The heady smell of incense is apparent as soon as you walk into Flint’s dark confines. Charcoal walls surround a centrepiece open kitchen where sous chef Yukio Endo works his magic on the night we visit. Through an alcove is a private mezzanine dining area that overlooks the restaurant while perched aloft.
Flint combines the no-waste fermentation ethos of the since-closed Parcs with a healthy respect for flames and a penchant for wood-fired grilling, which is all the rage at restaurants like Matilda 159, Cutler and Co and Grill Americano. There are no ovens at Flint – only ‘fire, smoke and charcoal’.
Service is congenial, prompt and un-hierarchical – owner and chef Nicki Morrison herself waits on tables, while Yukio handles the cooking. Flint’s approach to fermentation is a through-line in the menu – the water in which carrots ferment is used in the Carrot Sour cocktail (a spin on a Whisky Sour) to great effect, while the fermented carrot themselves feature in Flint’s famed ‘carrot carrot’ dish.
Stepping away momentarily from fermentation and carrots, Flint’s cocktail menu is short but sweet, boasting classics like Negronis and Espresso Martinis alongside the must-try Yuzu Sour, the latter akin to a liquified bright and zesty mandarin spiked with gin. Meanwhile, the concise wine list combines European varietals with local ones.
There are only two entrees on Flint’s menu priced by individual serves, and the seeded sourdough with bone marrow-koji butter is one of them – we’d highly recommend forking out for a piece each. The butter is subtle and smooth, leaving an oily residual sheen on our lips, while the seeded sourdough from nearby Falco is the perfect foil for such a rich accompaniment.
The mussel escabeche – plump bivalves dressed with a tart vinaigrette – arrive on thin slivers of bread topped with pickled onions. Cutting through the tartness is a discernible smoky aroma from the coffee emulsion in the spread separating bread from mussel.
Lettuce is dressed up in outstanding ways throughout Melbourne – Capitano embellishes its iceberg lettuce with parm dressing and parm crisp, while 1800 Lasagne disguises its cos lettuce with anchovy cream and grana. Flint’s burnt lettuce is a worthy addition to the pantheon and exemplifies the spirit of 1800 Lasagne's showstopper, with a thick and lustrous anchovy cream blanketing the singular wedge of lettuce and pangrattato adding a pleasant bite.
The next two dishes are must-orders that showcase Flint at its best. Arriving in three discs that more resemble black pudding than fish, cubes of raw trevally doused in an apple chilli sauce are mushroom-like in their firm, meaty and chewy texture. There are many moving parts to this intricately constructed dish – burnt nori ash that the trevally is rolled in as well as three-hour fermented apples and several-day fermented shiitakes, which comprise a sauce so umami we wish we had a spoon to ladle it up.
The sense of theatre evoked by the beef tartare is matched by the sublime flavours. Diners are invited to smash bulbous nori rice crackers into pieces – don’t worry if they scatter onto the table – and use them to scoop up ground beef flushed a bright magenta by beetroot cashew cream. Beetroot naysayers needn’t worry – the root vegetable, which also receives the heat and ferment treatment, lends the dish its colour more than anything. The culmination of everything is a deliciously salty explosion, a textural melange of slippery and crunchy.
Mains maintain the high bar set by preceding dishes. The peppery, parsley-forward condiment of salsa provenzal is a common adjunct to open-fire grilled ‘asado’ meats, but Flint has paired it with a whole grilled rainbow trout to perfection. Beware the minuscule bones hidden within fish so rich it’s almost creamy. The char on the skin of the rainbow trout is exemplary.
Rounds of lamb with encrusted edges from the grill are lifted by the sharp tang of roasted red peppers in the romesco. It’s a touch overcooked when we visit, but not remarkably so, though the pops of crisp black rice interspersed throughout are more distracting than anything.
It’s clear why the aptly termed 'carrot carrot' is Flint’s signature dish. Thick stubs of charred carrot sit on a bed of seven-day-fermented carrots puréed with smoked butter – it’s carrot upon carrot, with the addition of a creamy labneh. Elevating something simple into an otherworldly medley of flavours and textures is what Flint does best, and nowhere is it more pronounced than in this dish.
Save space for dessert even if you’re not a traditional fan of panna cotta. Swapping the silken tofu-like texture of a regular panna cotta with something altogether more gelatinous, the hojicha adds an earthiness to what is typically a homogenously sweet dessert.
Flint surprises with every turn.