I've dined at restaurants everywhere, I always choose a counter seat

Courier-Mail

3 days ago

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Even with the roar of the lunch crowd at Cañete in Barcelona, with diners packed in like Ortiz sardines, the lyric was unmistakable: 'Hit me baby one more time'.
It came from one of the silver-haired waiters behind the bar as he expertly delivered cod fritters, chorizo sandwiches and glasses of peachy gazpacho to those of us with counter seats. The waiter, a sort of Catalan Steve Buscemi, was given to singing, joking and madcap miming. A little Britney Spears to accompany a plate of grilled asparagus spears seemed fitting. I've seldom enjoyed a meal as much as this one.
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In hospitality it seems as though we've gone from fine dining to fun dining to flatlining. So many restaurants, here and abroad, appear afflicted by a sense of ennui, with energy levels as flat as a proverbial pancake.
Cañete was different. It's a lively bar, a boisterous bistro and an expression of culinary levity that I've found sorely lacking lately.
Perhaps it's my own fault. After years of shunning the bar, the counter and the chef's table, I'm feeling the gravitational pull of the front row. Nowadays, particularly when I travel abroad, I want dinner and a showstopper. It could be that I need a reprieve from blank-eyed waitstaff offering to explain 'how the menu works'. It's not a manual on quantum physics.
Dining at the bar at Barcelona restaurant Cañete.
At the bar or counter, there's none of that fussiness, awkwardness or faux camaraderie. Instead, it's replaced by a refreshing immediacy and disarming candour. In the catbird seat, you can enjoy pithy banter with waiters, marvel at displays of cheffy dexterity, and view the reaction of guests to their dishes.
At Cañete, the couple on my right ordered prawn fritters, presented as golden discs of crisp camarones. Naturally, I requested them, too. My jolly waiter also recommended spicy meatballs, godello – a luscious Spanish white I'd never tried – and an earth-shaking chocolate lava cake. Above the bar was a sign: 'Fuck your diet'. Dining here was like joining a merry band of kitchen pirates.
The spicy meatball at Cañete. Picture: George Epaminondas
My nascent desire to be in the middle of the action, cheek by jowl, has led to some outstanding meals. At Aman Nai Lert Bangkok, a serene new hotel in the Thai capital, I had two rarefied experiences.
At Sesui, an omakase restaurant, I watched enraptured as sushi maestro Satoshi Tsuru deftly sliced ruby-hued prawns, wrapped tuna in seaweed and explained his approach with the solemnity of a Buddhist monk.
On another night, I took a seat at the counter of Hiori, a teppanyaki restaurant where chef Yoji Kitayama shared wagyu spring rolls and glasses of rare sake. I left feeling elated, enlightened and delighted.
Chef Satoshi Tsuru prepares sushi at Sesui restaurant at Aman Nai Lert Bangkok Hotel.
Interaction with a chef can be rewarding, especially if that chef is an easygoing extrovert. At Trivet, the restaurant at JW Marriott Auckland, I had a meal prepared by executive chef Wallace Mua. Everything from the trevally sashimi to the popcorn semifreddo was sensational, but what really left an impression was Mua's beaming demeanour and winning personality. 'We chefs are usually stuck in the back,' he told me. 'We don't get to tell our story.'
This was his moment to shine and he nailed it. Mua, who not long ago toured with the All Blacks as a dietary adviser, shared riotous tales – including the first time he met the team and nervously blurted 'I look forward to orally pleasing you!'
He also used our dinner as an opportunity to road-test new dishes, including a fragrant prawn omelette enhanced with a lick of crab consommé, that had not yet made it to Trivet's menu. That insider access felt rewarding.
Wallace Mua, executive chef of Trivet, the restaurant at JW Marriott Auckland.
Cruise ships, too, are getting in on the counter act. In-the-know diners on Scenic Eclipse II make a beeline for Night Market @ Koko's. With space for just eight guests, the vibrant venue serves zhuzhed-up versions of street food from Asia, India and the Middle East, all while you're flitting around the Med.
'Guests love it – it combines travel, cuisine and theatre,' said Tom Götter, head of Oceans Hotel Operations for Scenic Group.
And Silversea has its S.A.L.T. Chef's Table, on Silver Nova and Silver Ray, where culinistas can savour an intimate dining service.
Diners at S.A.L.T. Chef's Table on Silver Nova get front-row seats for both ocean and kitchen views.
Do you like to watch? When it comes to the drama of open kitchens, many of us are clearly fascinated. Much of the appeal of The Bear, the TV series that boils over with rage, is seeing the chaos of a professional kitchen. In real life, I prefer harmony, hilarity and tidy work stations.
Watching line cooks meticulously prepare dishes is the food equivalent of a corps de ballet, a highly choreographed performance.
And the exchange goes both ways. 'I can see if someone is enjoying a dish,' Mua said. 'Whether they finish it or not. It's helpful.'
Supernormal restaurant in Melbourne features an open kitchen.
Closer to home, I've pulled up a bar stool at Sydney's Firepop (smoke-kissed, cumin-flavoured lamb skewers were electrifying), and at Supernormal in Melbourne (I can never go past the chicken and prawn dumplings). Both visits were accompanied by exceptional service, amusing chit-chat and genuine warmth – and not just from the flames.
One of the most notable countertop experiences remains Woodcut at Crown Sydney, from avid restaurateurs Sunny and Ross Lusted, whose four open kitchens are dedicated to varying cooking methods – from ash grilling to steam kettling. Their interactive style still feels fresh almost five years after opening.
Forget farm to table. I'd rather have charm to table. Counter dining is where it's at.
Originally published as I've dined at restaurants everywhere, I'll always choose a counter seat