Jesse Mulligan Reviews Sherwood: Why This Queenstown Favourite Is Still A Must-Visit
Sherwood’s kitchen shines with inventive takes on whitebait, pāua and mussels.
The contrast in mood between travelling to and arriving at this dinner could not have been greater. The cab from the airport cost $50 ($14/kilometre), representing such unavoidably horrific value for money that it was impossible not to feel cross at the driver, the company, the region, the world.
But the moment I’d waved my credit card and got out of the car, things improved. Sherwood is a former 1980s motor court purchased by friendly North Island hipsters a decade or so ago and transformed into a sustainable, fashionable, California-style resort. The affordably-priced rooms have been tastefully upgraded without ever threatening to be luxurious. There is a bar-venue-yoga studio-restaurant that spills out into a social central courtyard. The whole property smells of wood smoke (in a good way) and though it’s not immediately or even eventually clear where you should be received for dinner, you feel surprisingly welcome as you wander around the main building trying to work it out.
The restaurant has received much acclaim but I don’t think I’ve ever sat down and appraised it with a critical eye so a recent, fleeting visit to Queenstown seemed like the perfect opportunity. The short version of this review is that the kitchen is working but the front of house isn’t, but you didn’t pay good money to hear the short version, so here’s a more thoughtful analysis of what I experienced on the night.
The first thing to say is that everyone is trying hard. Our waitress was battling several forces, including a bar that wouldn’t give her the drinks she kept asking for and an Eftpos machine that was possibly haunted, but she never lost her cheerful willingness to please. At one point around sunset, as we sat admiring the world-famous Remarkables mountain range, a junior staff member walked over right in front of us and pulled a large curtain over the entire window. My generally passive wife, who’d been quite enjoying the floor-to-ceiling view, got up and opened it up again and, noticing the implicit tension in the exchange, another waitress wandered up and admitted “sorry, she … closed them too early”.
“You MUST get the Pickletini” a friend had told us when we mentioned we were heading to Sherwood. But it turns out the Pickletini is seasonal (odd, given pickles are by definition non-seasonal) and no amount of convincing could tempt the bartender to make us one. We ordered something else and it got lost. Our neighbours ordered a round of drinks and theirs got lost too. Things were not looking good.
As soon as the food arrived, life got better. There are more famous Central Otago restaurants but I’d be surprised if there was anywhere that could give you a better introduction to unique New Zealand proteins. I think I’ve only ever seen whitebait served in an omelette or fritter but here it is given a starring role atop a flame-scorched flatbread, the individual īnanga served in a pile with mayo and for once unobscured by egg, except for a few strings of cured yolk scattered over as a garnish.
The pāua pasta was billed as mafaldine but was probably closer to pappardelle. It didn’t matter; it was the most delicious dish of the night and moreish despite being exceptionally rich – the squid ink pasta and native abalone mirroring each other in shape, colour and texture; the whole thing dressed in a buttery paua stock.
The informal Aotearoa degustation menu continued with green-lipped mussels, served on riverstones, two to a shell, in a sweet, mild pickle. Then we moved on to more traditional bistro fare – a golden-brown half of chicken served on romesco (capsicum, garlic, almond, olive oil) with a few fried lovage leaves for colour and crunch. This bird was incredibly tender; surely it had been brined given the culinary impossibility of achieving both crispy skin and juicy breast meat. On the side we enjoyed asparagus, which I’m sure had been deep-fried – the first time I’ve come across this but I suspect not the last.
Finally, for freshness we had a “French breakfast radish” (how much colour and appeal do those simple two descriptors add to a plain salad vegetable), which came with creme fraiche and almost nothing else, the leaves still attached as an act of confidence in the quality of the produce.
Don’t miss the desserts, which are among the best in the country. We had an exceptional croissant pain perdu (think French toast made with croissants, served with pieces of baked apple) and a sorbet made from God’s greatest creation, the tamarillo. It tasted intensely of the fruit and was served with a thick, creamy mascarpone-honey concoction alongside shards of meringue.
If your mouth is watering, it should be. From the day this place opened the food has been fresh, exciting and local. Perhaps I got unlucky but service seems to be having some speed wobbles right now and I hope they can sort that out, because it’s almost problematic enough that it could ruin your beautiful meal. Maybe this review will prompt some change, as I know there’s a management team behind the scenes who are committed to protecting Sherwood’s remarkable reputation.
Sherwood
Cuisine: Bistro
Contact: 554-558 Frankton Rd, Queenstown, (03) 450 1090, sherwoodqueenstown.nz
Reservations: Accepted
Drinks: Fully licensed
From the menu: Asparagus $21, whitebait flatbread $26, radish $8, Stewart Island mussels $21, half chicken $42, blackfoot pāua, bolognese $48
Rating: 16/20
Score: 0-7 Steer clear. 8-12 Disappointing, give it a miss. 13-15 Good, give it a go. 16-18 Great, plan a visit. 19-20 Outstanding, don’t delay.
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