Martin Benn - Sepia The Cuisine of Martin Benn

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

By Martin Benn

This is a book about a restaurant.

Our unique style of cuisine and service, the people who make it all happen each day, and the story of how we got to where we are now. It is also a celebration of what we have achieved in five years within the Sydney dining scene, and of a restaurant that is constantly evolving.

When we opened Sepia in 2009, we really wanted to introduce a new style of dining where we could serve fine food in a more relaxed and comfortable environment, and to change the perception of what fine dining was.

My experiences as a young chef have had a profound impact on the way I wanted to run my own restaurant and business. This book will give you an insight into what it was really like to work as a young chef within fine dining restaurants and how this influenced my own values.

The recipes are presented in five different menus, with around fourteen dishes in each menu. These dishes have all appeared on Sepias menus throughout the last five years and are a representation of the kind of dishes we serve. With these menus, I would like to inspire you to create your own dishes. Do not take the menus literally and feel free to experiment with your own ideas.

The final menu is dedicated to desserts only. I have certainly gained a fond appreciation for desserts over the past few years and get a lot of enjoyment from creating them. Desserts are where you can let your imagination run wild and anything is possible.

All that I aspire to achieve is that every dish is delicious, with just that little bit of magic.

WHO IS THE HAPPIER MAN, HE WHO HAS BRAVED THE STORM OF LIFE OR HE WHO HAS STAYED SECURELY ON SHORE AND MERELY EXISTED?

HUNTER S. THOMPSON

You cant succeed at anything in life until you learn what not to do. Understanding the elements of failure is as important as the retention and the way you use, knowledge. What makes up our personal story is created by much more than our hunger and will. What inspires us, what drives usgood and badhelps define the footprint we leave behind, but there are always unplanned moments that alter our paths along the way.

Of course, growing up in the small fishing village of Hastings on the southeast coast of England, I never imagined, not in my wildest dreams, that I would end up in Sydney, Australia with Vicki Wild and our very own restaurant. Its mind-blowing.

Y ou see, I come from a family of builders. My father, Ray, a bricklayer by trade, started his career at the age of fifteen. He didnt have any formal training; rather, he was taught on the job for five years by his first boss, Jack Ralph. Strict on time keeping, and a perfectionist, Jack would inspect my fathers work and kick it down if he wasnt happy with the quality. My father learnt quickly and says he owes a lifetime of experience to this man.

My father is an inspirational man. He has taught me many valuable life lessons, particularly that I should never be afraid of hard work. You only get out what you put in, son, he used to say. Although I knew I never wanted to follow in his footsteps, my fathers work ethic certainly rubbed off on me.

I dont know what it was, but even as a young boy something was driving me to a life in food. My mother, Lin, is a great cook, taught by her mother, who was taught by hersthe traditional way. She is very passionate about food, and when I was growing up we always had a great meal on the table, every night. Never afraid to experiment, she entertained friends regularly. I know this is where my cooking roots are from.

On Sundays, while my father and older brother were in the garage tweaking cars and motorbikes, I would be in the house preparing the Sunday roast with my mother. By the time I was twelve, my mother let me make the entire lunch by myselfroast beef, Yorkshire puddings, roasted pheasant with all the trimmings, pavlova, strawberry cheesecakeI was in my element. Every Friday during school holidays we would go to the local fish market to check out the catch of the day. I was so excited to see all the different types of fish available, and we would always choose the freshest to cook that night.

Our family meal was served at 5.30 pm sharp, every night. The whole family sat together, sharing food, solving dilemmas and discussing what was to come the following day. It brought us all together.

THE SMUGGLERS INN

While cooking just came naturally to me, my parents thought I was completely mad when I told them I wanted to be a chef. But I had no doubts. Ive always found that inner peace in the kitchen.

At the age of thirteen I took a job in the local public house, The Smugglers Inn, under the watchful eye of publicans Graham and Barbara. Graham was a big mancigarette in one hand, beer in the other. Always. A laugh like a hyena and a stare that pierced right through you. Barbara, his wife, ran the kitchen and was the first cook I had ever met.

On busy Sunday lunches, the pub would turn out about 100 meals. The buzz was unreal, and it was my first taste of the frenetic energy of a commercial kitchen. I loved it.

My job was to collect glasses and plates from around the beer garden, changing over barrels in the cellar, just general helping out. But I was fascinated by the kitchen. Graham and Barbaras son, Steve, was a head chef in a hotel in Maidenhead, just outside London. Hed visit every so often to help out his mother.

The first time I met him, he was cooking dinner for a special guest in the dining room. While I was out the back changing the barrels I could smell this amazing aroma coming from the kitchen. I could see Steve through the open doors so I climbed closer and sat on the barrels to listen to him explaining what he was doing to some of the other cooks. I was kind of star-struck.

He was explaining Lobster Thermidor. Wow, lobsterit was the first time I had ever seen one. As I got closer, I knocked over a pile of soft drinks propped up next to the door, sending them crashing all over the cellar floor.

You bloody idiot, whatre you doing? I heard Graham shout. I looked up and he was standing over me.

As I got up I saw Steve looking over at me from the kitchen. Oh, give him a break, Dad, hes only interested.

Later that night Steve asked me whether I was interested in cooking.

Yes! I said. I really want to be a chef.

OK, what if I was to ask your parents if you could come and work at the Grovefield in Maidenhead in the school holidays, to really see what its like to be a chef?

I couldnt believe my luck. I begged my parents to let me go.

THE GROVEFIELD HOTEL