Red Squirrel Dining, 177 Carrington Rd, Coogee

Having just moved to the area I was on a mission to find that dependable, reliable nearby restaurant- one for Tuesday night dinners, moments of indecision and last minute dining. That’s when I encountered Red Squirrel.

Upon entering the white cubic room, the first thing you notice is all the squirrely ornaments lining the shelves. We are promptly seated by the pleasing waitress who takes us to our equally cubic table with white table cloth and pine deck chairs.

“We’re ready to order when you’re ready” says the women at the table to our right in her most polite annoyed voice to the waitress. Her husband is tapping his fingers and I come to notice that not many people are eating.

But no one seems to mind and in fact the mood is quite relaxed. Its like going to an aunts for dinner, ceramic ornaments, a wonky table which the waitress crouches down to fix-twice- and the refrigerator at the corner of the kitchen, clearly visible from our table and dotted with pictures of children and good times.

By the time our entrée arrives my date has spilt his red wine twice (the table’s fault). The goats cheese tart is picturesque, cupping pieces of feta and roast tomato, curls of parmesan balance carefully on and around it. Dotted with swirls of truffle oil and balsamic, finely chopped shallots laze about the outside of the plate, waiting to be swept up by a full fork. Admittedly, there’s a lot going on and it somehow works; the warm crispiness of the pastry, saltiness of the feta and sweet tang of the tomato and caramelised red onion. But sometimes more is too much and the balsamic tended to subsume the other flavours.

Some forty minutes later my ravioli arrives and so does my date’s steak. The colours on his plate are playful and the food is looking delightfully tall. On a round hill of potato a robust piece of eye fillet relaxes and around it are green beans, asparagus and sundried tomatoes. I watch his seasonal feast in envy as I prod through my ravioli, each pocket filled with a pureed substance and small shards of lobster. At an entrée size it priced at $22. It was described as “lobster tail ravioli”. You do the math.

I order desert even though I know I won’t be seeing it for a while. A bronzed reclining Buddha lazes beneath the stairs, “Relax…” he says. It arrives quicker than I expect and my date asks the waitress for the bill just as she puts it down. Lemon panna cotta with strawberries and lemon sorbet- the menu does not lie. Each spoonful is politely smooth and creamy, the flecks of vanilla bean offering some reassurance after my main. I bite the strawberries but leave most of the gelato which exceeds the sourness of the pond of lemon syrup on the panna cotta and is frankly too much.

As I refuse to share the last of my desert the room is ahumm with casual Saturday night diners and some rowdy celebration upstairs which seems to be testing the pace of the lone waitress. A cool young couple walks in and is seated. The waitress crouches down next to them and fixes the uneven table legs. The young girl blushes and proceeds to coo over the porcelain squirrel clutching an acorn on the mantle piece. All is well at Red Squirrel.

Written by Bridget Cormack