Are you familiar with the idea of the good bad book?
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George Orwell's description is the best. They are "the kind of book that has no literary pretensions but remains readable when more serious productions have perished". Titles include Sherlock Holmes and Dracula, he wrote in 1945: absurd tales that persist and are still enjoyed. It was actually G.K. Chesterton who came up with the idea, according to Orwell, which I find a tad ironic because Chesterton's Father Brown character is at the bedrock of a particular type of good bad British television. That's about the best you can hope for on free-to-air most nights now.
But back to restaurants.
![Frutti di mare. Picture by Gary Ramage Frutti di mare. Picture by Gary Ramage](/images/transform/v1/crop/frm/MUwv8t3Wj4u7LSUBpSbqhh/6e1a79f6-fb3f-44a1-aa22-df3db1dcda49.jpg/r0_307_6000_3694_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg)
The argument I hope by now you can see I'm going to make is one for the good bad restaurant. These are restaurants which have no pretensions to fine dining but which continue serving meals long after the serious restaurants have gone bust, out of fashion or otherwise up in smoke. Botswana Butchery ring a bell, anyone?
The good bad restaurant is actually not bad at all.
The chairs are comfortable. No famous interior designers were consulted on the decor. The menu isn't seasonal, it's tried and true and it will often seem ignorant of recent consumer price index trends.
![Meatballs with Napoletana sauce. Picture by Gary Ramage Meatballs with Napoletana sauce. Picture by Gary Ramage](/images/transform/v1/crop/frm/MUwv8t3Wj4u7LSUBpSbqhh/f7fd839d-6b31-4358-8733-06d7152ea76a.jpg/r0_307_6000_3694_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg)
In old European cities, very old restaurants are sometimes marked with plaques to signal enduring quality. A top good bad restaurant in Australia has its own marker: a Bankcard sticker by the door. New ones haven't been issued since 2006.
The good bad restaurant idea is a neat explanation of why nine times out of 10 I prefer to spend my money in places that would struggle to scale the heights of our 20-point system. Their dining rooms are full, even on weeknights. Bottles of wine can be ordered without the need to consult a mortgage broker, and the menu feels familiar. Instead of feeling like you ought to enjoy yourself, you actually enjoy yourself. You leave feeling full and warm and happy, ready to make another booking in a fortnight or so and not so broke that you can't.
Forget I ever mentioned "bad". You have decidedly good experiences at a good bad restaurant.
![Veal saltimbocca. Picture by Gary Ramage Veal saltimbocca. Picture by Gary Ramage](/images/transform/v1/crop/frm/MUwv8t3Wj4u7LSUBpSbqhh/3f86cdcc-eca5-4ea7-8557-b0c312985353.jpg/r0_307_6000_3694_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg)
Corvina is such a place. All tables occupied, chairs comfortable, a menu of Italian dishes filled with choices that read in a genuinely appealing way. And the wine list! Behold, a document that is not beyond the comprehension of us mortals who do not hold first-class honours in viticulture.
We begin, as is only appropriate, with garlic bread ($7). This appears in the small piece, well-toasted fashion. Soon to be accompanied by the house-made veal and pork meatballs, which are served with Napoletana sauce and a few extra pieces of bread to mop up the sauce ($16). The three meatballs are generously portioned and the sauce performs as it should, if a little lacking in depth and richness.
Next, the veal saltimbocca ($30). Here thin pieces of fried veal are served with prosciutto draped across the top, along with baked potatoes and vegetables. The menu says the veal will be "tender". It's perhaps not the word I'd use to describe how it ended up, but nor would I reach for "boot leather" as the alternative. The prosciutto brings a salty tang to proceedings and the vegetables are very well turned out indeed. It's a cosy and tasty meal that would pair well with a boisterous night of wine and gossip.
![Chef Peter Arthur, floor manager Kunjan Patel and chef Tony Filippone. Picture by Gary Ramage
Chef Peter Arthur, floor manager Kunjan Patel and chef Tony Filippone. Picture by Gary Ramage](/images/transform/v1/crop/frm/MUwv8t3Wj4u7LSUBpSbqhh/311d7f32-2c28-495b-aadf-c742d4a2bb1f.jpg/r0_307_6000_3694_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg)
Across the table, I observe the linguine di frutti di mare ($30.50). Mussels always add an architectural flourish to a bowl of pasta. The proportion of seafood - prawns, calamari, scallops, too - to pasta was right, and the seafood was fresh. But the whole enterprise was a shade too oily.
Then came the only part of the evening that made us wince. The remains of the mains were whisked away and we were offered, and naturally accepted, dessert menus in their place. Hardly a long list, we settled on our selections quickly. Then we waited.
One of the most excruciating feelings is sitting in the audience of some dramatic production or other when a cue has clearly been missed and no one, least of all those on stage, knows what to do. Waiting to have our dessert orders taken felt like this. Other tables were being reset, the restaurant was clearing out and it became painfully obvious the points I would be at liberty to award here were slipping away.
With a bigger group, enjoying wine-lubricated chat after the main part of a meal, maybe this wouldn't be noticed. It wouldn't put me off coming again. But with just the two of us to keep each other company, we could feel the earth spinning on its axis.
A shame, too, because the desserts were fabulous. A tiramisu ($16) delivered all the classic notes of the mascarpone and chocolate-laced sponge and coffee experience.
![Passionfruit creme brulee. Picture by Gary Ramage Passionfruit creme brulee. Picture by Gary Ramage](/images/transform/v1/crop/frm/MUwv8t3Wj4u7LSUBpSbqhh/9b0af2a2-d03c-4159-b082-f8cf15997926.jpg/r0_307_6000_3694_w1200_h678_fmax.jpg)
Corvina's passionfruit-infused twist on a creme brulee ($16) was the true culinary accomplishment of the night. I would go back just for this to Swinger Hill (named not after the inhabitants but a notable explorer, as historian Nicholas Brown jokingly noted). Served in a white ramekin, the surface gave way with a splendid crack under my spoon and the innards were imbibed with passionfruit without ever being overpowering.
No Michelin man is coming to award Corvina any stars. No problem. The regulars won't care. They'll keep eating here regardless, and so they should. Things are just fine as they are.
Corvina
Address: 10/84 Ainsworth Street, Swinger Hill
Phone: 6286 2271
Website: corvinarestaurant.com.au
Hours: Tuesday to Saturday, 6-9pm. Offering takeaway 5-8.30pm.
Chefs: Peter Arthur and Tony Filippone
Dietary: Plenty of options
Noise: Lively chatter