My Mexican Cousin

So here’s the thing about My Mexican Cousin. It’s not actually Mexican. Nope, this little venture is all about north of the border, down’n’dirty Creole cooking and free-pour cocktail action coming direct to you from the heartland of booze, New Orleans. Or so the menu enthuses. And while we're grateful that it's not adding to the very totteringly-full Mexican bandwagon, the menu isn't so much of a refreshing smack to the senses as you might hope. 

First off, why the misleading title? Well, this is a venture with some big names behind it, and one of those names belongs to St Ali’s Savatore Malatesta. He was approached by the Recital Centre some time ago, and having wanted to be involved in a project with fellow industry doyen Jerome Borazio (Resurrection, Ponyfish Island) and Melbourne’s finest fish man Maurice Esposito (Esposito, St Peters), he agreed to take on the space, and named the joint after St Ali’s most famous breakfast dish: My Mexican Cousin. The only problem is that this happened quite some time before the group got together and actually decided on the cuisine. And once they did, it transpired that it was one where the knowledge of diners outweighed that of the kitchen. 

Service kicks off here at the crack of 7am, and coffee fiends from afar have been making the trek to Sturt Street for a java hit, because let's face it, there is nary a good latte between St Ali in South Melbourne and the Cup of Truth under Degraves Street. As is to be expected with the St Ali dudes working the groups, the brews are silky’n’sweet.

Lunch and dinner sees the menu expand out to tapas share plate dishes. Cameron Earl (Mopho Noodle Bar) was heavily advised by Esposito in creating the menu, so what you see here is the rough and ready swamp style cooking of New Orleans – namely, punch in the groin spicy, garlic filled stews, and plenty of hot sauce, raw fish and fried action – heavily tempered to reflect Esposito’s refined and delicate cooking aesthetic. The restrained flavours also acknowledge that diners are likely about to be confined to an auditorium for three hours.

So, instead of a bowl of rough chopped raw fish kicking about with shallots, chilli and lime, the ceviche here comes out as sweet scallop medallions partially pickled in a gently spiced gazpacho. It’s Creole inspired, but we can't help but feel like it's been uncomfortably scrubbed and stuffed into a suit. Sounding ever so slightly less refined is the chicken with dog sauce (sauce chien). What you’re looking at here is a leg of crisp skinned fried chicken with naught but a little dish of shallots, chilli, and blitzed fresh herbs, vinegar, oil and lime. This sauce (likely invented to mask some funky swamp meat taste) makes another appearance on sweet oysters and gives a spicy tangy kick to all it touches.

For pre-show snacking, get a load of the baby po’boy. It’s a small submarine sandwich licked with mayonnaise and a seafood stock reduction sauce, then stacked with lettuce and a pair of beer battered and fried king prawns. It’s quick and easy – which is the way to travel here.

There's a lot going on and perhaps too much. Esposito has departed now, and while Creole consultants have come through and the tills tick over like clockwork thanks to the ready made crowd of Recital Centre diners, there is room for improvement. Rumour has it that help is at hand, but for the time being keep it simple, stick to the snacks and hit the bar.