Lunch at Le ble bleu blah blah… Or lunch at Le Relais Bressan (if you can speak French a little better then Joey from “Friends” circa 1990s sometime), Flaxton.
This place was the best dining “experience” of our trip. Good food and wine, great service and meals that hit your table fast… Three courses in little over an hour is a pretty effing good effort.
We all opted for the $27.50 lunch menu which had a choice of three entrees, three mains and three desserts. No joke. 27 bucks, we couldn’t go too far wrong there. We also ordered some house made bread to start and an extra entrée of snails in garlic butter because they weren’t on the special menu and Seba was hell bent that he was going to eat snails today! I’m pretty glad they were available because I didn’t fancy the chances of me rummaging around in the garden like a red bearded Don Burke for long enough to find enough snails to feed my ravenous son.
It was a lot of food. I thought the courses may have been a little smaller because of the price, but no, this is French country hospitality at its very finest.
The food came out and it was very clear that these guys did not give a fuck… in a good way. This place is to unpretentious what pin striped flares and sexually transmitted disease was to the 60s hippy movement. There was no deconstructed-milk-skin-covered-edible-soil-emulsification or micro shiso leaves in sight. They didn’t care what you thought about their choice of décor or the 1980s salad garnish. But all the same they were very happy to have you there. It’s like you were dining in their home… or a bigger, slightly more eclectic version of it. Does that even make a tiny bit of sense?
The service was magic. There were only two people working the floor and probs 40 or so heads eating. They were polite, they had time for a chat and a laugh and then it was quickly onto the next table for a little of the same, in French this time because he is clearly speaking to another Frenchman. A la vous bon scouns mirepoix! Whatever, I’m just jealous because I can barely speak English let alone a second, heaps sexier language.
Seba was so impressed he wanted to personally thank the chef. On returning from his jaunt into the kitchen he did comment that he didn’t understand anything the chef said… well, you certainly don’t need to be able to speak English to cook. I think both Pauly and myself are living, breathing proof of this! Arms and legs help but English, not a bit.
Just like every good French restaurant, there is a giant cock out the front!
If you’re ever in or around Montville suss it out.
344 Flaxton Dr, Flaxton, QLD, 4560
(07) 5445 7157
(Closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays)