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After a two-year hiatus, Richmond locals and broader Melbournites alike can rejoice – Anchovy is back.
Established nine years ago, Anchovy brought fresh and inspired Vietnamese flavours to an elevated casual dining setting, and it was a smash hit from the offset. But, after seven years and one pandemic, owners Jia-Yen Lee and Thi Le (who is also the chef) decided to hit pause on the beloved eatery and opened Jeow in its place. The Laotian-inspired restaurant was no shabby stepsister, and it earned a chef’s hat in its first year – come summer, it will reopen at night at Lee and Le's exemplar bánh mì spot Ca Com (conveniently located next door).
So, what refinements has Anchovy undergone during this brief intermission? The fit-out is much the same – dimly lit, intimate and slightly austere, but when bustling with patrons, with the thrum of unassuming R'n'B and blues, this austerity shifts to cosy and pacifying. With seats for just 26 diners, it has the ambience of a relaxed after-party or just chilling at a mates' house vibe.
And the food? Oh, be still my beating heart, the food. Le is emphatic that Anchovy is not a Vietnamese restaurant but rather an amalgamation of Australian and Vietnamese dining. Exploring the concept of 'Viet Kieu' (the term for a Vietnamese person who lives outside of Vietnam), Anchovy simultaneously represents provenance and metamorphosis, in the most gloriously edible way.
Kicking off with the housemade thịt nguội ($24), this dish comprises porcine cold cuts served with a thick wedge of housemade pate, pickles and chilli. The cold cuts are the fundamental element of the eponymous bánh mì at Ca Com, which, coincidentally, is my favourite sandwich in Melbourne.
Roll the pickles, chilli and a generous knob of pâté in one of the cuts and enjoy a rollercoaster of flavours and textural diversity. Salty, rich and acidic, it's my favourite sandwich, distilled, concentrated and Atkins-approved.
The fried globe artichoke with curry vinaigrette and burnt butter ($15) is another knee-slapper. The vinaigrette has an almost caramel-y top note that drops into a spicy and acidic aftermath, with the burnt butter bringing up the rear and leaving a veneer of gloss on your lips. It's so delicious that it takes me a second to realise I've just been eating it by the spoonful, ignoring the artichoke completely. When paired, the artichoke brings a crunchy textural component and a wonderful earthiness. It's a truly exceptional dish.
Eating at Anchovy is not a passive experience. The food demands you to be present; it's dynamic and multifaceted, a symphony of flavours and textures that shift with each bite, moving from rich to sweet to spicy, leaving you somewhere completely different from where you started.
The bánh khọt ($4.5), a savoury turmeric and rice flour pancake made with fish head floss, cucumber and pineapple, is a microcosm of this philosophy – an entire universe in just one bite. Imbued with myriad textures and flavours that progress from sweet to brightly acidic, it's gone in a mouthful, but your tongue will swear it has just experienced fifty dishes at once.
Hoành thánh ($34), or pork and prawn wontons, are a slightly more subdued affair. Served in a salubrious white pepper broth, they're plump, yielding and filled with crunchy water chestnuts for some added character. Familiar flavours done well, it's a delicate and comforting dish that provides reassuring steadiness after the potent dishes before it.
The mains are no less exceptional. The mì xào giòn ($50) features crispy egg noodles crowned with a treasure trove of scallops, mussels, calamari and market vegetables. The dish is savoury and smoky, with thoughtful chilli sauce and pickled garlic on the side for a burst of piquancy.
The Western Plains sour pork ($55) is a work of art. Served in a round wicker basket with Ramarro Farm leaves, pineapple, apple molasses and a colossal mountain of herbs, it's the kind of fare that will have patrons scurrying for their phones, eager to immortalise it on their Instagram. Pork is famously rich, but this one is slightly sour from being fermented in sticky rice, which keeps you from experiencing 'fatty fatigue'. Any pretence of decorum is out the window with this dish, and fingers are encouraged. It's another dish that works in harmony, awakens your palette from complacency, and has you thinking, "How can any other food compare to this?".
Drinks are wine-bar-best with a good selection of Australian and European wines. My glass of Murdoch pinot noir ($17) is berry-ish and drinkable, but a Beerlao lager ($10) is a superior companion to the saporous food.
This new iteration of Anchovy is geared towards solo diners or duos, and I can attest to this. Most of the dishes were offered as half serves, which is the kind of minutiae that this glutton appreciates. Variety is the spice, after all.
At the risk of sounding cliche, Anchovy is a gem. It encapsulates what makes Melbourne's dining scene so rich and exciting. Eating a bánh khọt with an exemplary Victorian red mere minutes from your house is a humble privilege. Like the flavours, Anchovy is a confluence of ideas, stories and experiences. They say you can't improve on perfection, but, as usual, they're wrong.