within himself is present in a slouched, self-defeated shoulder or a slight nervousness but, at the same time, that never bogs down the film's zippy pace — if anything, it makes you more invested in the promise of his classic rom-com happy-ever-after. And while Jay is perhaps a little too understanding and nice as a character, Groff glows with warmth, and the couple have a naturalness to their relationship. As Naveen's parents, Garg and Patel also make small moments, such as a cooking scene or even a smile, resonate as gestures of goodwill. Subtle choices from Sethi and veteran cinematographer Amy Vincent add depth, too. The film is bright and inviting as a whole, somewhat nondescript, but moments — a shift to steadicam after Jay and Naveen's first fight, the unresolved tension shaking the scene as Naveen tries to avoid talking further — show thoughtfulness. Overall, A Nice Indian Boy bleeds tenderness, which makes sense once you learn that Sethi is a queer Indian-American filmmaker (and doctor!) married to Soni, and that the two have been trying to get this film off the ground for years. Adapted from a 2014 play by the same name, A Nice Indian Boy only found funding when Groff, the film's sole white actor, signed on. It's a shame to think that this story might not have been made, and all the more clear why its romantic gestures and speeches (which throw back to DDLJ) have so much heft to them. Embracing tropes in full force, A Nice Indian Boy isn't embarrassed by its earnestness as Sethi and the film's cast run with the chance to tell this story, and give it their all. By the time Naveen does the same, you'll be completely enamoured too.
The Age
a day ago
- The Age
This homely suburban canteen serves bold tastes of Bangladesh every night of the week
Bold curries. Punchy street food. Bangladeshi-Chinese fusion: just three of the ways that this YouTube-school chef is flying the flag for her homeland. Previous SlideNext Slide 'This is the morog pulau,' smiles Janet Faldeus, the Bengali chef-owner of Authentic Family Recipes, as she brought my chicken pilaf lunch order to the table. 'I hope you like it.' How could I not? The medium-grain rice was fluffy and full. The chook was supple-as and cloaked a khaki-coloured curry onesie: creamy, mellow and comforting. A little bowl with more of the sauce was nestled into the rice. As far as introductions to the pleasures of Bangladeshi food go, morog pulau – one of the country's national dishes – is a good place to start, as is this homely canteen in East Vic Park. For those that know (or knew) Authentic Family Recipes as a safe bet for fortifying Indian-Malay-Singaporean comfort food, news that it is now a Bangladeshi restaurant may come as a surprise. It certainly was for me when I visited in October and discovered Faldeus was the restaurant's new owner and had change on her mind. Half a year on and that surprise has slowly been replaced with delight. Still, signs of the restaurant's past life remain. (The signage outside, for instance.) As she did for us then, Feldaus will cook you a flaky prata if you ask. True, it won't be stretched by hand like the ones served at Suzie's Makan Place or Rasa Sayang but let's be real: frozen prata is still pretty good. (Not least when you get home after a night out and remember that there's a packet of it in the freezer.) The more uniquely Bengali breads and snacks, though, are house-made and reason enough to visit, none more so than the Bangladeshi street food favourite. chitoi pitha: savoury, Twinkie-shaped rice flour cakes that are steam-baked in moulded, covered pans to render their underside chewy while keeping their core fluffy. They're great as is but truly shine when slicked with one of the accompanying two vorta, the Bangla word for condiments. In the red corner: a thick shutki heady with smoked fish. In the green: a zippy chutney of coriander and chilli that reminds me of the mighty Yemeni relish, zhug. While the chitoi pitha are cooked on the stovetop, most of the breads originate from the fryer. There's luchi: planks of bubbly flatbread that are, in a nice way, lighter and blonder than you'd expect. Sturdy samosas conceal fillings both usual (spiced potato, say) and less-so. (That'd be the beef liver.) Bangladeshi-style dal puri equals discs of enriched dough fried to carmel-golden, smooshed with lentils and served with a sweet tamarind water: think of them as a flat-earther-friendly version of Indian's legendary filled wheat spheres, panipuri and golgappa. But like the bible and medical advice both decree: 'man[kind] shall not live by bread alone.' (Matthew 4:4). And so the discussion moves to curry, Authentic Family Recipes' other main pillar. According to Ferduas, Bangladeshi cooks love to sing songs of fire and spice. Her preference, though, is to keep heat levels low, both for herself and for her customers. So while curries frequently sport the sort of oily, incandescent red glow that can make the spice-averse nervous, heat levels rarely go rise above a mild, PG-13 buzz. All the better to taste whichever protein is lolling in that day's curry. One day, it'll be juicy, bone-in goat. The next, honeycomb tripe that's been chopped into sensible postage-sized chunks and carefully simmered into submission. I'm not sure when Ferduas is cooking her whole quail curry next, but I hope I'm there when she does, and that the sauce boasts the same haunting richness as the version I ate earlier this month. (The secret, she says, is letting the look cook for thrice as long as usual.) I hope she'll share more Bangladeshi-Chinese dishes, too. Thanks to the mellow comfort of 'Thai chicken soup' – picture tom yum soup finally circling back to tomato soup's email about a brand collaboration – served with bowtie-shaped fried chicken dumplings called onthons, I've discovered a new strain of Chinese fusion food to get nerdy about. While there's a laminated menu by the register, it's little more than set-dressing. Homesick Bengalis will already know what they want and will order it with joyful tears in their eyes. The rest of us will be discretely Googling dish names from both the main carte and handwritten specials whiteboard. My advice? Ignore both and have a chat with Janet. She'll tell you what's good and will authorise reshuffles of suggested protein and carb pairings – 'chicken chop + lucci ($18)' – if she wants you to try something: a sign, I think, of an enthusiastic first-time restaurateur keen to share her heritage with others. Wait, I lie. Sort of. Although Ferdaus bought Authentic Family Recipes in October, she also temporarily leased the restaurant for a few afternoons a week in 2020 after COVID. Back then, cooking was something she did for herself: a quiet act of independence that also allayed the monotony of the housewife life. (She only started cooking in Australia and taught herself by reading online recipes and watching YouTube.) This time around, she's cooking for her family and to support herself and her nine-year-old son following her husband's passing. Despite the roughness of the hand that she's been dealt, Ferdaus has neither the time nor energy to throw herself a pity party. Perhaps it's because she invests so much of both in her community? Students get discounts. Rough sleepers get fed. (Guests that want to help feed others can slip some banknotes into a white letterbox above the register.) Everyone gets to dine at a homely, canteen-like space where they can get a meal for less than $20, even if they have to collect their own cutlery and squeeze into small tables that are tightly packed lip-to-lip. Like many restaurateurs serving the food of the Indian subcontinent, Ferdaus does all of her cooking at once – typically around lunchtime – and then stores everything in bain maries to sell throughout the day. Visit in the evening after a big lunch and you may discover the restaurant's looking bare, Old Mother Hubbard-style. The solution: come around noon while she's still preparing the food, even if it's to get some takeaway for dinner. The price one pays for access to these early draft picks, though, is potentially leaving the restaurant covered in the distinctive scent of eau de open kitchen. If you're not familiar with it, it's an evocative fragrance that leads with cooking oil, but also includes top notes of forward planning, streetwise dining and victory. I hope, and know, you'll like it. Good Food Guide.
Sydney Morning Herald
a day ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
This homely suburban canteen serves bold tastes of Bangladesh every night of the week
Bold curries. Punchy street food. Bangladeshi-Chinese fusion: just three of the ways that this YouTube-school chef is flying the flag for her homeland. Previous SlideNext Slide 'This is the morog pulau,' smiles Janet Faldeus, the Bengali chef-owner of Authentic Family Recipes, as she brought my chicken pilaf lunch order to the table. 'I hope you like it.' How could I not? The medium-grain rice was fluffy and full. The chook was supple-as and cloaked a khaki-coloured curry onesie: creamy, mellow and comforting. A little bowl with more of the sauce was nestled into the rice. As far as introductions to the pleasures of Bangladeshi food go, morog pulau – one of the country's national dishes – is a good place to start, as is this homely canteen in East Vic Park. For those that know (or knew) Authentic Family Recipes as a safe bet for fortifying Indian-Malay-Singaporean comfort food, news that it is now a Bangladeshi restaurant may come as a surprise. It certainly was for me when I visited in October and discovered Faldeus was the restaurant's new owner and had change on her mind. Half a year on and that surprise has slowly been replaced with delight. Still, signs of the restaurant's past life remain. (The signage outside, for instance.) As she did for us then, Feldaus will cook you a flaky prata if you ask. True, it won't be stretched by hand like the ones served at Suzie's Makan Place or Rasa Sayang but let's be real: frozen prata is still pretty good. (Not least when you get home after a night out and remember that there's a packet of it in the freezer.) The more uniquely Bengali breads and snacks, though, are house-made and reason enough to visit, none more so than the Bangladeshi street food favourite. chitoi pitha: savoury, Twinkie-shaped rice flour cakes that are steam-baked in moulded, covered pans to render their underside chewy while keeping their core fluffy. They're great as is but truly shine when slicked with one of the accompanying two vorta, the Bangla word for condiments. In the red corner: a thick shutki heady with smoked fish. In the green: a zippy chutney of coriander and chilli that reminds me of the mighty Yemeni relish, zhug. While the chitoi pitha are cooked on the stovetop, most of the breads originate from the fryer. There's luchi: planks of bubbly flatbread that are, in a nice way, lighter and blonder than you'd expect. Sturdy samosas conceal fillings both usual (spiced potato, say) and less-so. (That'd be the beef liver.) Bangladeshi-style dal puri equals discs of enriched dough fried to carmel-golden, smooshed with lentils and served with a sweet tamarind water: think of them as a flat-earther-friendly version of Indian's legendary filled wheat spheres, panipuri and golgappa. But like the bible and medical advice both decree: 'man[kind] shall not live by bread alone.' (Matthew 4:4). And so the discussion moves to curry, Authentic Family Recipes' other main pillar. According to Ferduas, Bangladeshi cooks love to sing songs of fire and spice. Her preference, though, is to keep heat levels low, both for herself and for her customers. So while curries frequently sport the sort of oily, incandescent red glow that can make the spice-averse nervous, heat levels rarely go rise above a mild, PG-13 buzz. All the better to taste whichever protein is lolling in that day's curry. One day, it'll be juicy, bone-in goat. The next, honeycomb tripe that's been chopped into sensible postage-sized chunks and carefully simmered into submission. I'm not sure when Ferduas is cooking her whole quail curry next, but I hope I'm there when she does, and that the sauce boasts the same haunting richness as the version I ate earlier this month. (The secret, she says, is letting the look cook for thrice as long as usual.) I hope she'll share more Bangladeshi-Chinese dishes, too. Thanks to the mellow comfort of 'Thai chicken soup' – picture tom yum soup finally circling back to tomato soup's email about a brand collaboration – served with bowtie-shaped fried chicken dumplings called onthons, I've discovered a new strain of Chinese fusion food to get nerdy about. While there's a laminated menu by the register, it's little more than set-dressing. Homesick Bengalis will already know what they want and will order it with joyful tears in their eyes. The rest of us will be discretely Googling dish names from both the main carte and handwritten specials whiteboard. My advice? Ignore both and have a chat with Janet. She'll tell you what's good and will authorise reshuffles of suggested protein and carb pairings – 'chicken chop + lucci ($18)' – if she wants you to try something: a sign, I think, of an enthusiastic first-time restaurateur keen to share her heritage with others. Wait, I lie. Sort of. Although Ferdaus bought Authentic Family Recipes in October, she also temporarily leased the restaurant for a few afternoons a week in 2020 after COVID. Back then, cooking was something she did for herself: a quiet act of independence that also allayed the monotony of the housewife life. (She only started cooking in Australia and taught herself by reading online recipes and watching YouTube.) This time around, she's cooking for her family and to support herself and her nine-year-old son following her husband's passing. Despite the roughness of the hand that she's been dealt, Ferdaus has neither the time nor energy to throw herself a pity party. Perhaps it's because she invests so much of both in her community? Students get discounts. Rough sleepers get fed. (Guests that want to help feed others can slip some banknotes into a white letterbox above the register.) Everyone gets to dine at a homely, canteen-like space where they can get a meal for less than $20, even if they have to collect their own cutlery and squeeze into small tables that are tightly packed lip-to-lip. Like many restaurateurs serving the food of the Indian subcontinent, Ferdaus does all of her cooking at once – typically around lunchtime – and then stores everything in bain maries to sell throughout the day. Visit in the evening after a big lunch and you may discover the restaurant's looking bare, Old Mother Hubbard-style. The solution: come around noon while she's still preparing the food, even if it's to get some takeaway for dinner. The price one pays for access to these early draft picks, though, is potentially leaving the restaurant covered in the distinctive scent of eau de open kitchen. If you're not familiar with it, it's an evocative fragrance that leads with cooking oil, but also includes top notes of forward planning, streetwise dining and victory. I hope, and know, you'll like it. Good Food Guide.
