Solo dining is a radical act at the best of times. When faced with a 20-person communal table and a 98% chance of being seated elbow-to-elbow or worse, face-to-face, with a stranger, the stakes rise. But at a space such as Pretty Little (which is exactly as its name suggests), it’s worth walking through your fear as their offering is one best experienced alone.
A small team and intimate setting foster a sort of meditative dining experience where you can devote your full focus to the offering, sans distraction. And a produce-driven menu with an air of Scandi minimalism means attention to detail is paramount.
With a wall full of all Victorian wines, what to drink is one of the few decisions you’ll have to make over the course of the night – and the host will gladly guide you through. (We overhear her saying that she’s the sister of the former owner Myke Bard. He’s moved on from the business but she and chef Mike Harrison have stuck around, which is surely a good sign).
While many establishments have transitioned away from mandatory set menus, Pretty Little is sticking to their guns with a 2 or 3-course option (for $69 or $89, respectively) plus a few a la carte add-ons. The only option is whether to go for a starter, dessert or both, though dietary-friendly alternatives are available.
The first dish on the menu is asparagus and spring onion on a bed of briny gribiche, finished with a generous dusting of fromage de brebis (a firm, salty sheep’s milk cheese). Crisp and slightly watery, the asparagus tastes like it's been plucked fresh from the garden bed, its unadulterated flavour shining through the richness of the dish. If the spring onion was cut the plate would be perfect – but served whole, it’s a bit clumsy to eat.
Fish as a main course is often a bore but the barramundi, while delicate, is anything but. It’s cold-smoked then steamed and served in a shallow bed of bacon consomme with pippies, peas and a few sprigs of fennel. It’s a dish that’s more than the sum of its parts – but the real element of surprise is the pop of toasted buckwheat, perhaps inspired by the vicinity’s Eastern European diaspora, which lends textural contrast and nuttiness to the plate.
Dessert is nice but for an extra $20, could be skipped – blood orange sorbet with vanilla custard sounds like a nice palette cleanser but the bits of roasted white chocolate are a bit cloying and the olive oil a tad too rich. If you want to leave full, however, an alternate add-on (perhaps the housemade sourdough with parmesan butter?) is advised.
Each course is brought to the table by chef Harrison himself, who extends a brief explanation before you’re left with your food. Even for a party of one, the meal was a two-hour affair so plan accordingly and bring a book or a dinner date if you must. But whatever you do, pay attention because at Pretty Little, it’s the subtle touches that set the venue a bar above the rest.
Time Out Melbourne never writes starred reviews from hosted experiences – Time Out covers restaurant and bar bills for reviews so that readers can trust our critique.