Any Melburnian knows how lucky they are to have some of the nation’s best bars and restaurants at their doorstep, but it’d be remiss to suggest that a lot of that good fortune doesn’t hinge on where you live. So when a gem like Bar Savarin pops up 18 kilometres from the CBD sandwiched between the industrial trade complexes of Cheltenham, the locals duly pay attention.
Tucked away amongst grey concrete slabs of aerospace and manufacturing offices, there’s a white picket fence that encloses the cheeky bistro and bottle shop, its name cheerily stamped in a valiant splash of red. As the French would say, quel charmant! On the Friday evening we visit, it’s immediately clear this is a firm neighbourhood favourite. Unlike some of the trendier wine bars we’ve visited recently with their hip crowds and moody lighting, noisy Bar Savarin is a breath of fresh air. It’s quickly filling up with people of all ages and all walks of life, and the lighting in the intimate L-shaped dining space feels brighter, more casual and family-oriented – we can see each other clearly across the table and read our menus without squinting. The centrepiece of the room is a curved bar where guests sit on stools, swilling drinks and swapping stories with friends.
True to its name, the set-up is reminiscent of a no-nonsense French bistro, but there’s a quirky touch you can spot in certain singular oddities: an interesting spherical red lamp looming above the bar like the planet Mars, tealights in '70s style orange glasses, a beaker-shaped vase on the floor that’s full of corks, and a neon-lit sign that reads “for your pleasure”. Well, we can’t argue with that.
I do wish for a soft banquette or lounge to sink into, as the small casual space doesn’t allow for much room to spread out. But it doesn’t take long for us to settle in. High-vibe funk records are on rotation, such as Earth, Wind and Fire’s hit ‘September’ – an absolute bop. The menu is a short and sweet two-pager split into snacks, small plates, mains and drinks, featuring aperitifs, eight cocktails, as well as wines by the glass and a selection of local beers.
We start with a King Valley prosecco that’s all bubbly refinement and an Adelaide Hills chardy. The latter is crisp, slick and juicy, planting a kiss of fennel on the back palate. They’re lively drinks to kick off the evening, and soon the starters begin to fly in. A freshly shucked Merimbula oyster comes with the bivalve bathed in a lime-green pond of gin and tonic gazpacho; a wow moment. Briny and piquant, it’s an oyster worth swirling around your mouth before swallowing, just as you’d do with a clever cocktail.
Two zucchini flowers are plated fresh out of flash-frying mode, their bright, green stems maintaining an impressive structural integrity. You can taste all the usual suspects in the crisp bite: ricotta, lemon and oil, but there’s also a cheeky dollop of yuzu mayo and chilli salt for dipping. Five stars, and no sad or soggy petals in sight.
We’ve also ordered something called mortadella toast and we’re not quite sure what to expect. It comes out looking like taramasalata, a pink spread piped onto a shard of toast with caramelised nashi pear and speckles of sharp gruyere cheese. We're astounded by mortadella as a pureed porky paste instead of the more familiar shaved form, but “why not?” is the owner’s response when we discuss the snack with him later. And why not, indeed? It’s a gutsy treat. The star of the show though, is the smoked potato doughnut. Showered in pecorino shavings, these small fried blimps collapse into the softest molten potato mash of dreams, leaving a cheese and bacon taste on your tongue as a farewell. It’s a legendary bar snack, and after that, our anticipation for the mains soars.
They play around in the kitchen here, sure, but they clearly know what they’re doing: everything so far has been a bull's-eye. The bar owner himself takes our next orders. He’s warm and his enthusiasm for his favourite dishes (which we’ve already had our eyes on) are confirmed with a knowing smile. And gosh, he’s a nice bloke. He’s the life of the party, genuinely hilarious and he even politely laughs at a terrible mushroom pun that can’t resist rolling shamefully off my tongue. He chats to everyone like they’re old friends, and they probably are by now. At this stage, Bar Savarin’s energy peaks at full capacity; the music blends with the sizzling and ringing of chefs toiling in the kitchen.
We share a glass of Vinteloper shiraz and wait. There’s a bit of twiddling your thumbs around here, but it’s understandable given the heaving popularity of the joint.
Our smooth mushroom parfait with crunchy honeycomb is a textbook pairing, with great texture to boot. It’s served with clouds of toasted milk bread, which we tear with glee and dip into the creamy, earthy goodness. The Gippsland scotch fillet is the main affair, a whopping fatty hunk of meat with a crusty seal, served medium with a bloom of herby melted café de Paris butter. Modern bistro owners would be hard-pressed to top it. Deeply nutty green beans with macadamia butter, olive and mint arrive with an al dente crunch to round out what has truly been an A-grade meal.
At the end of the night, there’s no doubt about it: Bar Savarin is genuinely the coolest place we’ve been to in a long time, and we’d drive out to Cheltenham every week if it meant we got to have dinner here. The food and drink is well considered, with the entrées a playground for the chefs, and the mains exploring what great bistro fare can be. Despite a bit of a wait for some orders, the feverish kitchen never once sacrifices on quality – everything feels like it’s given the proper time and respect in its preparation. The staff are upfront and attentive, their smiles unwavering with their enthusiasm for food, drink and old-school hospitality.
A great bar is a nexus for any community, and Cheltenham is lucky to have one such as Bar Savarin. Unless you’re a local, it’s a pilgrimage to reach – but par for the course on any religious journey, one must pay their respects to the great kitchen gods who forged this enchanting gem.