Because I’ve been such a slack unit these past few weeks … OK, that’s not entirely true, I’ve been slack about writing anything for this site ... everything else has been go, go, go … and then some.
Reckon since I last posted I’ve had a lot of dinners, more wines than I can count (I had to write ‘em down), discovered a new but fabulous US beer (yeah, I know that the words fabulous beer and US don’t normally belong in the same sentence), been to a buck’s party that ticked all the boxes, a wedding that ticked all the boxes, cooked some food that even maybe surprised me, jagged tickets to see Cold Chisel, sucked up to one of my editors (yeah, just the two of us working and I made her lunch), totally stuffed my neck, which led to a trip to the physio, which led to a bout of drinking too much too early, seen the hypnotist to stop smoking, proved that even at my age I can still party … to whit, a 5am finish on a Saturday morning and backing up with a 7am the next day (yeah, both those nights involved a drink) … managed a few days in bed with the flu … yep, I has been the full package.
I am planning to expand on some of the comings and goings ... the buck's turn, the wedding, the hypnosis ... that's my target.
Since the last entry on this site, I have managed at home to have a crack at:
Ad Hoc Hen & Chicken Chardonnay 2011 from Pemberton WA. 13%.
Rocland Duck Duck Goose Chardonnay 2009 from SA.
14%
Auldana Reserve non-vintage Sparkling Shiraz 14%
Henschke Tilly’s Vineyard 2010 Semillon Sauvignon Blanc Pinot Gris Riesling Chardonnay 12.5%
Di Giorgio Lucindale Pinot Noir Chardonnay (sparkling) 12.5% from Limestone Coast
Mitcham Estate 2011 Chardonnay 13% McLaren Vale SA
2008 Santa Carolina Chardonnay from Chile (x2)
2010 Provenance Golden Plains Pinot Noir 13.3%
Geelong Chardonnay 2011 cleanskin from Vintage Cellars 13.5%
2004 Clarence Hill Cabernet Sauvignon 14.5%
Kris Pinot Grigio 2010 12.5% from Montagna Italy
La Tour Travers Bordeaux Rose 2010 12% (50% cab sav and merlot)
House of Rabbit 2010 Pinot Noir From Sunbury Ballarat (x3)
Elderton 2004 Barossa Shiraz 14.5%
1882 Reisling
Ass Kisser Vanilla Pale Ale 5.5% (x shitloads … a great beer)
Ingram Pinot Grigio from the Yarra Valley
Te Kairanga 2009 Pinot Noir from Marlborough in NZ. 13.5% (x3)
Roland Masse 2010 Pinot Noir from Yarra Valley
Pepper Tree 2010 Chardonnay 14%
Pepper Tree 2011 Semillon Sauvignon Blanc 11.8%
The Riebke Shiraz 2010 14.5%
Curious Kiwi Sauvignon Blanc 13%
Yeah, that’s a fair list, but it has been supplemented with a few here and there at various establishments, but the winner is:
Torbek 2009 The Struie Shiraz. 15%, rrp about $54
It is everything you’ll ever want in a red apart from the fact that the bottle can be emptied, a sad occurrence when you have just the one.
I shared it with a friend and she is not normally a red drinker … OK, her cheeks glow a bit sometimes when she’s had a couple, but I digress.
She loved it, as did I … it’s a bloody crackerjack drink.
I have just booked a weekend away in the Yarra Valley ... I think it may involve wine.
66 shades of grey
66 shades of grey ... this pic of me was shot by Kim, of Kim Thomsen's Photography at Daly Waters in the Northern Territory. Kim just wandered over and asked whether it was OK to get some character shots.
cross
The cross is in front of the church in Karumba and it seems TV antennas have a greater reach for the sky.
Shark
I went fishing out of Nhulunbuy on the Gulf of Carpentaria. We anchored in a bay about 10 hours from Nhulunbuy and went ashore. This poor fella had been snared in the locals' overnight net and then had a run-in with the resident 14-foot saltwater croc - named Nike by the local indigenous fellas - and came off second best.
the rock
Uluru
oodnadatta track
What a tough place to live ... this is out on the Oodnadatta Track
ME IN A NUTSHELL
- Mick
- G’day, I’m Michael and I have two fantastic grown-up kids. I’m a jeans and singlet/T-shirt, cowboy boot, tattoos sort of fella, who knows a bit about this and sometimes a lot about that. I'll have a crack at most things, although having a relationship? ... well that ship has sailed. I'm past my use-by date anyway, so I'm gonna make it all about me and surviving life as I know it ... or make it.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Glory days long gone ... and some decent plonk ... and other stuff
I usually keep a stash of quaffing wine in the kitchen and in the grog fridge, but things have been disappearing at a rate of knots of late. It’s time to stock up again.
So I have dipped into the wine cupboard to keep myself happy of late … and there have been some pleasant surprises.
The biggest surprise was the discovery of another bottle of 2007 Bollini Pinot Grigio Trentino. I’m keeping it for a special occasion. As I wrote on an earlier post, “I’ve seen it described as the “ultimate aperitif wine” … or how about “the fresh, refined style is ideal for frequent, casual consumption”? Frequent? That’s my kind of wine.
It’s fragrant, lively, crisp, fruity, flinty and oh so clean in the mouth. And there’s just enough acid. I reckon it would go well with any sort of food. Without question, for me it was the wine highlight of the week in a week where there were some highlight-worthy beauties on the table.”
The same sentiment still applies … yep plenty of some highlight-worthy beauties.
Among the a 2004 Elderton Shiraz (14.5%), which had a really deep colour, tonnes of fruit on the nose and a bit of a liquorice/peppery thing happening … even vanilla. It was great drinking.
So too the 2011 Waipara Hills Pinot Noir, but the show was stolen by a 2003 Brown Brothers limited release shiraz. I reckon it was a bloody cracker in a week or so where crackers have been on the agenda.
Umani Ronchi Montepulciano 2007 D’Abruzzo was a surprise packet. I read a review of it: “A supple and earthy medium-bodied Italian red that's full of plums, hints of chocolate, nuts and dried herbs and has and attractive slightly floral sting in the tail. Will go superbly well with the Sunday roast, with game. and let's not forget the cheese. Very smart buying." Warren Barton
Because I’m a smoker, my chances of finding all that going on is, well, unlikely … but jeez, I loved it.
There have also been a few chardies around … a 2011 The Seedling from Eden Road, which didn’t quite set my tastebuds on fire … but the fire was burning with a 2010 Camelback chardy from Sunbury. I’d buy it just because of the words across the top of the label … “Man is not a camel”.
The real chardy winner was a 2011 Ad Hoc Hen & Chicken from Pemberton in WA. It’s buttery, nutty, fruity, oaky (plenty but certainly not to its detriment) and a lovely acid balance. I’ll have it again.
I also revisited Domaine Begude 2010 Chardonnay. I wrote a while ago “It’s a bloody cracker, which is my way of saying “Utterly beguiling. Full of flowers, citrus, orchard fruits, and almond, this offers some lushness of texture while remaining bright and refreshing, and displays a shimmering sense of minerality that would be worthy of a Chablis costing three times the price”, which is how Robert Parker’s Bargain Wines Guide 2011 said of the Terroir 11300 chardonnay. It’s available at Vintage Cellars.
It’s all gonna be a hard act to follow. If the next week comes anywhere near the quality of the past couple, then I’ll be one happy camper.
Now, it’s market time and food shopping. I have to take lunch to work tomorrow for EB, my editor at The Weekly Review. Dunno what’s on the menu … guess it’ll be whatever look good.
Glory days are long gone
I started to venture into the wilds of Albert Park in the very late ’80s … somehow I’d managed to find my way there. I was a northern suburbs bloke who had little, OK no, knowledge of the southern suburbs back then.
I used to go there for a Sunday breakfast … a big brekkie was a novelty in the north. OK, a café that did that sort of thing didn’t exist in the north.
The place was called Morning Glory. The food was always good and the coffee was par excellence. It won an award from The Sunday Age as having the best coffee in Melbourne. From memory, I instigated that the judges check it out.
I can even recall being there about 20 years ago and telling a bloke at the next table to put his smoke out … I was in a non-smoking stage. I still talk to him most mornings when I’m wandering up the street, sometimes stopping and to have a smoke with him. Yeah, times change.
The restaurant at the same site claims to be one of the area’s best … specialising in attention to detail and a friendly atmosphere.
Like I said, times change.
I went there with a friend for a late breakfast recently … nothing big planned, just a cuppa and some eggs.
We grabbed a table out the front and ordered a pot of English Breakfast tea, a latte, some water and poached eggs with spinach on the side and a serve of eggs Benedict (on English muffins).
We sat there shooting the breeze for 10 minutes or so (it was a beautiful morning) and finally the waiter appeared again. “Did you get your coffees?”
“Well no, and it was a latte and some tea.”
“Sorry,” he said as he disappeared inside.
Back he came with another sorry. Apparently the paper with the order on it had been lost.
Lost? It’s not that hard, after all, attention to detail is one of the place’s strong points. Yeah, right.
Finally, after a 15-minute wait, we had our drinks.
The latte was as dark as the inside of a dead dog’s guts. It couldn’t have been any stronger. My friend would be bouncing off walls in no time.
And then to the tea. OK, it was fine but the small milk jug left more than a bit to be desired. There were dark smudges around the lip (it needed an up-close-and-personal scrub) and several black bits floating in the milk. Attention to detail?
The food finally made an appearance, but only after the waiter had reappeared earlier to say that the kitchen had run out of muffins. “What sort of toast would you like with that?” I opted for multigrain.
The eggs got a pass mark. Not so the attention to detail. No salt or pepper on the table. My friend asked the waitress who was busily cleaning the next table whether she could have some pepper. It was almost a surly delivery of a pepper grinder, plonked just so on the table, no “sorry about that, there should have been one on the table”. It was almost as if the waitress was doing us a favour.
She went back to cleaning a nearby table, armed with a spray bottle, which probably wasn’t ideal given that there was a bit of wind about. My friend copped the residue of the spray all along her arm. Yep, that’s just what you need, the chance of some chemicals on your food. Attention to detail?
I walked inside (for the first and last time there) to pay the bill, rather than wait for the waiting staff to offer one. In effect, we were the waiters … waiting, waiting …
Golden Fields revisited
There’s a lesson to be learnt for the joint above. They should send all their staff to dine at Golden Fields not just for the great food, but for service that goes above and beyond.
A friend and I had a latish dinner there on Friday. As usual, the place was jumping and we were told that there would probably be a 45-minute wait.
The staff was attentive … constantly getting back to us with updates and organising a seat at the bar (the barman would win an award for politeness) so we could have a pre-dinner drink.
We didn’t feel left out at any stage. Update followed update … just 20 minutes had past when we hit a table out the front (the weather was pleasant). We were settled by the waitress, who said something about my friend being a regular. No so, but it made her feel at home. The waitress said she would get us a menu. “No need,” I said. “We’ll start with lobster rolls, pork dumpling, soft-shell crab and twice-cooked duck … and a bottle of 2010 von Buhl Riesling. We’ll see how we go after that.” No menu, no notes, no need. The waitress knew her stuff.
So too those in the kitchen. I reckon the wine was a cracker with the food (I’ve mentioned it elsewhere on this blog several times).
But it was the staff and the attention to detail. My friend suggested that had it not been for the pleasant demeanour and efficiency of the staff, we would have gone elsewhere, given the possibility of a 45-minute wait. She was right … but it was worth the wait.
Carbon footprint?
Does social media have a conscience? Judging by some figures given to me by my Crikey mate Luke Buckmaster (he of the Crikey film blog Cinetology), the answer is an emphatic no.
To wit … every 60 seconds there are:
2 million YouTube views;
700,000 Facebook messages;
175,000 tweets;
7630 hits on StumbledUpon;
7610 searches on LinkedIn;
3500 hits on TAGGED;
3125 Flikr pictures uploaded;
2000 checkins at FourSquare; and
1090 Pinterest visits.
Think about it: every minute. That amounts to an awful lot of power (courtesy of coal-fired generators, no doubt).
And that’s just the social media sites. Add to that the billions of page hits for other shit on the net.
Is there anyone out there who could extrapolate the figures and work out just how much effect the internet has on global warming? Surely, an academic could snaffle a grant from somewhere.
The son shines
And while on the subject of things involving technology, getting my iPod up to speed was not something I could cope with.
The iPod hadn’t been synched with my new laptop (I had to get a newie because I spilled wine on the keyboard of the old one … See “A byte to drink” elsewhere on the blog) and it was beyond me, given that I’m a Luddite.
I had dinner with Joel, my youngest son, and put it on him to fix it.
“No problem.”
He somehow managed to copy the 11,000-odd songs from the iPod and another 2000-odd from the separate hard drive (see, I know technology terms, just not how it works) and synched them for me.
I owe my whole wireless set-up to Joel … the printer in the office, the router (whatever that does), the home network (whatever that is) … the whole shooting match.
Go Jo-Jo, you’re a gun.
The wrong way to catch a bus
My other son, Liam, he of Vanuatu, has had a rough time of it of late.
The other day he was cruising on a motor scooter through Port Vila at lunchtime.
He was travelling behind a bus and could see another sitting at the kerb. When the bus in front went by the parked one, the driver put on his indicator and pulled a U-turn. Liam saw him coming and hit the anchors. Too late, he T-boned the bus.
He was OK, a bunged up ankle and maybe a broken finger and a cut hand.
“I hope you were wearing a helmet,” I said.
“Shit yeah and lucky I was. I took a big chunk out of it,” he said, “but I’m OK.”
And the scooter? “Yeah, I managed to get myself between it and the bus, so as I gave a hip and shoulder to the duco, the scooter was OK. There’s just a bit of a bend in the handlebar.
“The driver was pretty pissed off. He said ‘didn’t you see I was indicating?’. I explained that indicating didn’t give you the right to charge out into a U-turn.”
“I told him to fuck off after he suggested that he would see me in court.”
Yeah, good luck with that
So I have dipped into the wine cupboard to keep myself happy of late … and there have been some pleasant surprises.
The biggest surprise was the discovery of another bottle of 2007 Bollini Pinot Grigio Trentino. I’m keeping it for a special occasion. As I wrote on an earlier post, “I’ve seen it described as the “ultimate aperitif wine” … or how about “the fresh, refined style is ideal for frequent, casual consumption”? Frequent? That’s my kind of wine.
It’s fragrant, lively, crisp, fruity, flinty and oh so clean in the mouth. And there’s just enough acid. I reckon it would go well with any sort of food. Without question, for me it was the wine highlight of the week in a week where there were some highlight-worthy beauties on the table.”
The same sentiment still applies … yep plenty of some highlight-worthy beauties.
Among the a 2004 Elderton Shiraz (14.5%), which had a really deep colour, tonnes of fruit on the nose and a bit of a liquorice/peppery thing happening … even vanilla. It was great drinking.
So too the 2011 Waipara Hills Pinot Noir, but the show was stolen by a 2003 Brown Brothers limited release shiraz. I reckon it was a bloody cracker in a week or so where crackers have been on the agenda.
Umani Ronchi Montepulciano 2007 D’Abruzzo was a surprise packet. I read a review of it: “A supple and earthy medium-bodied Italian red that's full of plums, hints of chocolate, nuts and dried herbs and has and attractive slightly floral sting in the tail. Will go superbly well with the Sunday roast, with game. and let's not forget the cheese. Very smart buying." Warren Barton
Because I’m a smoker, my chances of finding all that going on is, well, unlikely … but jeez, I loved it.
There have also been a few chardies around … a 2011 The Seedling from Eden Road, which didn’t quite set my tastebuds on fire … but the fire was burning with a 2010 Camelback chardy from Sunbury. I’d buy it just because of the words across the top of the label … “Man is not a camel”.
The real chardy winner was a 2011 Ad Hoc Hen & Chicken from Pemberton in WA. It’s buttery, nutty, fruity, oaky (plenty but certainly not to its detriment) and a lovely acid balance. I’ll have it again.
I also revisited Domaine Begude 2010 Chardonnay. I wrote a while ago “It’s a bloody cracker, which is my way of saying “Utterly beguiling. Full of flowers, citrus, orchard fruits, and almond, this offers some lushness of texture while remaining bright and refreshing, and displays a shimmering sense of minerality that would be worthy of a Chablis costing three times the price”, which is how Robert Parker’s Bargain Wines Guide 2011 said of the Terroir 11300 chardonnay. It’s available at Vintage Cellars.
It’s all gonna be a hard act to follow. If the next week comes anywhere near the quality of the past couple, then I’ll be one happy camper.
Now, it’s market time and food shopping. I have to take lunch to work tomorrow for EB, my editor at The Weekly Review. Dunno what’s on the menu … guess it’ll be whatever look good.
Glory days are long gone
I started to venture into the wilds of Albert Park in the very late ’80s … somehow I’d managed to find my way there. I was a northern suburbs bloke who had little, OK no, knowledge of the southern suburbs back then.
I used to go there for a Sunday breakfast … a big brekkie was a novelty in the north. OK, a café that did that sort of thing didn’t exist in the north.
The place was called Morning Glory. The food was always good and the coffee was par excellence. It won an award from The Sunday Age as having the best coffee in Melbourne. From memory, I instigated that the judges check it out.
I can even recall being there about 20 years ago and telling a bloke at the next table to put his smoke out … I was in a non-smoking stage. I still talk to him most mornings when I’m wandering up the street, sometimes stopping and to have a smoke with him. Yeah, times change.
The restaurant at the same site claims to be one of the area’s best … specialising in attention to detail and a friendly atmosphere.
Like I said, times change.
I went there with a friend for a late breakfast recently … nothing big planned, just a cuppa and some eggs.
We grabbed a table out the front and ordered a pot of English Breakfast tea, a latte, some water and poached eggs with spinach on the side and a serve of eggs Benedict (on English muffins).
We sat there shooting the breeze for 10 minutes or so (it was a beautiful morning) and finally the waiter appeared again. “Did you get your coffees?”
“Well no, and it was a latte and some tea.”
“Sorry,” he said as he disappeared inside.
Back he came with another sorry. Apparently the paper with the order on it had been lost.
Lost? It’s not that hard, after all, attention to detail is one of the place’s strong points. Yeah, right.
Finally, after a 15-minute wait, we had our drinks.
The latte was as dark as the inside of a dead dog’s guts. It couldn’t have been any stronger. My friend would be bouncing off walls in no time.
And then to the tea. OK, it was fine but the small milk jug left more than a bit to be desired. There were dark smudges around the lip (it needed an up-close-and-personal scrub) and several black bits floating in the milk. Attention to detail?
The food finally made an appearance, but only after the waiter had reappeared earlier to say that the kitchen had run out of muffins. “What sort of toast would you like with that?” I opted for multigrain.
The eggs got a pass mark. Not so the attention to detail. No salt or pepper on the table. My friend asked the waitress who was busily cleaning the next table whether she could have some pepper. It was almost a surly delivery of a pepper grinder, plonked just so on the table, no “sorry about that, there should have been one on the table”. It was almost as if the waitress was doing us a favour.
She went back to cleaning a nearby table, armed with a spray bottle, which probably wasn’t ideal given that there was a bit of wind about. My friend copped the residue of the spray all along her arm. Yep, that’s just what you need, the chance of some chemicals on your food. Attention to detail?
I walked inside (for the first and last time there) to pay the bill, rather than wait for the waiting staff to offer one. In effect, we were the waiters … waiting, waiting …
Golden Fields revisited
There’s a lesson to be learnt for the joint above. They should send all their staff to dine at Golden Fields not just for the great food, but for service that goes above and beyond.
A friend and I had a latish dinner there on Friday. As usual, the place was jumping and we were told that there would probably be a 45-minute wait.
The staff was attentive … constantly getting back to us with updates and organising a seat at the bar (the barman would win an award for politeness) so we could have a pre-dinner drink.
We didn’t feel left out at any stage. Update followed update … just 20 minutes had past when we hit a table out the front (the weather was pleasant). We were settled by the waitress, who said something about my friend being a regular. No so, but it made her feel at home. The waitress said she would get us a menu. “No need,” I said. “We’ll start with lobster rolls, pork dumpling, soft-shell crab and twice-cooked duck … and a bottle of 2010 von Buhl Riesling. We’ll see how we go after that.” No menu, no notes, no need. The waitress knew her stuff.
So too those in the kitchen. I reckon the wine was a cracker with the food (I’ve mentioned it elsewhere on this blog several times).
But it was the staff and the attention to detail. My friend suggested that had it not been for the pleasant demeanour and efficiency of the staff, we would have gone elsewhere, given the possibility of a 45-minute wait. She was right … but it was worth the wait.
Carbon footprint?
Does social media have a conscience? Judging by some figures given to me by my Crikey mate Luke Buckmaster (he of the Crikey film blog Cinetology), the answer is an emphatic no.
To wit … every 60 seconds there are:
2 million YouTube views;
700,000 Facebook messages;
175,000 tweets;
7630 hits on StumbledUpon;
7610 searches on LinkedIn;
3500 hits on TAGGED;
3125 Flikr pictures uploaded;
2000 checkins at FourSquare; and
1090 Pinterest visits.
Think about it: every minute. That amounts to an awful lot of power (courtesy of coal-fired generators, no doubt).
And that’s just the social media sites. Add to that the billions of page hits for other shit on the net.
Is there anyone out there who could extrapolate the figures and work out just how much effect the internet has on global warming? Surely, an academic could snaffle a grant from somewhere.
The son shines
And while on the subject of things involving technology, getting my iPod up to speed was not something I could cope with.
The iPod hadn’t been synched with my new laptop (I had to get a newie because I spilled wine on the keyboard of the old one … See “A byte to drink” elsewhere on the blog) and it was beyond me, given that I’m a Luddite.
I had dinner with Joel, my youngest son, and put it on him to fix it.
“No problem.”
He somehow managed to copy the 11,000-odd songs from the iPod and another 2000-odd from the separate hard drive (see, I know technology terms, just not how it works) and synched them for me.
I owe my whole wireless set-up to Joel … the printer in the office, the router (whatever that does), the home network (whatever that is) … the whole shooting match.
Go Jo-Jo, you’re a gun.
The wrong way to catch a bus
My other son, Liam, he of Vanuatu, has had a rough time of it of late.
The other day he was cruising on a motor scooter through Port Vila at lunchtime.
He was travelling behind a bus and could see another sitting at the kerb. When the bus in front went by the parked one, the driver put on his indicator and pulled a U-turn. Liam saw him coming and hit the anchors. Too late, he T-boned the bus.
He was OK, a bunged up ankle and maybe a broken finger and a cut hand.
“I hope you were wearing a helmet,” I said.
“Shit yeah and lucky I was. I took a big chunk out of it,” he said, “but I’m OK.”
And the scooter? “Yeah, I managed to get myself between it and the bus, so as I gave a hip and shoulder to the duco, the scooter was OK. There’s just a bit of a bend in the handlebar.
“The driver was pretty pissed off. He said ‘didn’t you see I was indicating?’. I explained that indicating didn’t give you the right to charge out into a U-turn.”
“I told him to fuck off after he suggested that he would see me in court.”
Yeah, good luck with that
Thursday, March 8, 2012
It’s easy being green
For several weeks now I’ve been eyeing off the sometimes hard-to-get ingredients … green mangos and green pawpaws among them … at my usual fruit and veg bloke at the market.
At the weekend, I thought damn it; it’s time to make a green mango salad with prawns for dinner. I checked the pantry to make sure I had the ingredients … OK, I’d run out of fish sauce, sesame oil and fresh garlic … so I made a list … Thai basil, Vietnamese mint, rice noodles, bean shoots, limes, roasted peanuts, coriander and tiger prawns … oh, and a green mango or two. Done.
I wandered around the fruit shop gathering the goodies, but bugger me, no green mangos or pawpaws for that matter.
I got to the checkout and the bloke said: “Back again.” Yep. “Have you got any green mangos?” I asked, figuring that because there were plenty of ripe mangos of varying quality dotted around the shop, he’d say yeah, over there or something like that. “Season’s over,” he said. Bugger.
Off I went to the last-chance saloon … aka the Chinese grocery, where I’m a regular. “Got any green mangos?”
“Sorry, no more but we have green pawpaws.” Done. It was gonna be the sort of recipe that I’d make up as I went along anyway.
I got all I needed and made a beeline to Swords wine shop to see if the new chardonnay and pinot noir had made an appearance.
“Not yet, they’re still in the warehouse.”
Sheesh.
I was keen to reacquaint myself with both after David, the manager, had gifted me a bottle of each to try.
The pinot, under Swords’ label The House of Rabbit, is a very drinkable wine (aren’t they all?) from up Sunbury way.
The label says cherries, plums and brambles on the nose. I get it with the cherries and plums, but does anyone know what brambles smell like? I’ll take their word for it. For me there was also a chocolate and oaky thing happening. There’s acidity enough (it’s 12.5 per cent alcohol) and soft tannins (I like that) to round it out. I seem to remember that it’ll be a sub-20 buck wine, something I’d happily pay again and again.
The chardy? A review for another day.
I had a chat with Dave about what would go well with my green pawpaw salad and riesling won the day.
Given the option of dry or something with a bit of fruity sweetness, I went for sweet … 2008 Rockface Riesling from Waipara Valley across the ditch in New Zealand.
I bought the prawns (I asked for eight because they were a decent size) and the market was done … OK, I bought a new wok on the way out.
Seasoning the wok (it’s a steel wok, not one of those new-fangled non-stick things) was easy. A thorough scrub with warm veg oil and a scourer, and then it was onto the stove to heat it until the oil started to smoke. (I rolled one at this stage, so I smoked too). Turn off the heat, let it cool and then fire it up again. Three times is enough to be ready to wok’n’roll (yeah, piss-weak joke, I know).
Hunger started to kick in after watching the rugby league season opener … go Storm, who made hard work of putting away the Canberra Raiders.
First up I made the dressing … fresh lime juice, fish sauce, vegetable oil, palm sugar, chilli (reckon I put a tad too much. No matter.), garlic and black pepper. It’s wise to taste as you build. My only change was a touch more lime juice. I also deep-fried some garlic chips.
To ready the pawpaw, I peeled it and then hacked into it with a cleaver, each cut as close to the last as I could manage. Then I used a vegetable peeler to cut away the shreds. Too easy.
While the prawns (I got 12) were cooking in the garlic chip oil with chilli, I assembled the salad.
Pawpaw, some rice noodles (soaked in boiling water), bean shoots, garlic chips, Vietnamese mint, Thai basil, coriander, roughly crushed roasted peanuts and deep-fried shallots. Again, too easy.
When the prawns were ready, in they went followed by the dressing. A good toss (a lot of people reckon I’m a tosser anyway) and it was show time.
Bloody go show it was, too. I held back on the riesling while I was eating … the chilli was a bit heavy-handed and wasn’t doing the wine any favours.
When my tastebuds had settled, I had a decent crack at the riesling, a medium-bodied wine that had some citrus up front and for my liking, just a little too much in the way of sweetness, which wasn’t really such a bad thing after the chilli assault. It’s a pleasant enough drink, but not one that I’d rush to try again. Maybe it would work well with a cheese board or even with a dessert.
Given there’s a couple of pieces of eye fillet in the fridge, I may double up with a green pawpaw and rare beef salad in a couple of days. Sounds like a plan.
At the weekend, I thought damn it; it’s time to make a green mango salad with prawns for dinner. I checked the pantry to make sure I had the ingredients … OK, I’d run out of fish sauce, sesame oil and fresh garlic … so I made a list … Thai basil, Vietnamese mint, rice noodles, bean shoots, limes, roasted peanuts, coriander and tiger prawns … oh, and a green mango or two. Done.
I wandered around the fruit shop gathering the goodies, but bugger me, no green mangos or pawpaws for that matter.
I got to the checkout and the bloke said: “Back again.” Yep. “Have you got any green mangos?” I asked, figuring that because there were plenty of ripe mangos of varying quality dotted around the shop, he’d say yeah, over there or something like that. “Season’s over,” he said. Bugger.
Off I went to the last-chance saloon … aka the Chinese grocery, where I’m a regular. “Got any green mangos?”
“Sorry, no more but we have green pawpaws.” Done. It was gonna be the sort of recipe that I’d make up as I went along anyway.
I got all I needed and made a beeline to Swords wine shop to see if the new chardonnay and pinot noir had made an appearance.
“Not yet, they’re still in the warehouse.”
Sheesh.
I was keen to reacquaint myself with both after David, the manager, had gifted me a bottle of each to try.
The pinot, under Swords’ label The House of Rabbit, is a very drinkable wine (aren’t they all?) from up Sunbury way.
The label says cherries, plums and brambles on the nose. I get it with the cherries and plums, but does anyone know what brambles smell like? I’ll take their word for it. For me there was also a chocolate and oaky thing happening. There’s acidity enough (it’s 12.5 per cent alcohol) and soft tannins (I like that) to round it out. I seem to remember that it’ll be a sub-20 buck wine, something I’d happily pay again and again.
The chardy? A review for another day.
I had a chat with Dave about what would go well with my green pawpaw salad and riesling won the day.
Given the option of dry or something with a bit of fruity sweetness, I went for sweet … 2008 Rockface Riesling from Waipara Valley across the ditch in New Zealand.
I bought the prawns (I asked for eight because they were a decent size) and the market was done … OK, I bought a new wok on the way out.
Seasoning the wok (it’s a steel wok, not one of those new-fangled non-stick things) was easy. A thorough scrub with warm veg oil and a scourer, and then it was onto the stove to heat it until the oil started to smoke. (I rolled one at this stage, so I smoked too). Turn off the heat, let it cool and then fire it up again. Three times is enough to be ready to wok’n’roll (yeah, piss-weak joke, I know).
Hunger started to kick in after watching the rugby league season opener … go Storm, who made hard work of putting away the Canberra Raiders.
First up I made the dressing … fresh lime juice, fish sauce, vegetable oil, palm sugar, chilli (reckon I put a tad too much. No matter.), garlic and black pepper. It’s wise to taste as you build. My only change was a touch more lime juice. I also deep-fried some garlic chips.
To ready the pawpaw, I peeled it and then hacked into it with a cleaver, each cut as close to the last as I could manage. Then I used a vegetable peeler to cut away the shreds. Too easy.
While the prawns (I got 12) were cooking in the garlic chip oil with chilli, I assembled the salad.
Pawpaw, some rice noodles (soaked in boiling water), bean shoots, garlic chips, Vietnamese mint, Thai basil, coriander, roughly crushed roasted peanuts and deep-fried shallots. Again, too easy.
When the prawns were ready, in they went followed by the dressing. A good toss (a lot of people reckon I’m a tosser anyway) and it was show time.
Bloody go show it was, too. I held back on the riesling while I was eating … the chilli was a bit heavy-handed and wasn’t doing the wine any favours.
When my tastebuds had settled, I had a decent crack at the riesling, a medium-bodied wine that had some citrus up front and for my liking, just a little too much in the way of sweetness, which wasn’t really such a bad thing after the chilli assault. It’s a pleasant enough drink, but not one that I’d rush to try again. Maybe it would work well with a cheese board or even with a dessert.
Given there’s a couple of pieces of eye fillet in the fridge, I may double up with a green pawpaw and rare beef salad in a couple of days. Sounds like a plan.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Hair, an eight-minute pasta wonder and the wonder of wine
My blog Mick on the Road (there’s a link just down the page a bit on the right) was compiled during 10 months on the road. The trip ended about two years ago and I’ve added nothing to it since … but still, it seems, it has regular readers every day.
I reread the whole thing a week or so ago and relived the trip, and the bloody good time it was.
Same thing applies to this blog. It’s still getting plenty of page hits daily despite me pulling the pin on it a couple of weeks ago. It’s heading towards 10,000 hits.
So I reckoned, bugger it, let’s get back on the horse.
I was gonna detail my Landcruiser ute today and put it on the interweb thing to try and sell it (anyone wanna buy a good Landcruiser? …an ’05 version that has done just 110,000 kilometres).
Anyway, rain won the order of the day … no car cleaning … and rather than immerse myself in housework (OK, I’ll do it later), I thought, bugger it, let’s blog.
I mean, there’s been some good times and great rock’n’roll since I last put pen to paper ... and the odd breakthrough.
Talking of same, the world of haircuts is, for me, a real breakthrough. After having two haircuts in 3½ years … yeah, there’s still the urge to retain my ’60s hippie roots (hair that is, not any of the women I met way back then) … I’ve been to the hairdresser twice in six weeks.
I’ve been going to the same bloke since 1975 and although he was never gonna get rich with me as a customer, we’re still good mates. He is, however, hard to nail down … he doesn’t work on Friday afternoons, which is the only time I’m free from work.
He will hang around for me though, if I bring wine.
Yep, blackmailed by the hairdresser.
I arrived at his joint last weekend and he bolted out the front door as I parked the car. “Did you bring wine?” was the offering, not a how are you or whatever.
“Yeah, there’s wine.”
“OK, roll me a smoke (he never has any) and I’ll get some glasses. Then we’ll cut the hair.”
The wine was a 2009 Les Nuages Touraine Sauvignon Blanc from Loire and it got the hairdresser’s nod of approval. As it should.
On the nose, it’s got nothing of the huge sav blanc aroma of the Kiwi kind (some of them are like using smelling salts). This is pretty laid back, a little bit spicy and with a bit of fruit. It’s actually really fresh in the mouth.
“This is better than the wine you brought a few weeks ago,” he said as he poured his second glass (just the one for me, I’m driving).
Yeah, right.
As he poured his third, he said: “I don’t think we’ll do the colour thing (yeah, I hide the greys … OK, I found a dark on the other day. Sure, it’s a vanity thing). I reckon it’s OK.”
Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.
“Listen, you will do the colour thing. You just want to piss off and drink with your friends, that’s why you don’t want to do it.”
“You know me well,” he said. “Well do the colour thing. Now roll me a smoke while I mix up some stuff.”
OK, it’s cut and coloured. All he needs to do is some thin plaits to tidy up the rat’s tail he’s left at the back (yeah I asked for it).
“I don’t do plaits.”
“OK.” I was heading to the market later to buy some food … there’s a hairdresser there. Someone there will do it. And they did.
“See you in six weeks. And don’t forget to bring wine.”
Done. That’ll be the day before my friend Andrew’s wedding, so, for once, I’ve got the timing right on something.
BEER THERE, DONE THAT
Reckon I’ve been off the hops (apart from the occasional one) for about 10 months now. It’s all about the weight thing. Seems every time I have a beer, it sticks to me, so in those 10 months I’ve managed to drop nine kilograms. So it’s bye bye beer.
Mind, I was in Swords wine shop recently to see if the new chardonnay had arrived. It hadn’t. I had my usual chat with Dave, who runs the place, and was just about to leave when I spied some La Trappe Dubbel Trappistenbier.
“What’s the deal with that, mate? Is it a good drop?”
Sensational was Dave’s verdict.
“Righto,” I said, “I’ll have one.” Given that it is 20 bucks for one longneck, one was enough … but it was stinkin’ hot and it was to be a treat. And the glass (reckon it pings like crystal) was included in the price.
And what a treat.
It’s a deep red-brown Trappist beer and smells of caramel malt, and is a tad (how much officially is a tad? sweet. The head is thicker than an English soccer hooligan. It’s 7 per cent alcohol, which means that one longneck really is enough. The recommended pouring temperature is 10-14º. Dunno what mine was when I cracked it, other than bloody brilliant.
Reckon if summer somehow manages to re-manifest itself in Melbourne, I’ll have another.
By the by, longnecks are known as king browns in the bush, something I learnt while I was on the road.
So there.
EIGHT MINUTES TO GLORY
I was watching Anthony Bourdain the other night. He was in Rome and doing his food thing. That’s why I watch, I guess.
Anyway, he was served a pasta dish (yeah, OK, it was Rome) that is going to be a regular on my menu for several reasons … it’s quick, simple, tasty and there’s bugger all washing up to do.
I boiled (in well-salted water) enough spaghetti for one and while that was doing its thing, I melted a stick of butter (not margarine please, this is about flavour) and lobbed a handful of ground black pepper into it. Then I grated about a cup (or thereabouts) of 36-month aged Parmigiano Reggiano. I tossed the spag into the butter, coated it and then stirred through the cheese. Dinner was done and dusted. And let me tell you, it doesn’t get a lot easier or tastier for that matter.
AND OTHER STUFF
I managed for, I reckon, the fifth or sixth time to have a degustation dinner at Eis, my favourite Japanese restaurant.
It’s still great value … eight courses and five wines (it’s now $120 a head.
A starter of a fresh oyster shot with mint vodka, sliced chilli and wasabi tobiko, some ocean trout carpaccio with basil pesto and a glass of Louis Boillot Champagne from Bourgogne.
While starters don’t get a lot better, the beef tartare that followed was close.
The quality didn’t wane … but I reckon that’s it for the degustation. The menu has changed just once (from memory) and, while it’s not tired or anything, next time I’m there I’ll be ordering from the menu.
As for fruit of the vine, there have been many and varied being popped at my joint of late.
To wit, Domaine Begude2010 Chardonnay. It’s a bloody cracker, which is my way of saying “Utterly beguiling. Full of flowers, citrus, orchard fruits, and almond, this offers some lushness of texture while remaining bright and refreshing, and displays a shimmering sense of minerality that would be worthy of a Chablis costing three times the price”, which is how Robert Parker’s Bargain Wines Guide 2011 said of the Terroir 11300 chardonnay. It’s available at Vintage Cellars.
Oh, and there was a Spaniard in the works, too. Bajondillo Mentrida Toledo tempranillo/merlot . It’s the sort of wine you could drink with anything … or nothing. I loved it.
As I did the Jim Barry 2006 First Eleven Cabernet Sauvignon. Being the cricket tragic that I am, I’ll try any drink that links to the great game. This cabernet would get a game in my first eleven.
Maybe 12th man (and not because it’s out of form) in my team would be Wild Rock Cupid’s Arrow 2009 pinot noir. I’ve been having a real crack at pinot and I’d probably have a go at this again. It’s fruity and herby, although the 14.5 alcohol (for me) was a bit on the sharp side.
During the absence of blogging, there have been a few other wines that have passed my lips. I used to keep a list of what I drank but gave it up with the blogging.
OK, it’s back to making lists ... and blogging.
Now it's off to the market to get some ingredients to make a green mango salad.
Cheers.
I reread the whole thing a week or so ago and relived the trip, and the bloody good time it was.
Same thing applies to this blog. It’s still getting plenty of page hits daily despite me pulling the pin on it a couple of weeks ago. It’s heading towards 10,000 hits.
So I reckoned, bugger it, let’s get back on the horse.
I was gonna detail my Landcruiser ute today and put it on the interweb thing to try and sell it (anyone wanna buy a good Landcruiser? …an ’05 version that has done just 110,000 kilometres).
Anyway, rain won the order of the day … no car cleaning … and rather than immerse myself in housework (OK, I’ll do it later), I thought, bugger it, let’s blog.
I mean, there’s been some good times and great rock’n’roll since I last put pen to paper ... and the odd breakthrough.
Talking of same, the world of haircuts is, for me, a real breakthrough. After having two haircuts in 3½ years … yeah, there’s still the urge to retain my ’60s hippie roots (hair that is, not any of the women I met way back then) … I’ve been to the hairdresser twice in six weeks.
I’ve been going to the same bloke since 1975 and although he was never gonna get rich with me as a customer, we’re still good mates. He is, however, hard to nail down … he doesn’t work on Friday afternoons, which is the only time I’m free from work.
He will hang around for me though, if I bring wine.
Yep, blackmailed by the hairdresser.
I arrived at his joint last weekend and he bolted out the front door as I parked the car. “Did you bring wine?” was the offering, not a how are you or whatever.
“Yeah, there’s wine.”
“OK, roll me a smoke (he never has any) and I’ll get some glasses. Then we’ll cut the hair.”
The wine was a 2009 Les Nuages Touraine Sauvignon Blanc from Loire and it got the hairdresser’s nod of approval. As it should.
On the nose, it’s got nothing of the huge sav blanc aroma of the Kiwi kind (some of them are like using smelling salts). This is pretty laid back, a little bit spicy and with a bit of fruit. It’s actually really fresh in the mouth.
“This is better than the wine you brought a few weeks ago,” he said as he poured his second glass (just the one for me, I’m driving).
Yeah, right.
As he poured his third, he said: “I don’t think we’ll do the colour thing (yeah, I hide the greys … OK, I found a dark on the other day. Sure, it’s a vanity thing). I reckon it’s OK.”
Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.
“Listen, you will do the colour thing. You just want to piss off and drink with your friends, that’s why you don’t want to do it.”
“You know me well,” he said. “Well do the colour thing. Now roll me a smoke while I mix up some stuff.”
OK, it’s cut and coloured. All he needs to do is some thin plaits to tidy up the rat’s tail he’s left at the back (yeah I asked for it).
“I don’t do plaits.”
“OK.” I was heading to the market later to buy some food … there’s a hairdresser there. Someone there will do it. And they did.
“See you in six weeks. And don’t forget to bring wine.”
Done. That’ll be the day before my friend Andrew’s wedding, so, for once, I’ve got the timing right on something.
BEER THERE, DONE THAT
Reckon I’ve been off the hops (apart from the occasional one) for about 10 months now. It’s all about the weight thing. Seems every time I have a beer, it sticks to me, so in those 10 months I’ve managed to drop nine kilograms. So it’s bye bye beer.
Mind, I was in Swords wine shop recently to see if the new chardonnay had arrived. It hadn’t. I had my usual chat with Dave, who runs the place, and was just about to leave when I spied some La Trappe Dubbel Trappistenbier.
“What’s the deal with that, mate? Is it a good drop?”
Sensational was Dave’s verdict.
“Righto,” I said, “I’ll have one.” Given that it is 20 bucks for one longneck, one was enough … but it was stinkin’ hot and it was to be a treat. And the glass (reckon it pings like crystal) was included in the price.
And what a treat.
It’s a deep red-brown Trappist beer and smells of caramel malt, and is a tad (how much officially is a tad? sweet. The head is thicker than an English soccer hooligan. It’s 7 per cent alcohol, which means that one longneck really is enough. The recommended pouring temperature is 10-14º. Dunno what mine was when I cracked it, other than bloody brilliant.
Reckon if summer somehow manages to re-manifest itself in Melbourne, I’ll have another.
By the by, longnecks are known as king browns in the bush, something I learnt while I was on the road.
So there.
EIGHT MINUTES TO GLORY
I was watching Anthony Bourdain the other night. He was in Rome and doing his food thing. That’s why I watch, I guess.
Anyway, he was served a pasta dish (yeah, OK, it was Rome) that is going to be a regular on my menu for several reasons … it’s quick, simple, tasty and there’s bugger all washing up to do.
I boiled (in well-salted water) enough spaghetti for one and while that was doing its thing, I melted a stick of butter (not margarine please, this is about flavour) and lobbed a handful of ground black pepper into it. Then I grated about a cup (or thereabouts) of 36-month aged Parmigiano Reggiano. I tossed the spag into the butter, coated it and then stirred through the cheese. Dinner was done and dusted. And let me tell you, it doesn’t get a lot easier or tastier for that matter.
AND OTHER STUFF
I managed for, I reckon, the fifth or sixth time to have a degustation dinner at Eis, my favourite Japanese restaurant.
It’s still great value … eight courses and five wines (it’s now $120 a head.
A starter of a fresh oyster shot with mint vodka, sliced chilli and wasabi tobiko, some ocean trout carpaccio with basil pesto and a glass of Louis Boillot Champagne from Bourgogne.
While starters don’t get a lot better, the beef tartare that followed was close.
The quality didn’t wane … but I reckon that’s it for the degustation. The menu has changed just once (from memory) and, while it’s not tired or anything, next time I’m there I’ll be ordering from the menu.
As for fruit of the vine, there have been many and varied being popped at my joint of late.
To wit, Domaine Begude2010 Chardonnay. It’s a bloody cracker, which is my way of saying “Utterly beguiling. Full of flowers, citrus, orchard fruits, and almond, this offers some lushness of texture while remaining bright and refreshing, and displays a shimmering sense of minerality that would be worthy of a Chablis costing three times the price”, which is how Robert Parker’s Bargain Wines Guide 2011 said of the Terroir 11300 chardonnay. It’s available at Vintage Cellars.
Oh, and there was a Spaniard in the works, too. Bajondillo Mentrida Toledo tempranillo/merlot . It’s the sort of wine you could drink with anything … or nothing. I loved it.
As I did the Jim Barry 2006 First Eleven Cabernet Sauvignon. Being the cricket tragic that I am, I’ll try any drink that links to the great game. This cabernet would get a game in my first eleven.
Maybe 12th man (and not because it’s out of form) in my team would be Wild Rock Cupid’s Arrow 2009 pinot noir. I’ve been having a real crack at pinot and I’d probably have a go at this again. It’s fruity and herby, although the 14.5 alcohol (for me) was a bit on the sharp side.
During the absence of blogging, there have been a few other wines that have passed my lips. I used to keep a list of what I drank but gave it up with the blogging.
OK, it’s back to making lists ... and blogging.
Now it's off to the market to get some ingredients to make a green mango salad.
Cheers.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The last post
For the second time in a few months, my email account has been blocked (from my access) and hacked. It cost me time and money (too much on both counts) to get it fixed.
It got me to thinking, enough is enough. A few years ago, I canned the internet at home and went without for six months … and I didn’t miss it.
This time, I’m not getting rid of the internet (OK I do have to check the lottery numbers), but I am putting a few things on ice (preferably Scotch, bourbon or some such), starting with Twitter (I gave up Facebook years ago and don’t miss it a jot) and this blog.
It’s been a bit of fun along the way, but I’m at that stage in life where I should be doing shit that’s less like work and more like the things I’ve been writing about.
It’s been a tough gig sometimes … I get very few comments or reactions (thanks to those who did take the time) and not so much as one offering of a contribution, maybe all tell-tale signs that what I’m writing isn’t of that much interest other than to me … and support from just a few friends in promoting it … thanks.
Thanks for reading the ramblings of a sometimes grumpy man … maybe down the track we’ll meet again on this site. Who knows?
Anyway, that’s it. I’m going for a drink. See ya.
It got me to thinking, enough is enough. A few years ago, I canned the internet at home and went without for six months … and I didn’t miss it.
This time, I’m not getting rid of the internet (OK I do have to check the lottery numbers), but I am putting a few things on ice (preferably Scotch, bourbon or some such), starting with Twitter (I gave up Facebook years ago and don’t miss it a jot) and this blog.
It’s been a bit of fun along the way, but I’m at that stage in life where I should be doing shit that’s less like work and more like the things I’ve been writing about.
It’s been a tough gig sometimes … I get very few comments or reactions (thanks to those who did take the time) and not so much as one offering of a contribution, maybe all tell-tale signs that what I’m writing isn’t of that much interest other than to me … and support from just a few friends in promoting it … thanks.
Thanks for reading the ramblings of a sometimes grumpy man … maybe down the track we’ll meet again on this site. Who knows?
Anyway, that’s it. I’m going for a drink. See ya.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Italy wins the wine-off at my place
What a good week for good wine and the promise of good things to come.
I wandered in to my local bottleshop to grab something for dinner (yeah, there was food involved too) and I was grabbed by Cameron, the manager. “Mate, I’ve got a couple you should try. I know you love chardonnay. I’ve got this fantastic French chardy coming in next week,” he said as he poured me a taster.
“That’s pretty bloody good,” I said. And it was.
“You interested in some?”
“Done.”
Then he poured me some Spanish red (the week involved more than its fair share of tempranillo anyway).
“This is a cracker,” he said. And it was.
“I’ll get me some of that when it comes in, meanwhile I think I’ll have pinot with dinner. What’s good?”
Cameron suggested a 2010 Roland Masse pinot from the Yarra Valley at about 20 bucks.
Dinner was a plate of nibbly things … toasted onion and caraway sourdough, spinach dip, beetroot dip, prosciutto, artichoke hearts, Spanish anchovies, cheese-stuffed chillis, smoked ocean trout … whatever, there was a bit of it … and the pinot (well I had to cover all the food groups) was the perfect foil.
It’s drinking beautifully. There’s a bit of cherry up front (yeah, it is cherry season and I picked that … the smell that is, not the cherries). It has just enough oak and hangs around in the mouth … I reckon that’s called length (it’s 13%, the alcohol, not the length). I know that it’s selling well at Vintage Cellars and stocks are dwindling, so if you fancy it … and you will ... be quick.
The following night, I revisited the Florian Mollet Sancerre (about 24 bucks), which I’d first had on the weekend.
The second time was better than the first.
It really is intense and quite flowery on the nose and, for me, a hint of sweetness (just enough). After it’s been open for a while, there’s a bit of vanilla happening and lots of fruit (take your pick … smoking rollies doesn’t help my palate) and the taste lingers well in the mouth.
Simply, it’s a bloody great drink and was destined to be my drinking highlight of the week … not so.
I was at home at lunchtime on Wednesday and wondering what sort of wine I’d have with dinner. Then I thought, I have a box of Italian wines under the dining room sideboard. They’ve been there for about three years (it’s a well-sealed pine box, so the storage is OK), so I grabbed one for the fridge.
I opted for a simple pasta dish for dinner … garlic, fresh diced tomatoes, some yellow capsicum sliced finely, Spanish anchovies, rocket leaves and some fresh basil, plenty of olive oil and a splash of the pasta water ... served with some freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano.
If the pasta was good … and it was bloody good … then the wine – a 2007 Bollini Pinot Grigio Trentino – was an absolute bloody cracker.
I’ve seen it described as the “ultimate aperitif wine” … or how about “the fresh, refined style is ideal for frequent, casual consumption”? Frequent? That’s my kind of wine.
It’s fragrant, lively, crisp, fruity, flinty and oh so clean in the mouth. And there’s just enough acid. I reckon it would go well with any sort of food. Without question, for me it was the wine highlight of the week in a week where there were some highlight-worthy beauties on the table.
BACK TO BASICS
I had catch-up lunch the other day with a friend. We chose a local café, one that has recently changed hands.
After Alex and John sold the operation, business fell off, as it does when things change.
I thought, bugger it, I haven’t eaten there since the new owners moved in … so get it on.
I ordered a pot of English breakfast tea and a dish called the charcuterie board. My friend, who has an appetite like six people, ordered a garlic prawn entrée, the rabbit pie and a glass of orange juice. Yeah, right, no alcohol.
The drinks (it’s funny saying that when it’s not a reference to wine) arrived, closely followed by the waiter. “Sorry, but we are out of rabbit pie. Can I get you something else?”
“Yeah, a menu thanks.” Pretty basic, I would have thought.
After ordering a steak sandwich, we settled for a chat … which was interrupted this time by a waitress. “Sorry, but the prawns are just part of the entrée. It’s three parts from a choice of five.” I can’t remember the other parts, but the order went through.
Again we settled for a chat.
My pot of tea came without a strainer, so it was a less-then-pleasant dusty cup of tea. Pretty basic, that.
Then the charcuterie board arrived … a pleasant enough collection of cold cuts, warmed black pudding, a small tub of cornichons, some pretty ordinary cocktail pickled onions, a couple of bits of artichoke heart and some toast.
I did the polite thing and waited until my friend had something to gnaw on … it was a good five minutes before the waiter arrived with the steak sandwich.
We looked at each other. Wasn’t there an entrée?
Sure was. The waiter reappeared five minutes later with it. “Sorry, it’s a bit late,” he said as he made room for it on the table. Excuse me. Pretty basic, that.
“I’m pretty sure something is gonna get cold before I eat it,” said my friend.
“Sorry about that” was the best the waiter could do.
“Look, forget the entrée … take it back to the kitchen.”
“So you don’t want it now.”
“Right. It’s an entrée. I would have liked it before the main course,” said my friend who was struggling to be nice about it.
“So I should take it back to the kitchen.”
Finally.
Oh, and apparently the steak was full of gristle.
“I think I’ll have dessert,” said my friend. We finally got the attention of the waiter and got a menu. Off he went to get the dessert, the remnants of lunch still sitting on the table a good 15 minutes after we’d finished.
Back came the waiter. They’d run out of whatever my friend had ordered. “Look, I’ll come in and have a look at what you have in the glass case.”
Then the waiter said: “Is it OK for me to take the dishes. Are you finished?”
Sweet mother of Jesus, mate, we finished quarter of an hour ago. Please, take the bloody dishes.
I took a phone call while my friend chowed down on his mud cake and ice-cream (like I said, it’s some appetite).
I don’t know how much lunch cost. I was still on the phone when my friend went in to pay the bill. Reckon I’m pretty sure though that he didn’t leave a tip, other than perhaps a verbal tip, such as “why don’t you lift your bloody game”.
IT HAS A RING TO IT
I received in the mail my official invitation to my friend, Andrew McUtchen’s wedding at the end of March.
To say that he and Fiona are well organised is an understatement (their website proves that). They’ve nailed it.
The envelope had the invitation, a map (it’s at Howqua), accommodation tips and a CD with a note: “It’s a long drive, so we thought we’d make you a mixtape of our favourite ‘driving to the mountains’ songs to help it pass a little quicker. Don’t rush, the scenery is beautiful.”
I listened to it on the way to lunch yesterday at Mordialloc … yes, Mordi-bloody-alloc. It’s great listening.
And speaking of great listening, Andrew is playing at the Albert Park Festival next Thursday (February 23). He’s a majorly talented singer-songwriter and apparently he’ll set up somewhere near the Albert Park Hotel. Get along and have a listen. It’ll be worth it.
IT’S THE MAKE-UP THAT COUNTS
Travelling home from work at lunch time on Monday, I watched the people sitting on the tram. Four seats across from each other included a guy tapping away at his phone, a girl reading something on an iPad, another bloke tapping at his phone and the girl next to him was using a mirror to do her make-up … perhaps a bit late in the day or maybe she’d had a big night. Dunno.
I people looked the other direction and it was much the same thing although there was a girl actually reading a book.
I turned back to the original four and there was make-up girl diligently doing the eyebrows (with a pencil) of the bloke next to her … he was right into it.
It reminded me of the last time I had some eye make-up applied. It was at a sometimes rowdy, very wine-oriented Greek Easter party at a friend’s house.
For some reason I ended up in the bathroom with a friend as she applied eye liner to my less-than-pretty face.
When we got back to the party action, my make-up girl’s husband must have thought it was an improvement because he spent the rest of the party grabbing my arse, something he continued every time I saw him at the local bar.
He’s on a strict warning that I’ll belt him if it happens again … and I’m a peace-loving bloke.
By the way, there was to my knowledge, no arse grabbing on the tram.
I wandered in to my local bottleshop to grab something for dinner (yeah, there was food involved too) and I was grabbed by Cameron, the manager. “Mate, I’ve got a couple you should try. I know you love chardonnay. I’ve got this fantastic French chardy coming in next week,” he said as he poured me a taster.
“That’s pretty bloody good,” I said. And it was.
“You interested in some?”
“Done.”
Then he poured me some Spanish red (the week involved more than its fair share of tempranillo anyway).
“This is a cracker,” he said. And it was.
“I’ll get me some of that when it comes in, meanwhile I think I’ll have pinot with dinner. What’s good?”
Cameron suggested a 2010 Roland Masse pinot from the Yarra Valley at about 20 bucks.
Dinner was a plate of nibbly things … toasted onion and caraway sourdough, spinach dip, beetroot dip, prosciutto, artichoke hearts, Spanish anchovies, cheese-stuffed chillis, smoked ocean trout … whatever, there was a bit of it … and the pinot (well I had to cover all the food groups) was the perfect foil.
It’s drinking beautifully. There’s a bit of cherry up front (yeah, it is cherry season and I picked that … the smell that is, not the cherries). It has just enough oak and hangs around in the mouth … I reckon that’s called length (it’s 13%, the alcohol, not the length). I know that it’s selling well at Vintage Cellars and stocks are dwindling, so if you fancy it … and you will ... be quick.
The following night, I revisited the Florian Mollet Sancerre (about 24 bucks), which I’d first had on the weekend.
The second time was better than the first.
It really is intense and quite flowery on the nose and, for me, a hint of sweetness (just enough). After it’s been open for a while, there’s a bit of vanilla happening and lots of fruit (take your pick … smoking rollies doesn’t help my palate) and the taste lingers well in the mouth.
Simply, it’s a bloody great drink and was destined to be my drinking highlight of the week … not so.
I was at home at lunchtime on Wednesday and wondering what sort of wine I’d have with dinner. Then I thought, I have a box of Italian wines under the dining room sideboard. They’ve been there for about three years (it’s a well-sealed pine box, so the storage is OK), so I grabbed one for the fridge.
I opted for a simple pasta dish for dinner … garlic, fresh diced tomatoes, some yellow capsicum sliced finely, Spanish anchovies, rocket leaves and some fresh basil, plenty of olive oil and a splash of the pasta water ... served with some freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano.
If the pasta was good … and it was bloody good … then the wine – a 2007 Bollini Pinot Grigio Trentino – was an absolute bloody cracker.
I’ve seen it described as the “ultimate aperitif wine” … or how about “the fresh, refined style is ideal for frequent, casual consumption”? Frequent? That’s my kind of wine.
It’s fragrant, lively, crisp, fruity, flinty and oh so clean in the mouth. And there’s just enough acid. I reckon it would go well with any sort of food. Without question, for me it was the wine highlight of the week in a week where there were some highlight-worthy beauties on the table.
BACK TO BASICS
I had catch-up lunch the other day with a friend. We chose a local café, one that has recently changed hands.
After Alex and John sold the operation, business fell off, as it does when things change.
I thought, bugger it, I haven’t eaten there since the new owners moved in … so get it on.
I ordered a pot of English breakfast tea and a dish called the charcuterie board. My friend, who has an appetite like six people, ordered a garlic prawn entrée, the rabbit pie and a glass of orange juice. Yeah, right, no alcohol.
The drinks (it’s funny saying that when it’s not a reference to wine) arrived, closely followed by the waiter. “Sorry, but we are out of rabbit pie. Can I get you something else?”
“Yeah, a menu thanks.” Pretty basic, I would have thought.
After ordering a steak sandwich, we settled for a chat … which was interrupted this time by a waitress. “Sorry, but the prawns are just part of the entrée. It’s three parts from a choice of five.” I can’t remember the other parts, but the order went through.
Again we settled for a chat.
My pot of tea came without a strainer, so it was a less-then-pleasant dusty cup of tea. Pretty basic, that.
Then the charcuterie board arrived … a pleasant enough collection of cold cuts, warmed black pudding, a small tub of cornichons, some pretty ordinary cocktail pickled onions, a couple of bits of artichoke heart and some toast.
I did the polite thing and waited until my friend had something to gnaw on … it was a good five minutes before the waiter arrived with the steak sandwich.
We looked at each other. Wasn’t there an entrée?
Sure was. The waiter reappeared five minutes later with it. “Sorry, it’s a bit late,” he said as he made room for it on the table. Excuse me. Pretty basic, that.
“I’m pretty sure something is gonna get cold before I eat it,” said my friend.
“Sorry about that” was the best the waiter could do.
“Look, forget the entrée … take it back to the kitchen.”
“So you don’t want it now.”
“Right. It’s an entrée. I would have liked it before the main course,” said my friend who was struggling to be nice about it.
“So I should take it back to the kitchen.”
Finally.
Oh, and apparently the steak was full of gristle.
“I think I’ll have dessert,” said my friend. We finally got the attention of the waiter and got a menu. Off he went to get the dessert, the remnants of lunch still sitting on the table a good 15 minutes after we’d finished.
Back came the waiter. They’d run out of whatever my friend had ordered. “Look, I’ll come in and have a look at what you have in the glass case.”
Then the waiter said: “Is it OK for me to take the dishes. Are you finished?”
Sweet mother of Jesus, mate, we finished quarter of an hour ago. Please, take the bloody dishes.
I took a phone call while my friend chowed down on his mud cake and ice-cream (like I said, it’s some appetite).
I don’t know how much lunch cost. I was still on the phone when my friend went in to pay the bill. Reckon I’m pretty sure though that he didn’t leave a tip, other than perhaps a verbal tip, such as “why don’t you lift your bloody game”.
IT HAS A RING TO IT
I received in the mail my official invitation to my friend, Andrew McUtchen’s wedding at the end of March.
To say that he and Fiona are well organised is an understatement (their website proves that). They’ve nailed it.
The envelope had the invitation, a map (it’s at Howqua), accommodation tips and a CD with a note: “It’s a long drive, so we thought we’d make you a mixtape of our favourite ‘driving to the mountains’ songs to help it pass a little quicker. Don’t rush, the scenery is beautiful.”
I listened to it on the way to lunch yesterday at Mordialloc … yes, Mordi-bloody-alloc. It’s great listening.
And speaking of great listening, Andrew is playing at the Albert Park Festival next Thursday (February 23). He’s a majorly talented singer-songwriter and apparently he’ll set up somewhere near the Albert Park Hotel. Get along and have a listen. It’ll be worth it.
IT’S THE MAKE-UP THAT COUNTS
Travelling home from work at lunch time on Monday, I watched the people sitting on the tram. Four seats across from each other included a guy tapping away at his phone, a girl reading something on an iPad, another bloke tapping at his phone and the girl next to him was using a mirror to do her make-up … perhaps a bit late in the day or maybe she’d had a big night. Dunno.
I people looked the other direction and it was much the same thing although there was a girl actually reading a book.
I turned back to the original four and there was make-up girl diligently doing the eyebrows (with a pencil) of the bloke next to her … he was right into it.
It reminded me of the last time I had some eye make-up applied. It was at a sometimes rowdy, very wine-oriented Greek Easter party at a friend’s house.
For some reason I ended up in the bathroom with a friend as she applied eye liner to my less-than-pretty face.
When we got back to the party action, my make-up girl’s husband must have thought it was an improvement because he spent the rest of the party grabbing my arse, something he continued every time I saw him at the local bar.
He’s on a strict warning that I’ll belt him if it happens again … and I’m a peace-loving bloke.
By the way, there was to my knowledge, no arse grabbing on the tram.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
To the fore ... well the hippie in me ... and a fabulous wine ... Sancerre Florian Mollet
It’s kinda nice to get the odd complimentary comment on this thing … I don’t get too many … so thanks to Lottie J. Vera for the kind words.
Words (on the blog) have been hard to come by lately, a courtesy of just doing too much and being too buggered to find the time to post.
Work’s pretty much back into full swing, the weekends have been packed with trips away, lots of good food, wine and friends, hence the blog laziness.
My dear friend, Julia, celebrated her 50th a couple of weeks ago at a fantastic old house in Balnarring. And true to her method of doing things, she did it in style.
One of the great things about the drive down there was the chance to blow away the cobwebs … on me and mainly the ute. A bit of dirt (OK a lot) notwithstanding, it looked a whole lot better by the time I’d arrived.
It was like tent city in her front garden, cars everywhere, and every couch, mattress, bed and whatever was in full use. I’m not sure just how many people stayed over, although there were probably 10 for breakfast in the morning.
The party was a ‘60s-‘70s fancy-dress thing and just about everyone got into the swing. There were beads, kaftans, wigs, long white patent boots … all the usual suspects. I reckon I may have been the only one there who went in normal clothes i.e. no real effort required … a Thai-dyed T-shirt with a matching headband, torn, tattered and patched jeans and of course a pair of kangaroo fur cowboy boots. And I drew plenty of comments about how I looked the part. Guess the hippie in me is alive and well.
There were about 100 people there and the weather was kind enough to allow us the entire night on the expansive front lawn. Lots of tables and chairs made it easy, the band was fantastic (they had lots of lights happening) and in true Julia style, the food and wine were just great.
She had four hogs of beef on the barbecue, lots of salads, breads and bits and pieces, even desserts, all lovingly put together by the well named Sarah Vaughan. She’s a cracker in the kitchen.
And there was beer, wine of all sorts and plenty of it to ensure that everyone had a great time.
Even the walk home in the dark was a piece of cake.
Life in the swag that night was a pretty easy sleep, the snoring of the woman in the tent next to me notwithstanding (OK, reckon I may have done my share too).
Waking at 5.30 wasn’t the ideal preparation for the day, but it gave me a chance to have a smoke, relax and enjoy the fresh air … yeah I know that’s a contradiction, you know, the fresh air and smoking thing.
People amassed at the huge garden table … they seemed to come from everywhere … and Julia produced some sensational sourdough bread, pots of tea, pots of coffee, eggs, whatever.
She’s the consummate professional when it comes to catering … for one or 100.
Breakfast was done, the swag thrown back onto the ute and it was time for all to head to the venue to clean up the excesses.
Thank God for the ute. We managed to fill it, and then some, but an hour or so later, the place looked like a new pin. Cars were loaded with the leftover drinks (and there were lots), boxes and boxes of glasses (there were just two broken on the night) and it was a convoy back to Julia’s place to unload.
And unload she did. She insisted (OK I didn’t take too much convincing) that I take a box of wine and some beer with me (not for the trip home, I hasten to add).
The wines were a mix of T’Gallant viognier and Balnarring Vineyards single barrel point noir … the beers were Peroni.
The pinot (I had a bottle that night) was as good as it gets … really enjoyable and moreish, which is always a good thing in a wine and it was the perfect way to see out what had been a memorable weekend.
I tried the viognier the next night … it’s just about my favourite grape … didn’t disappoint and turned out to be the perfect quaffer for the week.
It was a good week at the offices … the work was interesting and the people were on song … perhaps it’s a summer thing.
On the Monday I was waiting at the traffic light to cross when a bloke wandered over and said: “G’day mate, I’m not from around here and I’m lookin’ for a good old-fashioned pub.”
Reckon he may have figured that, because I was wearing a blue singlet, I may have been an old-fashioned pub type.
The best I could come up with was the Exford on Russell Street. The last time I was there the carpet still had a reassuring stickiness and it was predominantly a beer-drinkers’ pub.
I gave him directions and sent him on his way and walked to catch a tram.
When I reached my stop, there was a woman in a leopard-skin coat and matching boots, sitting there and smoking a huge spliff. She, like me, was obviously enjoying her day.
The week involved rose, shiraz, viognier and pinot, the perfect preparation for a weekend that effectively was to start on the Friday with a reunion of former Fairfax employees and The Rising Sun Hotel in South Melbourne.
It turned out that mostly the people were from an era long before my time there. Of the 50 or so there, I knew about half a dozen people. Mostly the blokes were in suits, so my black singlet and black jeans stood out like a sore thumb. I actually felt like one of the young people there (OK I was). Suffice to say, I didn’t realise it was also a sit-down dinner, so after bidding farewell to those I know I beat a hasty retreat to the tram and headed for Lina’s for a quiet glass or two of rose before heading home for an early night, which was essential given that I had a two-hour drive to get to a party at Tooleen to celebrate my friend Jodie’s 40th birthday (it’s the year for milestones).
Early night did I say?
I called a friend for a chat and ended up in a cab, bound for her place for a drink and a catch-up, which was good. I finally climbed into bed at 4.45 … normally I only recognise one 4.45 a day and it’s not the first one ... so it wasn’t ideal.
My phone went just after nine. “I’m awake, so you’re awake,” explained my friend who was none too thrilled at the late hour of my departure, but it was a fair call.
I faced the day by assembling the tipples for the party … a few beers, a Bowen Estate shiraz, a Balnarring pinot, a couple of bottles of chenin blanc and a bottle of Moet for Jodie … throwing some clothes and a toothbrush into a bag and drinking lots of tea.
It took me until one o’clock to summon the courage to face the drive. It was all plain sailing until I reached the Kalkallo pub, where I was confronted with traffic from arsehole to breakfast. There had obviously been a prang or something. It took half an hour to drive about the next two kilometres where there was a burnt-out car and four very desolate people being comforted by police and firies. At least they got out with their lives.
I was pretty pissed off that Tooleen is not on my GPS. Fortunately I’d been there quite a few time when I was young, so I was never gonna get lost.
The driveway to Jodie’s house (what a view) is as rough as guts (OK not quite that bad) and almost a kilometre long, but it was worth it.
There were lots of familiar faces.
I threw up the swag and joined in the festivities, which were highlighted by the food prepared by Jodie’s siste-in-law.
There were chicken curry pies, plates of prawns, roasted (Chinese-style) pork, pastries with scallops, pastries with smoked salmon and cheese, a huge bowl of steamed mussels and probably a dozen other things that have faded from the memory.
The spooky part of the afternoon involved a graceful (aren’t they all?) wedge-tail eagle soaring on the thermals above the house¬¬. It hovered above us for ages, coming down to not a long way above us and obviously eyeing off one of the many dogs that, like us, were enjoying the party in the sunshine. Of particular interest would have been the smallest … a Jack Russell … but the flighty one was perhaps deterred by all the other dogs … oh, and the people. But Jesus, it looked like it was ready to swoop. It didn’t.
It was about this time that I realised the chenin blanc wasn’t doing its thing. I still had a hangover big enough to photograph, so I did the honourable and tried for an hour or so tucked up in the swag. No sleep was forthcoming. There were dogs, kids, singing, cars coming and going, not ideal for getting some zeds under the belt.
What to do? Get up, of course, and get some pinot under the belt. It worked a treat and was helped along by the presence of my great friend, Cookie and his girlfriend Belinda. I hadn’t seen then in yonks and it was great to see them.
As darkness descended, out came the guitar and there was lots of singing. Darkness also descended in the form of the 2008 Bowen Estate shiraz, accompanied by an endless supply of little Frank’s (he’s not really short, we just give him shit) fantastic pizzas. He’s a truly great pizza cook.
The swag provided welcome respite despite the stragglers still being in full voice.
There’s something about sleeping in a swag in the bush. It must be the air because, despite the excesses, there was little sign of a hangover (what little there was, alleviated by a coffee). It was just tiredness but not enough to hinder the long drive home.
The troops who had stayed were planning another night there and were planning to ease into the day with lunch at a local winery. I’d loved to have done it, but the thought of getting up at 5.30 the next morning and driving to Melbourne for work … nah it was never gonna happen.
The drive back to Melbourne was as easy as it gets and was over leaving me plenty of time to get to the market to stock up on some fresh food for the week.
No trip to the market is ever complete without a chat to David, in the Sword’s wine shop. He helped sorting me out with some cider (OK I have a hankering for one or three). He’d sold out of Bramley’s Seedling cider (damn) so I bought a four-pack of Cloudy Lobo Cider from the Adelaide Hills. The label boasts that it is “unfiltered, untamed, full flavour”. Tick, tick, tick.
The week that followed again was great, especially work. I’m at the age when I’m supposed to be slowing, but shit it’s good. I also resurrected the Crikey word of the day on Twitter, a bit of fun.
Chats with the kids, Joel and Liam, were a bonus and helped make it a better week, which flew by.
Lunch on Saturday with a friend loomed large. I hit the market and grabbed plenty of nibbly bits … aka stuffed chillis, olives, prosciutto, smoked ocean trout, a couple of dips, some stuffed artichokes, some fantastic Spanish anchovies, some peppery rocket and an onion-and-caraway sourdough loaf. Oh, and five bunches of flowers to brighten up the house.
For starters, though, it was a couple of dozen South Australian oysters (so, so creamy with just lemon juice) washed down with some bubbles … Blue Pyrenees Midnight Cuvee Chardonnay, a snip at 30-odd bucks a bottle. It was a great start.
But there was better to come … in the form of Sancerre Florian Mollet, one of the better tasting things to come out of a bottle lately for me.
It’s intense and quite flowery on the nose and, for me, a hint of sweetness (just enough). There was also lots of fruit (take your pick … smoking doesn’t help my palate) and the taste lingers well in the mouth.
Reckon when I’m finished this post, I’m heading back to Vintage Cellars to grab another (about $24 from memory) for dinner tonight. Dinner will, incidentally involve food as well).
Other wines to cross my path recently included 2009 Brokenwood Chardonnay (quite oaky), some Balnarring Single Barrel pinot, Hennings 2011 Viognier, T’Gallant (I just love straight viognier) and Kilikanoon Clare Valley rose, a fruit little number that’s just the thing on a hot day.
It’s looking to be a quiet week if for no other reason than my planned trip next Friday to Warrnambool for a catch-up with a truckie mate, Perrie, who I met on the road at various places around the country. I haven’t seen him for a few months, so I’m looking forward to it. We’ll probably drink up a storm.
Roll on Friday.
Words (on the blog) have been hard to come by lately, a courtesy of just doing too much and being too buggered to find the time to post.
Work’s pretty much back into full swing, the weekends have been packed with trips away, lots of good food, wine and friends, hence the blog laziness.
My dear friend, Julia, celebrated her 50th a couple of weeks ago at a fantastic old house in Balnarring. And true to her method of doing things, she did it in style.
One of the great things about the drive down there was the chance to blow away the cobwebs … on me and mainly the ute. A bit of dirt (OK a lot) notwithstanding, it looked a whole lot better by the time I’d arrived.
It was like tent city in her front garden, cars everywhere, and every couch, mattress, bed and whatever was in full use. I’m not sure just how many people stayed over, although there were probably 10 for breakfast in the morning.
The party was a ‘60s-‘70s fancy-dress thing and just about everyone got into the swing. There were beads, kaftans, wigs, long white patent boots … all the usual suspects. I reckon I may have been the only one there who went in normal clothes i.e. no real effort required … a Thai-dyed T-shirt with a matching headband, torn, tattered and patched jeans and of course a pair of kangaroo fur cowboy boots. And I drew plenty of comments about how I looked the part. Guess the hippie in me is alive and well.
There were about 100 people there and the weather was kind enough to allow us the entire night on the expansive front lawn. Lots of tables and chairs made it easy, the band was fantastic (they had lots of lights happening) and in true Julia style, the food and wine were just great.
She had four hogs of beef on the barbecue, lots of salads, breads and bits and pieces, even desserts, all lovingly put together by the well named Sarah Vaughan. She’s a cracker in the kitchen.
And there was beer, wine of all sorts and plenty of it to ensure that everyone had a great time.
Even the walk home in the dark was a piece of cake.
Life in the swag that night was a pretty easy sleep, the snoring of the woman in the tent next to me notwithstanding (OK, reckon I may have done my share too).
Waking at 5.30 wasn’t the ideal preparation for the day, but it gave me a chance to have a smoke, relax and enjoy the fresh air … yeah I know that’s a contradiction, you know, the fresh air and smoking thing.
People amassed at the huge garden table … they seemed to come from everywhere … and Julia produced some sensational sourdough bread, pots of tea, pots of coffee, eggs, whatever.
She’s the consummate professional when it comes to catering … for one or 100.
Breakfast was done, the swag thrown back onto the ute and it was time for all to head to the venue to clean up the excesses.
Thank God for the ute. We managed to fill it, and then some, but an hour or so later, the place looked like a new pin. Cars were loaded with the leftover drinks (and there were lots), boxes and boxes of glasses (there were just two broken on the night) and it was a convoy back to Julia’s place to unload.
And unload she did. She insisted (OK I didn’t take too much convincing) that I take a box of wine and some beer with me (not for the trip home, I hasten to add).
The wines were a mix of T’Gallant viognier and Balnarring Vineyards single barrel point noir … the beers were Peroni.
The pinot (I had a bottle that night) was as good as it gets … really enjoyable and moreish, which is always a good thing in a wine and it was the perfect way to see out what had been a memorable weekend.
I tried the viognier the next night … it’s just about my favourite grape … didn’t disappoint and turned out to be the perfect quaffer for the week.
It was a good week at the offices … the work was interesting and the people were on song … perhaps it’s a summer thing.
On the Monday I was waiting at the traffic light to cross when a bloke wandered over and said: “G’day mate, I’m not from around here and I’m lookin’ for a good old-fashioned pub.”
Reckon he may have figured that, because I was wearing a blue singlet, I may have been an old-fashioned pub type.
The best I could come up with was the Exford on Russell Street. The last time I was there the carpet still had a reassuring stickiness and it was predominantly a beer-drinkers’ pub.
I gave him directions and sent him on his way and walked to catch a tram.
When I reached my stop, there was a woman in a leopard-skin coat and matching boots, sitting there and smoking a huge spliff. She, like me, was obviously enjoying her day.
The week involved rose, shiraz, viognier and pinot, the perfect preparation for a weekend that effectively was to start on the Friday with a reunion of former Fairfax employees and The Rising Sun Hotel in South Melbourne.
It turned out that mostly the people were from an era long before my time there. Of the 50 or so there, I knew about half a dozen people. Mostly the blokes were in suits, so my black singlet and black jeans stood out like a sore thumb. I actually felt like one of the young people there (OK I was). Suffice to say, I didn’t realise it was also a sit-down dinner, so after bidding farewell to those I know I beat a hasty retreat to the tram and headed for Lina’s for a quiet glass or two of rose before heading home for an early night, which was essential given that I had a two-hour drive to get to a party at Tooleen to celebrate my friend Jodie’s 40th birthday (it’s the year for milestones).
Early night did I say?
I called a friend for a chat and ended up in a cab, bound for her place for a drink and a catch-up, which was good. I finally climbed into bed at 4.45 … normally I only recognise one 4.45 a day and it’s not the first one ... so it wasn’t ideal.
My phone went just after nine. “I’m awake, so you’re awake,” explained my friend who was none too thrilled at the late hour of my departure, but it was a fair call.
I faced the day by assembling the tipples for the party … a few beers, a Bowen Estate shiraz, a Balnarring pinot, a couple of bottles of chenin blanc and a bottle of Moet for Jodie … throwing some clothes and a toothbrush into a bag and drinking lots of tea.
It took me until one o’clock to summon the courage to face the drive. It was all plain sailing until I reached the Kalkallo pub, where I was confronted with traffic from arsehole to breakfast. There had obviously been a prang or something. It took half an hour to drive about the next two kilometres where there was a burnt-out car and four very desolate people being comforted by police and firies. At least they got out with their lives.
I was pretty pissed off that Tooleen is not on my GPS. Fortunately I’d been there quite a few time when I was young, so I was never gonna get lost.
The driveway to Jodie’s house (what a view) is as rough as guts (OK not quite that bad) and almost a kilometre long, but it was worth it.
There were lots of familiar faces.
I threw up the swag and joined in the festivities, which were highlighted by the food prepared by Jodie’s siste-in-law.
There were chicken curry pies, plates of prawns, roasted (Chinese-style) pork, pastries with scallops, pastries with smoked salmon and cheese, a huge bowl of steamed mussels and probably a dozen other things that have faded from the memory.
The spooky part of the afternoon involved a graceful (aren’t they all?) wedge-tail eagle soaring on the thermals above the house¬¬. It hovered above us for ages, coming down to not a long way above us and obviously eyeing off one of the many dogs that, like us, were enjoying the party in the sunshine. Of particular interest would have been the smallest … a Jack Russell … but the flighty one was perhaps deterred by all the other dogs … oh, and the people. But Jesus, it looked like it was ready to swoop. It didn’t.
It was about this time that I realised the chenin blanc wasn’t doing its thing. I still had a hangover big enough to photograph, so I did the honourable and tried for an hour or so tucked up in the swag. No sleep was forthcoming. There were dogs, kids, singing, cars coming and going, not ideal for getting some zeds under the belt.
What to do? Get up, of course, and get some pinot under the belt. It worked a treat and was helped along by the presence of my great friend, Cookie and his girlfriend Belinda. I hadn’t seen then in yonks and it was great to see them.
As darkness descended, out came the guitar and there was lots of singing. Darkness also descended in the form of the 2008 Bowen Estate shiraz, accompanied by an endless supply of little Frank’s (he’s not really short, we just give him shit) fantastic pizzas. He’s a truly great pizza cook.
The swag provided welcome respite despite the stragglers still being in full voice.
There’s something about sleeping in a swag in the bush. It must be the air because, despite the excesses, there was little sign of a hangover (what little there was, alleviated by a coffee). It was just tiredness but not enough to hinder the long drive home.
The troops who had stayed were planning another night there and were planning to ease into the day with lunch at a local winery. I’d loved to have done it, but the thought of getting up at 5.30 the next morning and driving to Melbourne for work … nah it was never gonna happen.
The drive back to Melbourne was as easy as it gets and was over leaving me plenty of time to get to the market to stock up on some fresh food for the week.
No trip to the market is ever complete without a chat to David, in the Sword’s wine shop. He helped sorting me out with some cider (OK I have a hankering for one or three). He’d sold out of Bramley’s Seedling cider (damn) so I bought a four-pack of Cloudy Lobo Cider from the Adelaide Hills. The label boasts that it is “unfiltered, untamed, full flavour”. Tick, tick, tick.
The week that followed again was great, especially work. I’m at the age when I’m supposed to be slowing, but shit it’s good. I also resurrected the Crikey word of the day on Twitter, a bit of fun.
Chats with the kids, Joel and Liam, were a bonus and helped make it a better week, which flew by.
Lunch on Saturday with a friend loomed large. I hit the market and grabbed plenty of nibbly bits … aka stuffed chillis, olives, prosciutto, smoked ocean trout, a couple of dips, some stuffed artichokes, some fantastic Spanish anchovies, some peppery rocket and an onion-and-caraway sourdough loaf. Oh, and five bunches of flowers to brighten up the house.
For starters, though, it was a couple of dozen South Australian oysters (so, so creamy with just lemon juice) washed down with some bubbles … Blue Pyrenees Midnight Cuvee Chardonnay, a snip at 30-odd bucks a bottle. It was a great start.
But there was better to come … in the form of Sancerre Florian Mollet, one of the better tasting things to come out of a bottle lately for me.
It’s intense and quite flowery on the nose and, for me, a hint of sweetness (just enough). There was also lots of fruit (take your pick … smoking doesn’t help my palate) and the taste lingers well in the mouth.
Reckon when I’m finished this post, I’m heading back to Vintage Cellars to grab another (about $24 from memory) for dinner tonight. Dinner will, incidentally involve food as well).
Other wines to cross my path recently included 2009 Brokenwood Chardonnay (quite oaky), some Balnarring Single Barrel pinot, Hennings 2011 Viognier, T’Gallant (I just love straight viognier) and Kilikanoon Clare Valley rose, a fruit little number that’s just the thing on a hot day.
It’s looking to be a quiet week if for no other reason than my planned trip next Friday to Warrnambool for a catch-up with a truckie mate, Perrie, who I met on the road at various places around the country. I haven’t seen him for a few months, so I’m looking forward to it. We’ll probably drink up a storm.
Roll on Friday.
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