Henry Summer: Northbridge venue keeps it simple at a tropical oasis

They say plants are good for the mood. At Henry Summer, there’s enough greenery to put you on a permanent high. It cascades from hanging pots, sprouts from whitewashed corners and creates frond canopies over the decidedly chic beer-garden deck.

It achieves the huge new venue’s aim of creating a feel of endless summer. Memories of its former life as The Shed are long gone, replaced with green velvet couches, cane chairs softened with tropical print cushions, and a white marble bar-top lined with pink stools. The furnishings were made in Bali, and the place wafts the isle’s holiday vibe.

It’s the biggest project yet for hospitality king Clint Nolan. The former chef has nailed the small bar-restaurant combo with La Cholita and Pleased To Meet You, and the grungy speak-easy with Sneaky Tony’s, Alabama Song and Joe’s Juice Joint. Henry Summer is like a plus-sized version of everything he’s done to date, with the lights on.

The thing is, though, it fits up to 900 punters, which means certain concessions — namely the low-brow food buzzer.

After ordering food at the bar you’re handed a disk that soon flashes, vibrates and beeps.

Then you return to the cutely named, pink neon “pick-up spot” to collect. Chinese takeaway feel aside, it’s OK unless you want to eat progressively. No, my barman says, I can't get courses held. No, I can't start a tab and order as we go. Yes, I have to take my nibbles, salads and mains in one hit and come back to order dessert if I want it later. It works for the eatery, but does it work for me?

The food is decent, but a step back from Nolan’s normal slick fare and everything is heavily salted. Perhaps that’s the deal when you’re producing lunch and dinner en masse for a drinking crowd.

Herby, deep-fried minced chicken dumplings ($16) are the business, dunked in a chunky pool of light, easy-please peanut sauce. Cheesy, thick-shelled jamon croquettes ($9) fit the mainstream bill. A pair of sesame rice crackers part to reveal snapper ceviche ($18), but that’s where the wow factor ends, the flesh bound by mild chilli mango puree absent of any refreshing, acidic punch.

Zucchini salad ($18) is a highlight with its raw, thin ribbons dressed with nutty pesto, torn buffalo mozzarella, basil and parsley leaves and a scattering of roasted seeds. A beautifully cooked, juicy salmon fillet ($28) displays excellent value, but it’s cooled and dulled by an unnecessary pool of avocado puree. Snap-fresh Vietnamese salad lessens the saltiness of the fish’s crisp skin lid. At 7.15pm the in-house rotisserie meats have sold out, with an hour wait. No, we can’t order them yet. Several bar visits later, I dig in to gently smoky, pink, tender beef that smacks of bacon ($28). Doused in fiercely vinegary, preserved lemon-amped chimichurri and with a side of long beans sliced lengthways, it’s a satisfying number and might be what I order next time, when I minimise the bar-to-table dance and keep things simple.