Unhurried. That’s how Sixpenny rolls. It’s true of the pace at which flavours develop in the growing collection of ferments and preserves that line the back wall. True, too, of the eloquent explanations chefs and seasoned waitstaff offer with all seven courses. Dishes may appear restrained, but gripping complexities gradually come to light. Smoked crème fraîche, tomato miso and fermented strawberries invigorate an innocent-looking tomato tart in a wafery kombu shell. A brush of marron-coral butter made with an 11-month-old fermented fish paste draws incredible depth from a coal-licked marron, finished with bittersweet, satiny yellow-capsicum sauce. Even the dark, sticky vegetable jus beneath a slab of slow-roasted wagyu rump cap contains more dimensions than a Christopher Nolan plot line, seasoned with a yeast garum that holds nothing back. The recent addition of a sake pairing, meanwhile, is further evidence of quiet evolution. For such an un-shouty place, it sure generates a lot of noise.
Jennifer Soo
