My eyes rolled when I heard a restaurant named after Thor’s hammer had opened. But fast-forward a few months and here I am at Mjolner, shooting whisky from a marrowbone “luge”. I was a sucker for the upsell after scooping out the rich, gelatinous middle cooked in Vegemite and sprinkled with meat powder. It’s more Insta-worthy than revelatory but, like everything here, it’s fun. There’s not much to do with a bone that slides from beef short rib like a sigh, nor the wing of a half chicken, plump and moist beneath a modesty sheet of charred witlof.
Mjolner is brought to you by the crew behind Eau de Vie and Boilermaker House, so there’s a comprehensive cocktail list, and craft beer served in polished horns. For a horde of Vikings, vegetable dishes are thoughtful, especially savoy cabbage on barley risotto, heady with black garlic. I prefer the little touches to the wooden ship bow sailing through the brick, like choosing a handmade knife from a leather roll. Come dessert, a blowtorch appears table side with a too-runny mandarin bombe Alaska; it’s flame hot like a Hemsworth brother.