You hear Manzé (Creole for 'eat') before you see it. Its cheerful Mauritian music floats out onto Errol Street in North Melbourne, setting the wine bar oceans apart from other venues on the strip, such as the grungy Town Hall Hotel or the British-inspired Courthouse Hotel. Chef Nagesh Seethiah opened Manzé’s doors in November 2021 to strong interest, with tables booking out completely in its debut month and often since then. It’s arguably Australia’s highest profile culinary representation of Mauritian cuisine, but as we come to find on our visit, that’s only the beginning of its appeal.
We’re surprised to find the hostess carrying an air of solemnity as she welcomes us. It’s a somewhat humorous contrast to the restaurant’s jaunty soundtrack, but it feels more sincere than snobbish, and besides, it’s fairly normal these days for bar staff not to wear an ear-to-ear grin. By choice, we’re seated out in the street to soak up the tail-end glow of a sunny spring day. There’s an elegant arrangement of al fresco tables and chairs that make us feel like we’re on vacation, and it inspires my first choice of drink: a Grapefruit Spritz.
In a flash, it arrives the colour of a sunset in a tall wine glass with giant blocks of ice. I find it a little too syrupy from the housemade grapefruit cordial, but it’s fun and fruity with a gentle fizz from the sparkling wine. Just a dash more balance would set it right. My partner opts for a glass of Bandicoot Run’s 2022 chardonnay, a juicy Gippsland wine that’s been fermented in ceramic eggs. Slightly acidic with subtle notes of citrus rind, the cloudy pale gold drop is sublime.
Natural wines can be a hit or a miss due to their unpredictability, but Manzé has curated an excellent and concise list with a focus on ethical producers. There’s also a separate wine list of rarer treasures available on request should we want a whole bottle, but we’d rather treat ourselves to the variety that comes with ordering by the glass. On the food front, we’re told the set menu is a perfect representation of Manzé’s Mauritian-style offering, priced at $75 a head for four courses composed of multiple share-style dishes. We go for it.
The initial round of starters come out all at once, a purple daikon radish with feijoa chutney; a gato pomme de tere (potato cake); and a satini pipengaille (okra salad) made with Portarlington mussels. These are as unique as wine bar snacks in Melbourne get, and we’re all about the creativity. Every bite cheekily fans the flames of chilli. The novelty of the flavours encourages pause for thought. What exactly are we tasting here? Do we like this? We love it.
The radish snack is perfectly semi-bitter, refreshing with a heady lick of nectarous chutney. The toasty warm potato cake comes lightly dusted with salt, its natural starch lifted by a puddle of fermented apple sauce. A lip-smacking hit. But it’s the satini pipengaille that’s most striking, a melty avocado-green bite not much bigger than a 50 cent coin. The naturally creamy mussel has been smothered in a sharp peppery sauce that delivers a swift kick to the tongue.
If you’re the sort who needs everything drenched in either sugar, salt or fat (or all three), you’ll be out of your element here. So far, everything’s been beguiling us with subtly bitter, sour, smoky and complex whispers – sophisticated responses to the more mature desires of the palate.
“Get the yabby,” my waiter urges, a surprisingly enthusiastic departure from her otherwise reserved demeanour. It’s an extra addition to the set menu, and I’m glad I take her advice. It comes in all its splayed-out glory complete with bright red claws I’m instructed to crack open myself. It’s fiddly business, but the impossibly tender flesh inside is sweet and fresh – a just reward for getting your hands dirty. A small bowl of warm lemon water comes out shortly after so I can clean my now turmeric-tinged fingertips.
All the food is plated rather artistically, aesthetic splashes of natural island-like colours reminiscent of Mauritius itself. I order a glass of Parley’s Love Supreme rosé, the hue of dark coral and singing with the tartness of under-ripe plum. “Rosé’s having a moment,” a second waiter chimes in with a smile as they collect our plates. Then the next surprise arrives, a ‘build-your-own’ puri adventure.
Puri is a nutty wholewheat bread, a popular street food snack in Mauritius. It’s doughy and crisp, a true comfort when dipped into the array of curried gravies that comprise our entrees. There’s a giraumon fricassee – a bright orange stew made with Japanese pumpkin, mustard and curry leaves, and it’s as nippy as my yabby’s formerly active claws. There’s a ritual to the puri fun: you break it off in parts, stuff it in a smattering of pickled vegetables, and dip it into the condiments. Lightly spiced lentil, parsley and coriander balls rest in a dark green stew, which we also fold into our puri as an experiment. We’re finally in more familiar territory here as you can taste the Indian influence.
All of it’s herbaceous and alive in the mouth, the kind of food your belly appreciates – real food unsullied by the excesses and flourishes of most modern kitchens that try to go straight for the jugular. I want it to slow down, the food and drinks are whizzing out so fast. Dishes this mysterious and commanding need more time to ponder over. But post-puri plates, the pace begins to slows and the evening stretches out into a pleasant dusky lull.
To finish off the savoury chapter, we share in the delights of a pork neck from Barangarook in the Otways. It’s been ladled with yet another peppery olive-hued sauce, this one spicier than the last. Boy, do they like it spicy around here. It heats me up from the inside out. The pork itself is spot-on, tender and a little fatty, washed down beautifully with a chilled plummy cab sav from Ari’s Wine Co – a pairing highlight. The invigorating house salad on the side is a honeyed, tangy melange of tiny broccoli florets and greens.
For dessert, a spoonful of salted coconut sorbet has an effect similar to what I imagine it would feel like to plug a dopamine drip straight into your veins. The creamy scoop is dolloped onto a sort of pudding spiced with cinnamon and cardamom. A taste of paradise. It’s only near the end of our adventure that we discover Manzé is also a solid rum destination. We’re shown a few Mauritian bottles on the menu and our waiter displays an in-depth knowledge as she talks us through our options. I go for the “more rounded” choice, an irresistible blend of caramel, coconut and vanilla notes, which tastes like a dessert itself.
We’re presented the bill with a shimmering shell placed on top as a paperweight. The cost is a little higher than we expected, but then we did go a bit nuts on the wine and rum, and here it’s hard not to. At its heart, Manzé is a fantastic little wine bar with a strong drinks offering, but the food shouldn’t be overlooked if you’re keen to try something new and ingredient-driven. We were captivated every moment of the way.
