What a difference a duck makes ...

I recently got an email from a mate — he’s a bit (read a lot) of a wine fancier and a slightly less-recent vintage than me (hard to believe, I know) — announcing a breakthrough from California. It’s a wine, the email said, designed for seniors who have, well, a constant need to decant (into the dunny) some of the night’s tipple.

These vintners in the Napa Valley, who primarily produce pinot blanc, pinot noir and pinot grigio, have developed a hybrid grape that acts as an anti-diuretic. Gotta say, I was quite excited reading the email until I saw that the new wine is called pinot more.

Meanwhile, back in the sensible world, my recent experiences with food and wine have been anything but sensible, that is if you listen to wowsers, dieticians, doctors, milk bar owners, people with small ears and those who wake daily to a magenta-coloured sky.

Lunch on Friday last at Golden Fields in St Kilda, with my good friend wine writer Jane Faulkner, was the starting point. We made our way through lobster rolls (delivered to our table by chef and owner Andrew McConnell), soft-shell crabs, Moreton Bay bugs with cabbage, twice-cooked duck (the highlight), a vegetable dish and some steamed barramundi with broad beans, wilted leeks and miso butter. It couldn’t get any better, could it? Well, yeah, it could. It did.

The wines were to die for: Wittmann Morstein Riesling 2009, Prager Gruner Veltliner 2009, Gaba do Xil Mencia 2008, Bindi Pyrette Shiraz 2010 and then some. My notebook matched my mind … not the clearest it has ever been. Suffice to say, lunch was great.

At the risk of sounding like a pig, later in the day I also has a couple of glasses of John Duvall Wines Eligo 2008 Shiraz (about $105 a bottle and, yes, it was a gift, so not a bank breaker) and I was like a pig in … OK, you get the drift.

Sleep came easily that night and on into Saturday, where the plan was to have a steak dinner at Mediterraneo, a local restaurant. We eased into the night with a fabulous Donnhoff Riesling 2010 and then hit the restaurant for a plate of griddled calamari and some Coombe Farm Chardonnay, which also sustained us through an excellent piece of wagyu beef, that, if it had been much bigger, we could have milked. The body finally conceded: enough already.

The only way to ease out of what was an excessive weekend was to do a deli run to the market.

To whit: a plate of bits and pieces (a great and cheap way to eat), including char-grilled, pickled artichoke hearts, fat olives stuffed with parmesan and then crumbed and fried, coriander and chilli pesto, smoked ocean trout with fresh dill and lemon-infused olive oil, a small piece of runny brie, some cornichons, salami and some crusty bread and crackers, all washed down with some Scotchmans Hill Chardonnay from the Bellarine Peninsula.

With the chard I got the melon and (other) fruity nose stuff although I still can’t get a handle on mealy notes, whatever that means (OK, I’m learning and although I graduated with honours at the “if it tastes good, drink it” wine school, I am booked in for a proper wine course with my friend, Jane). As is my wont, I reckon it also tasted buttery and oaky with some acid to balance it.

It went well with nearly everything on the plate and, priced somewhere in the mid-20 buck range, is a drink that I’d also be happy to drink with anything (or nothing really), because it’s a good drink.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best wine of the weekend, but it was a more-than-pleasant way to ease out of it.

... But it's my time and money

Just what is it with tech companies? Courtesy of my tech head son, Joel (he likes the tag by the way ... cos he is one and bloody good at it), I have reliable, free anti-virus software on my laptop. I didn't bother to renew my account with the previous supplier ... no point really.
So it was with some surprise that I received an email from Symantec advising me that my subscription had been updated and the necessary debited from my bank account. Now it's incumbent on me to farnarkle around and convince these bastards that a refund is in order ... something, no doubt, that will take time ... MY TIME.
Is it any wonder that I still operater a cheque book? At least I know when and where my money is going.

A bit more food and drink

I’ve done a couple of wine things for Crikey of late …

IS THIS THE WAY TO TEMPRANILLO?

When someone first mentions red, what’s the first thing that comes to mind? Maybe Julia Gillard, Red Skelton, Red Buttons (that’s a bit too Rip Torn for my liking), reds under the bed or even Red Adair (he was a Texan who fought oil-well fires and fixed blowouts and, for theatrical types, was absolutely nothing to do with Ginger Rogers. I don’t even know if Red could dance).

Mention red again and thoughts turn to the product of the grape. Shiraz, cab-sav, merlot, chianti, grenache, zinfandel, sangiovese, et al. But there aren’t too many first thoughts of tempranillo, originally a grape variety from Spain that is now going gangbusters in the Barossa Valley and McLaren Vale.

Which brings me to a chat last weekend with the manager of my local Swords outlet, something I often do. Swords made its name selling resealable and recyclable bottles usually filled with a more-than-decent drop. After I had bought some pinot gris to have with some seafood pasta (it went very nicely, thank you) the manager suggested I try a new tempranillo he’d just got in … and I’m glad I did.

It’s labelled (in butt-ugly type) Siento Tempranillo 2008 from the Barossa and weighs in at a healthy 14.5% alcohol.

If you believe the notes on the back of the bottle, it smells of plum (yeah I got that) and blueberry blossom (excuse me, but I don’t know anyone who knows what the hell that smells like, and anyway, I reckon there was a hint of leather there early on). In the mouth it tastes of blueberry and vanilla (yep to both) and it is a smooth, medium-bodied drink. And it claims that the tannins are velvety (a definite yep — think cats and velvet. Yep, it’s that smooth).

In a shock twist, I drank just half a bottle and buttered up the next night for the rest. And it was definitely better for the break. If you haven’t yet tried tempranillo, do it. At $17.95 a bottle (although Swords has a two for $30 deal on it), it drinks a treat.

The seafood pasta was a chance to try a new Guy Grossi offering: squid ink linguini (it was a gift from a friend who also weighed in with some of Grossi’s olives that are yet to be tried).

The seafood was squid rings, scallops and prawns, tossed quickly in some finely diced sautéed onion softened in olive oil (flavoured with fresh oregano, lots of garlic and a couple of bay leaves), cherry tomato halves and a decent slurp of white wine (it was a fruity chardy). The black pasta cooked in about two minutes (which threw things out a bit) but the end result was worth it. A big handful of chopped flat-leaf parsley and a quick squeeze of lemon juice and it was a done deal. Life’s good.

Red Adair was a focused man who once said: “If you think it’s expensive to hire a professional to do the job, wait until you hire an amateur.” That’s a bit like wine. It’s caveat emptor when it comes to drinking cheap wine (three-day growth notwithstanding) — buy it at your peril and hope you get lucky.

A CLEANSKIN THAT HITS THE MARK

This week I got up close and personal with a cleanskin … a 2008 Geelong chardonnay from down Bannockburn way (not too far from the city of the Cats).

It is, I’m reliably told, made by award-winning winemaker Scott Ireland at Provenance Wines, who proves that, at about 15 bucks a bottle, he really knows his chardonnay (and probably his pinot gris, shiraz and pinot noir, which are also housed in the Provenance stable). This one is great value for money.

Yeah, a cleanskin … a tidy epidermis if you will.

I couldn’t help but lurch into the Seinfeld territory of my consciousness at the thought of that — it was the puffy shirt episode in which George Costanza embarked on an ill-fated hand-modelling career and had this exchange with his parents, Frank and Estelle:

“All right! Please, please! I cannot have this constant bickering … Stress is very damaging to the epidermis! Now, I have an important photo session in the morning — my hands have got to be in tip-top shape, so please — keep the television down, and the conversation to a minimum.”

Well, stress is the last thing that comes to mind with this cleanskin — quite the contrary — although bickering over the last glass may come into play. The colour is a relaxing pale gold (not too deep, mind) and on the nose I snorted some apple peel (no, fair dinkum, it was there for a while), a bit of peach (or thereabouts … maybe it was nectarine … I’m not a big fruit eater so what would I know?) and plenty of melons (as a drooling Homer Simpson would say, “mmm, melons”). And although I’m not wont to use this expression when I am talking wine, the mouthfeel was, well, another highlight; hints of vanilla, a little bit of acidity and then a backed-off buttery flavour. I hope that doesn’t sound too over the top. If it does, tough, that’s my call.

The bottom line is, it’s a bloody good-tasting wine … and after all, isn’t that why we drink the stuff?

But this cleanskin kicked another goal (from well outside the 50-metre arc). I’ve been having a thing of late with smoked ocean trout, which is less oily than smoked salmon and has a better texture, and it was the food match for the chardonnay on the night.

To whit: a couple of slabs of really good, toasted sourdough bread (with some big seeds), spread (OK liberally crumbled) with plenty of Meredith goat’s fetta (from a jar with herbs and some garlic in the oil), a handful of rocket leaves (a bloke’s gotta have his greens), a few slabs of the said ocean trout (10 bucks will get you a quarter of a kilo at the South Melbourne Market), some lemon-infused olive oil and a big handful of fresh dill and it was done and dusted with a glass or three of the cleanskin.

I had seven courses with matching wines at Gordon Ramsay’s Maze the weekend before last (I did my bit to save it from liquidation, but apparently, after a turnover of more than $14 million and 315,000 customersfor the year, I failed miserably) and, frankly, the trout and this chardonnay were as good a match as anything I had courtesy of he of the lesser vocabulary (that means he’s a potty mouth and swears a bit). OK, the wines at Maze, with respect to Scott Ireland, were better than the chardonnay (so they should be at those prices) — but I’m talking food and wine matches here, so bugger off if it’s criticism you’ve got on your mind. Seriously, the ocean trout and the chardonnay were like a well-adjusted marriage. OK, that’s a big call, but you get the drift.

I bought the Geelong chardonnay from Vintage Cellars. I dunno if it’s in huge supply, but give it a try … you won’t regret it. Fifteen bucks is, after all, not the end of the world.

As George Costanza once said: “You’re telling me wine is better than Pepsi. No way wine is better than Pepsi.”

Sorry George, but this cleanskin (tidy epidermis if you will) is, unlike your short-lived hand-modelling career, a winner hands down.

THE PERFECT GETAWAY

There are times when an idea comes to fruition … perfectly.
The plan to have a weekend getaway at Balgownie Estate in the Yarra Valley was one of those times when there was nothing – zilch, zero, bugger all – that didn’t work.
It started with lunch at the pub in Yarra Glen, a not unpleasant experience (just one glass of wine given that I was driving), although it did get very crowded and noisy very quickly, probably a testament to the place’s popularity.
The drive to Balgownie should have been easy, but thanks to the frightful GPS (although I do love the woman’s New Zealand accent), we did a tour of far too many unmade back roads. OK, the scenery was good, so it really was a positive rather than a bad thing … and it did mean that we arrived at Balgownie spot on at check-in time.
Thoughts of checking in and then heading off for a winery tour were soon put to rest.
The accommodation was everything the brochures had promised. A great suite (a balcony with a fantastic view across the valley), a spa with valley views, plenty of rose petals (in the shape of a heart on the bed and scattered elsewhere) and candles, a bottle of bubbles (an ice bucket would have been nice … it needed time in the fridge to chill), chocolate-dipped strawberries …
Why would you want to leave? Well you wouldn’t. We didn’t.
The tasting room beckoned and what a good decision it was. The staff was fabulous … our man John (he’s a great bloke who really knows, and gladly shares, his vast knowledge of all things grape) took us through the Balgownie range (all were excellent, ending with the 2000 vintage Balgownie shiraz … an absolute cracker of a wine. It’s $85 a bottle from the cellar door and would be worth every cent. That’s not to say the others left much to be desired (apart from wanting more). The 2010 sparkling shiraz (one of my favourite wines … apart from the next one) just did it. It’s a big (14.5 per cent alcohol), fruity wine … there’s a bottle of the 2008 in the fridge waiting for a special occasion to enjoy it.
We tasted our way through NV Premium Cuvee Rose (loved it), Premium Cuvee Brut, 2008 Cabernet Merlot, 2009 Shiraz, 2009 Yarra Valley Chardonnay, 2010 Yarra Valley Pinot Noir, 2011 Pinot Gris (again, loved it), 2011 Sauvignon Blanc … a perfect prelude to sitting on the balcony, having a chat and a chardonnay, and watching twin rainbows (and yep, the sky was clear blue). Could it get any better?
Not really, although dinner at Rae’s restaurant gave it a very good run.
Our starters were confit of barramundi, with Congo potatoes on guacamole of smoked banana, avocado and mango and served with candied cherry tomato, caramelised hazelnuts and aged balsamic; and katafi wrapped Yarra Valley Persian feta, pistachio, fig glaze, beetroot pesto and vincotto. Both mains were
grain-fed eye fillet rubbed with Texas spice and served with potato gratin, sweet corn puree, compote of granny smith and Calvados sauce bordelaise.
Oh, and a bottle of the most excellent Balgownie chardonnay.
Breakfast is not for the faint-hearted (it’s something to do with the lure of the buffet when your eyes are bigger than your stomach) with everything breakfast that you could imagine … yep, even bubbles or bloody mary, not that either were an option for us. Tea was the order of the day.
Balgownie? Would we go back? You betcha, but only if there is an ice bucket next time. OK, we’ll take one of our own just to be sure.

HAIL (BLOODY) MARY

Speaking of a bloody mary or two, it was a bloody big effort to best describe my son Liam’s recent effort.
He lives in Vanuatu and, a bit like the old man, doesn’t mind the odd sample of singing syrup. It’s probably easier over there because it’s always warm and a thirst is never far away.
He and a mate went out for a big breakfast in a bid to ease the feeling of a shell or three of kava at the local nukamal (kava hut) and later a grog-fuelled night. The nukamal nearest his house is on the road to Honeymoon Beach. It’s a cracker of a place … good kava too. And for the record, Honeymoon Beach is one of the most beautiful places on earth. But I digress.
His breakfast included all the usual suspects … eggs, bacon, sausages, whatever … and a jug of bloody mary, which apparently hit the spot (doesn’t it always?). So much so that it became the drink of the day, quite literally.
After breakfast they continued on a search for the best bloody mary in Port Vila, a task that lasted all day, resort by resort. I’m not sure how the taste buds were at the end of the day (or even if there was an end to the day), but the two desperados, courtesy of sometimes up to 90 bucks a jug price tags, managed to crack the $1000 mark by the end of the day.
Extravagant? Some may say yeah, but when you’re young, well-paid and thirsty, what the hell.

A TOAST TO THE GROOM(ING)


One of the more pleasant tasks for the week is to test some men’s beauty products … it’s by Man Age and called the Men’s Basics Set (I qualify because I’m basic).
It contains after-shave balm, a new shampoo and a new anti-perspirant.
Just have to write a short, sharp appraisal for The Weekly Review.

NOT QUITE DANCIN’ IN THE STREETS

I was having lunch at a local café the other day with a mate from out of town, an experience made all the better thanks to a couple of local kids.
One played a cello, the other a violin and, Jesus, could they play. They were fantastic.
People were actually stopping in groups to watch and listen and then offering big ovations … and I do mean ovations.
These youngsters just nailed it. No sheet music, just a full-on concert broken only by the constant sounds of coins being dropped into the cello case. They got $5 of my hard-earned. When the packed up, they had managed a bag full of dough.
It was so good to see go-getter kids strutting their stuff. I just hope they make the trip again soon.

MAZE FOR DINNER


Last weekend we opted for dinner at Gordon Ramsay’s Maze at Crown Metropol. As Richie would say, “pretty good decision, that”.
Although according to today’s Age, “Gordon Ramsay has something new to curse about, yesterday cutting loose his Melbourne restaurant, Maze.
“The restaurants Maze and Maze Grill, at Crown Metropol, have been put into liquidation barely one year after they opened to huge fanfare.”
Well, we did our bit to help out.
I’m not sure about the physical appeal of the surroundings … there was just something that didn’t quite gel. Maybe it was the size of the table for two, which was, well, too bloody big. A harsh call maybe, but it was big enough to necessitate a louder than we would like conversation.
We opted for the seven-course chef’s menu … and we figured that there was no single dish that had a wow factor … the tuna was, well, tuna, for example, although the foie gras was close to a “wow” … but the food was excellent, a kind of “wow” factor overall.
In order, the courses we opted for were:
Marinated beetroot with goat’s curd, cabernet sauvignon vinaigrette, toasted pine nuts;
Seared yellow fin tuna, white radish, yuzu, enoki mushrooms, black garlic
Foie gras and chicken liver parfait, Madeira, mulberries, toasted sourdough
Marlborough king salmon, Jerusalem artichoke, mustard, horseradish cream
Crispy roast pork belly, calvalo nero, soybeans, dashi
Cape Grim short rib, potato, shimeji mushrooms, shallot gastric
Exotic fruit vacherin, passion fruit and banana sorbet
Coffee ganache, salted caramel, hazelnut ice cream
We also decided to have matching wines, which was a masterstroke. The sommelier really knew her stuff. Cop an optic on this lot:
Fleurz Champagne Rose NV (France) … yeasty, beautiful
Keller Silvaner 2008 (Germany) … quite dry, but delicious
Marc Tempe Zellenberg Pinot Blanc (Alsace, France) … a weird nose at first, but what a taste … floral, complex … one of the best things I’ve tasted in a long time
Chateau Mont-Rodon 2009 (Chateauneuf du Pape, France) … a red blend
Even Keel Pinot Noir 2010 (Mornington Peninsula) … peninsula pinot, say no more
Hans Herzog Pinot Noir 2008 (Marlborough, New Zealand) … not a lot bad comes out of Marlborough
Torbek 2010 Shiraz (Barossa Valley) … great with the beef
Merchant Prince Muscat (Rutherglen) … a fine finisher, voted excellent on the other side of the table
The verdict? One hell of a food and wine package, but so it should given the prices. Would we go back? Maybe but not in a hurry.
And what to do after such a feast? Have a nightcap or two and head home?
Well, yeah for the nightcap, but we went dancing … eventually. We had trouble finding the bar and after asking one of the staff for direction, we nearly made it, instead stopping to listen to a couple of blokes playing middle-of-the-road, but very good music.
We bumped into the direction-giving staff guy a bit later and he chided us for not getting to the bar … and made sure we did. It was worth the wait.

Days of wine and ... wine

It has been a couple of weeks or so since I've put pen to paper (OK, I'm still old-fashioned and like the idea of pen on paper). Reckon it has involved too many good times to actually get my arse into gear.
I pinched my friend Julia's idea to do a late dinner at home for a friend.
A dozen freshly shucked oysters each to start and then toasted sourdough spread with beautiful Meredith goat's fetta and covered with smoked ocean trout with a squeeze of lemon juice and some fresh dill for mains. And a green salad and a salad of rocket, nashi and chards of parmesan, all washed down with the most excellent Santa Carolina chardonnay from Chile (my local grog shop has finally replenished its supplies). Also some Chateau de Caraguilhes Corbieres 2009 rose. It's a cracker at a reasonable price.
Just love the smoked ocean trout. It's about 10 bucks for a quarter kilo at the South Melbourne Market.
Then there's been a dinner at my favourite Japanese restaurant EIS, in Albert Park, where for the first time in a while my friend and I opted to go without the degustation menu (and matching wines) and order from the menu.
Two dozen mixed sushi and sashimi pieces later, we were ready for coral trout mains, washed down with some excellent Darley chardonnay. Darley makes pinot gris, chardonnay and pinot noir from the Mornington Peninsula and a shiraz made from a blend of Mornington Peninsula and Heathcote shiraz.
There was nothing wrong with the company, the food or the wine.
And given that it was a bloody cold night, the best after-dinner option was a warming cognac and muscat at Lina's wine bar before calling it a night.
A couple of weekends ago I'd planned to get some friends together and search for the biggest red we could find. The numbers dwindled quicker than the Labor Party's stocks, but it ended with three of us ... the most excellent wine writer Ben Thomas (follow him on Twitter ... @senorthomas ... or in The Weekly Review (www.theweeklyreview/wines/), Damian (he stops a drop going stale), TWR's CTO and myself.
The search for a big red has been, for the past few years, an annual (blind) tasting, notes and the tally of votes, culminating in a perpetual trophy. The blind bit is a reference to the wines being seen and then encased in brown paper bags (and, no, it’s nothing to do with sitting on a park bench with a brown-paper bag … not that I’ve ever done that. Normally I don’t bother with the bag. Just kidding), so that we go by our senses, such as they are. Confession here: yes, blind does come into play a good deal of time later, usually 11pm or later.
But I digress.
We eased out way into some nibbles … pickled octopus, smoked ocean trout, olives stuffed with fetta, prosciutto, salami, baguette, breadsticks and sundry other stuff before the three of us tasted and slurped out way through some very, very good wines (yes, there was some spitting):
2007 Brothers in Arms cab-sav. A 15.5 per cent wine from Langhorne Creek and made by the Adams family;
Chapel Hill il Vescovo tempranillo, 2010, at 14% it tasted exotic and smooth;
Peel Estate zinfandel, 2001, and at 16.5 per cent a remarkably well-balanced wine for such a big mother and best described as a “wine for heroes” nose;
Brothers in Arms 2006 shiraz. It was 15 per cent and beautiful;
Westend 2008 Hilltops tempranillo, a 14 per cent, cool climate wine that was as smooth as cat’s … OK, it was really smooth;
Wanted Man Shiraz, 2006 , at 14 per cent, it was on the money; and
Vin de Petanque le Libian, 13 per cent, and biodynamic and organic.
And, no, we didn’t finish them all.
Ben proved that he is so much more than a wine writer … he arrived at my place with everything he needed to produce a paella that was as good as any I’ve ever had. The man CAN cook.
Ben beat a retreat not too late into the afternoon, so Damo and I continued on our merry way, sampling some chilli wine from Cairns, a (too-old) bottle of Cooper’s Vintage Ale … it was from 2002 … which had gone to God. I opened another the next day and it stood up with a decent head. Guess it’s just the luck of the draw.
Some very fine Camus Borderies XO Cognac saw us out … and it was a hell of a way to end what had been a memorable wine experience.
In the time since I’ve actually added anything to this blog, I have (with help most times, sometimes without … and nothing to do with the big red search) sampled the following:
Chateau de Sours Grand vin de Bordeax 2009 (x2);
Chapel Hill The Chosen House Block shiraz 2009 from McLaren Vale;
Bress Sparkling shiraz;
The Parish of Gruyera chardonnay 2010;
Blue Pyrenees sparkling;
Fraser Gallop Estate chardonnay 2009 from Margaret River;
Fairbank Viognier 2009 from Sutton Grange Winery. I have a bit of a passion for straight viognier;
Vin de Petanque le Libian (probably two of these from the case I bought a while ago.
A couple of bottles of Santa Carolina chardonnay (I find it hard to go past it now that supplies are plentiful).
And yes, I have even been out of the house for the odd taste of something fermented.
It was a great fortnight or so and stood me in good stead for a stay at Balgownie Estate in the Yarra Valley.

Like son, like father

I spent a recent weekend down the coast at Blairgowrie at my friend Julia's house. It was a typical wine and food affair ... she's a sensational cook ... with a few other people.
The real bugger of the weekend was the I was out of phone range for the duration.
The 3 company has a fair bit to answer for before I'd recommend it to anyone.
When I finally hit the freeway on the way home, my phone turned into a riot of messages.
It went on and on.
I pulled over to check whether there was anything important to address. There was and I called her.
But I also laughed out aloud when I read one from my eldest son, Liam, who lives in Vanuatu.
"I went to a dress-up party with no particular theme last night. I went as you. How cool is that?"
Now that's cool.
I had visions of jeans, a black T-shirt and cowboy boots ... yeah, he's pinched a couple of pairs of mine.
Not too sure what he did about the hair.

When words fail ...

Well, there was a shite-load (should that be a load of shite?) of this blog post written on ... about 2500 words ... and I reckon there was probably that much again to write to get to the end of what was a version of one of, without doubt, the great weekends.
I was feeling pretty kosher with what I'd done and was talking to a friend on the phone, having a glass of chardy and I decided to close the file and finish it the next night.
Bang.
I hit the wrong button ... dunno what I hit (it should have been the roof), but I deleted the whole folder ... and no, I hadn't been saving as I went. I normally use Microsoft Word, which saves automatically (I think), and was doing it in Notepad. Big mistake. The whole thing went to God.
My friend said to hang up and work on the file, but I said I'd rather talk to her ... it's only words, and words are all I have to keep ...
The weekend really kicked off at lunchtime on a Thursday after finishing work at Crikey ... OK, a longish weekend, given that I also had Friday afternoon off after Crikey in the morning ... The Weekly Review on which I was acting-editor, had to be finished a day early (it's normally Thursday night) due to printing and wrapping requirements.
Thursday arvo was an opportunity to get fixed the toolboxes on the back of my Land Cruiser ute, which had been taken to with bolt cutters by some bastard/s who were no doubt interrupted before they finished the job. Consensus is, from the local cops, that they were after tradies' tools ... and there was nothing missing. All the tools were in the box that they didn't quite manage to open. And they weren't interested in the six or so fishing reels that were in the opened box.
I wandered around the neighbourhood, checking out welders who gave me a no-go, so I decided to do it myself and went to see my mate, Tony, at the local hardware shop. I bought the necessary bits and then had a brainwave ... there's heaps of business cards in the window of the shop. I figured I'd just get a local maintenance bloke to come and do it.
"What about Adrian, who's sitting there?" Tony said. I'd seen him around the neighbourhood, so I fronted him, put it to him and he said "let's look at the ute", which was around the corner.
He said that he'd do it there and then on the street, so he got his mate Lou, drove their fully equipped van next to the ute and did it. About 35 minutes later I was secure again.
"What do I owe you?" I asked. Twenty bucks came the strong reply. I said that was bullshit, no one does anything for 20 bucks, what about 50?
"If you want," he said.
Done deal.
Later that night it was off to Lina's wine bar to satisfy some craving for red meat, shared by a mate who has been a house guest for a couple of weeks while he does a job in the city (he lives down the coast and it's too far to commute). A few buckets of fine Chateau de Sours Bordeaux Rose (we swapped to cab sav after dinner) to wash down some eye fillet (two good sized medallions each) with olive tapenade, some greens and some pommes frites. The beef was sensational. Wine wasn't half bad either (I'm having a glass of the rose ... OK, maybe four ... as I write this).
Roll on Friday afternoon, when I was heading for a weekend away at Blairgowrie.

A COUPLE FOR THE ROAD


I went to the local bottleshop, Vintage Cellars (formerly Randall's) to get some wine to help through the weekend. I bought some Chateau de Secries Tavel Rose ... I had some French bubbles and some Passion Has Red Lips Cabernet Sauvignon at home ... and Cameron, the manager, said that I should try some Vin de Petanque de Librian, a cab sav.
"There are just 18 cases in the country ... I know what you like and you'll like this," he said.
OK, I grabbed a bottle and then thought, bugger it, if there's not much about, I should order a case. (I'm glad I did).
I raced home, threw some clothes into a bag (always I pack too much ... why the three pairs of socks and jocks, a second pair of jeans ... it went on and on?), securely packed the grog and pointed the car at Blairgowrie.
It was an easy run.
Pretty soon I was shooting the breeze with Julia, planning what to eat and drink the next day when she was to put her kitchen magic (she has it in spades) to the test.
I wrote the following account for Crikey.
The other night, I sat and stared at the Southern Cross. Beautiful it was too ... and no, not the Southern Cross tattooed on my left arm, which, despite my protestations in Crikey, has taken on something of a racist connotation.
No, this Cross was the real deal, directly overhead ... and I was in a bath.
Yep, a bath.
I was at the Peninsula Hot Springs on the Mornington Peninsula and it was about 8-8.30 on a Friday night. And it rates as the best (or close to it) 20 bucks I've spent in many a day ... OK, night.
I'd headed to this beautiful part of Victoria for a weekend of good food and wine and, after a great meal and a couple of glasses of red, my friend and I headed to the springs.
Twenty bucks each later, we were bound for the changing rooms ... a cautionary note here if you are shy and retiring. As far as I could see, there are men's, women's and family change rooms and I ended up in the family room (well I do have a family, although not with me, and anyway, the locker was there) and I was the only bloke getting his kit off while a collection of women and men
wandered through. No matter.
We hit the first pool (one of about 20) where the temperature was 36 degrees or so, an experience made all the more pleasant by the sound of what seemed like a million frogs engaged in choir practice (maybe it was a mating chant ... the atmosphere of the pools directs thoughts in that direction).
There was something ethereal about it.
The cold night air on warm, wet skin was exhilarating as we walked to the next pool where it was 40 degrees. There was steam rising, stars twinkling (although not me), the frogs were still in fine voice and there was a waterfall burbling in the distance.
The pools are filled with thermal mineral waters and, if you believe the blurb, are chock full of health-giving stuff that you normally see in jars in a chemist's shop. I'm a believer.
After an hour-and-a-half of pool hopping ... warmer, hotter, cooler, warmer, hotter ... OK you get the drift), we again headed to the change rooms where again I was the only bloke getting naked. In fact I was the only person getting changed. No matter.
By the time we again hit the car, I was aches-and-pain free big time.
The place also offers all sorts of healthy spa treatments, private baths, even accommodation. See www.peninsulahotsprings.com for all the details.
The Peninsula Hot Springs are open daily 7.30am until 10pm.
Post-bath it was some more welcoming reds with my friends (both women) and suddenly it was dessert time. It was 11.30 and time to tuck in to some fabulous lemon cake with cream and ice-cream (there goes the waist line), a couple more reds and then it was sleep time ... thank God that Julia's couch was long enough to cope with my long frame.
Sleep came easily ... and lasted until 7.30, which seemed like the ideal time for a drover's breakfast ... a piss, smoke, cup of tea and a quick look around (in that order).
I sat on the porch making mental notes about what to blog and how I could cope every morning in such a setting. The garden is really peaceful and conducive to good thoughts ... jonquils in bloom (there are also heaps of yellow and blue irises out there somewhere) Julia appeared as I started my second cuppa and suggested that it was time to take the dog for his morning constitutional at Merricks beach.
The sun was shining but it was freezing ... in fact cold enough to take up the offer of a spare beanie.
We needn't have bothered because the wind dropped at it was magnificent ... we were even chastised by some locals on the beach for compensating a tad (how much is a tad?) too much.
The beach was beautiful and it kinda cleared the cobwebs.
What really did the trick was a bacon, egg and cheese muffin and another cup of tea with some locals at a Blairgowrie cafe.
What shone through was a sense of community.
I heard one woman greet a chil: "Hello, how are you" It's so good to see you." It was heartfelt and uplifting.
A quick shopping trip, which included buying more wine, and we were ready for lunch ... bouillabaisse was the order of the day, with plenty of extras.
Julia pumped out a great fish stock (schnapper and flathead bones and heads) and piled in loads of flavourings. Mirepoix (onions, carrots and celery), fennel, some vermouth, saffron and plenty of other flavourings. I told her I'd publish her recipe, but some things are better left unsaid.
I could have just had the stock. It was a stunner.
While we (by this time there were four women and me) were waiting for the bouillabaisse, we made do with some runny brie, salmon rillet and olives ... oh, and the amazingly complementary French rose.
By the time she had added the flathead fillets, squid, prawns and mussels (I became a great mussel scrubber) to the pot (I also scrubbed lots of pots), the smell was amazing.
She served it with sourdough (with caraway) croutons that she'd baked in the oven ... she'd also made a spread of good quality mayo (I can't spell mayonnaise) with garlic and chilli. Spread it on the crouton and dip it into the soup. Jesus really did weep. The woman is a genius in the kitchen.
We ambled through the afternoon making do with Chateau de Secries Tavel Rose, French bubbles, Passion Has Red Lips Cabernet Sauvignon, Pepperjack shiraz, Chateau Tahbilk chardonnay, Pinocchio Sangiovese (easy to drink ... a cracker), Balnarring Vineyard Pinot Noir and Vasse Felix Cabernet Merlot.
The winelist didn't make doing the dishes an easy task but I coped admirably.
I was hard at it for quite a while ... OK, hard at it? I did what had to be done ... and the female conversation turned to rough, dishwasher's hands.
What's a single bloke to do. Head to my bag, grab some hand cream (a tube of L'Occitane) and give them all a sample, which went over well.
"You're a real contradiction," was the consensus. "A cowboy-booted rough nut who's full of surprises."
I took it as a compliment.
The rest of the afternoon and evening involved drinking wine and making sure there was plenty of wood for the fire.
Sleep eventually won the day ... OK, night ... and it was more comfy than the couch as I snaffled the spare bed (Julia's daughter Lauren is away on study duty in Japan).
I don't reckon I moved (not sure if I could have even if I'd wanted to) until another drover's breakfast beckoned.
Then it was time for the real breakfast ... bacon, a garlic mushroom omelet, some locally grown organic spinach and sourdough toast with marmalade. Oh, and a cuppa.
All too soon, it was time to hit the road and head home to do the domestics that I would normally have done. But not before I emptied Julia's fridge of a bunch of cavolo nero (black kale), assorted other greens, pumpkin, salmon rillet (I must remember to return the china bowl) and enough left-over bouillabaisse (hard to believe but it was better the second time around) to do dinner that night. Julia had emptied the fridge because she was off for a well-earned break with her boyfriend, Mark, in Queensland (he was already there) the next morning.
Weekends don't get much better.

A byte to drink

It has certainly been a while between drinks ... OK, not really, that's been a bit of a constant and I'm having one as I write this ... but in terms of posting anything, it has certainly been a while between drinks. Not, mind, for any reason other than I haven't had a computer. That'll do it every time.
OK, that's not entirely true. Sure, I've had a computer, a laptop that has been my faithful servant for 3-4 years now, but unlike its owner, it wasn't too keen on a drink.
And it's not that it had a drink problem ... all it took was jut a splash, maybe a mouthful or so, that's all. Straight into the keyboard. I had just finished dinner (a bowl of homemade chicken laksa and opened a bottle of most excellent chardonnay ... Santa Carolina Chardonnay from Chile (22 bucks odd at Vintage Cellars, aka Randall's in Albert Park). What a wonderful drink it was, OK it is. (More of that later ... plenty more if you please.)
But just the one splash onto the keyboard and I stared in disbelief at the screen. It suddenly turned itself off, never to start again.
What a waste. Wine that is.
Oh well, I'd been planning for a while to get another laptop and networking the things so that I could pretend to know just what this computing caper is all about.
Just one splash and that got short shrift. I now have a network of one.
And just to prove that I'm not as technically inept as I like to sound, all the stuff that was on the old laptop is safely ensconced on my remote hard drive ... photos, videos, documents ... a task I managed a few weeks ago. Smart move that. The laptop had become a bit like its owner, you know, slowing a bit with age.
Luddite? Me? Not entirely apparently.
Oh well, it was the end of the financial year and there had to be some bargains out there. There were bargains ... at least that's what I reckon.
It was a task that was going to be helped because of a little naughtiness, OK, stupidity according to some. I had just finished work at lunchtime on a Friday and was heading home to do the domestics. I had no cash on me, so I popped into the casino food court area to hit the ATM, got out a couple of hundred to see me through the weekend and I thought, bugger it, I'll have a flutter on the pokies (that is where the stupidity normally comes in). It's not something that I do regularly.
I sat at a machine (apparently that's the best way to play them) and I pounded away until I had a collect of $110 (I put $50 in to start). That'll do me on this machine, I thought, and I headed to one against a wall. I slipped in another $50 and bang, bang and bang. Two $200+ collects, another of $100 and plenty and the collect was at $600. You couldn't print money this quickly.
It was time to pull stumps. I did.
Computer shopping time and after a quick look around at what was on offer, I headed to JB Hi-Fi, had a quick squiz at what was there ... surprise, surprise, there were people who wanted to help me, unlike some places I've been ... and decided to go with another Toshiba, a Satellite something or other with all the bells and whistles ... OK more than I'll probably ever use ... and it was listed at $998.
"What's the best you can do?" I asked the ever-helpful girl, who punched some stuff into the device (it could have been a GPS for all I know) she carried around. $900, she offered. OK, done.
"Now what about a printer?"
She showed me a few, suggesting something that was, believe it or not, a bit too cheap by my reckoning. To replace the cartridges in the one I had at home would cost more than the printer is worth.
"Nah, let's go with something that scans, faxes, prints, makes coffee, rolls a smoke and doesn't mind being around wine." OK, I made up the coffee, smoke and wine bits, but you get the drift.
She came up with a decent price on that, chucked in some extra, half-price ink cartridges, a cheap (OK, half price again) USB port hub (God I love sounding technically adequate) and with GST, plus a wine drinker's discount and the fact that she reckoned I was halfway decent and had saved plenty by not having haircuts, the whole kit came to not a heap more than the original computer price.
She was happy, I was happy ... the hardest part was carrying it all to the car.
So, I'm back in the game.
I have already set up my wireless thingo so I can use it anywhere in the house ... yeah, like that's gonna happen ... and the whole thing with my new internet set-up is, frankly, faster than shit off a shovel.
Gotta like that. I do.
I still haven't, almost two weeks on, plugged in the printer yet, but small steps is what it's all about.
I do, however, have to buy another stick USB thing. I bought one a couple of weeks ago and I found it on the weekend ... in the clothes dryer. Yep, it had been washed, rinsed and dried. I've now added fucked to that list.
What is it about me and computer-related things ... and liquid? Sheesh.
I've at least got the new printer in the room that is laughingly called my office. It would actually look like an office were it not for the stuff that almost prevents me from getting through the door.
There's my old printer, an old TV (it works perfectly but weighs more than I do ... my youngest son, Joel, gave me a flat-screen telly cos he bought a bigger one), various camping items, a telescope, a set of drawers into which I shall store some other stuff, an artist's stool and paints storage thing, a rebounder, a home gym (like that gets as much use as it should ... not), an exercise ball (ditto on the usage), a UHF radio and antenna that I was gonna install in my Landcruiser ute (which I'm now gonna sell), a camera case, 10 litres of water (anyone know anyone who drinks that stuff?), a large, wheel-around home cooling unit, a VCR, 107 remote controls, a set-top box, a secretaire that I'm part way through restoring, a filing cabinet, assorted framed things and, I assume, a partridge in a pear tree. For all I can tell, they may even be a small family living in there. And it may be 109 remotes.
Just as soon as I have a spare month or so, I'm gonna clean it up and actually work in there at the desk, which I assume is still there along with the five or six bookshelves. Oh, and there's an office chair. It has turned into an antique, given the length of time since I've seen it or sat on it for that matter. I will take before and after pictures of the room and post them just to prove that I'm not telling porkies.
Still, it's nice to have instant interweb stuff happening (shit off a shovel, remember), albeit at the dining room table.
And vale the old laptop from which, I'm assured, any of the stuff on the drive can be retrieved ... it gave me something to wine and whine about.


Inflation on the streets

I've got a decent policy when it comes to people down on their luck ... and there are plenty in my neighbourhood, good characters one and all. They all live in a very large halfway house around the corner from the main shopping drag and ply their trade with the shoppers.
The going rate for as long as I can remember comes with the line: "Have you got a dollar or two to spare." If I have, which is most times, I hand it over.
The one exception I've had to my rule is a bloke called Shane, with whom I became mates. Quite often I'd sit with him, shout him a coffee and a couple of smokes and give him whatever change I had in my pocket. There were times when I had no change but would go into a shop and buy for him whatever he needed ... smokes, a bottle of soft drink ... whatever.
He has since got himself organised and is living in a flat a few suburbs away and seems to have his life back on track. He's even taking guitar lessons when he can scrape together the necessary from his pension. I haven't seen him for a couple of months.
Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I was wandering up the street this morning and one of the regulars walked up to me and said: "Got a spare $5 note, mate?" I had to refuse, not because I wouldn't have given it to him, but I simply had no dosh on me.
But five bucks? Inflation, it seems, is alive and kicking on the streets.

On the move

The office at which I work in the afternoons has changed from Port Melbourne to South Melbourne, right near the market, which is a huge bonus.
It's a big, roomy place (and I've just got a new super-duper Mac on which to ply my trade. Bloody good it is too.
Typically, our editor (she's a love) delivered the edict: finish the magazine early tomorrow at 4pm because happy hour is starting then.
Like we'd need more incentive. And so it came to pass. The Weekly Review, by 4pm looked its usual beautiful self and was locked away in time to unleash the party pies, sausage rolls, olives, dips and whatever else (there was plenty) and a goodly representation of the fruit of the vine ... in fermented form.
Given that winter is what it is, I opted for shiraz by the small bucket ... and it worked a treat.
It set me up for the walk home (yep, the car was left at home), which is just two kilometres, although it seemed longer courtesy of the said buckets of shiraz.
It's an easy walk with the only real danger being that I have to pass my favourite watering hole ... Lina's in Albert Park. OK, I didn't have to pass it. OK, I didn't.
The shiraz bug had bitten so I opted for a few cracks at Mount Langi Ghiran Shiraz, which, at 10 bucks a glass, is sensational value. It was the start of a love affair.
The affair kicked on the folowing night when I caught up with an old Age mate (OK, he's not afflicted by it, he worked there with me) at Lina's for a bite and a glass or two, err 10 or so.
Again it was Mount Langi Ghiran Shiraz and bar nibbles including an excellent piadina, some salmon gravlax and other bits.
It's always good to see old mates and share some memories and some good extras.
We both had to make a move before it turned into a huge session (he was riding his bike), so nearing the end of the third bottle, we hit the road ... and just to show that I'm a toff, not, I necked the remainder of the shiraz as I wandered back to the home chateau.
The locals who saw me have seen it all before.

Doing it by the bottle

I've been having more than the odd gargle lately and they all seem to have been good.
The Mount Langi Ghiran Shiraz is still right up there, but there are new contenders.
Santa Carolina Chardonnay Barrica Reserva 2008, for me, is right, right up there. At 22 odd bucks a bottle it's great value. It's a pleasant gold colour, but has plenty of soft fruit and some vanilla on the nose and in the mouth it's a really buttery, maybe full-bodied sensation. It sat in French oak for eight months after coming from a cool, coastal area of Chile.
Chardonnay seems to rule the roost. I've had a crack at Ashbrook Chardonnay from Margaret River (has there ever been a lousy wine to come out of the area?) and it doesn't let the side down.
It's a robust 14.5% alcohol, is hand-harvested and majors in plenty of fruit. Good colour too. I drank it over two sittings (OK the next day) and it seemed even a tad better on the second day.
I also had a crack at another Margaret River chardonnay called Big Softy. It was a present from the friend with whom I had dinner at the weekend. She said that she saw it and the name immediately reminded her of me. "You're such a big softy," she said when she gave it to me.
Nice thought. So too was the Neil Perry Rockpool book present. Nice wine, nice woman.
Apart from sundry other drops that have gone beyond my lips lately ... Killkenny ale among them ... I try not to drink too much beer these days. It's a weight thing, something that at the moment is under control. Does 88 kilograms sound under control, I ask myself. Too bloody right it does, I answer. That's eight kilos down on this time last year, a small price to pay for staying away from the ale.
One of the best wine moments for me lately was a Friday night when there was nothing in the house that I felt like drinking. I was sitting at the dining room table doing something and I looked across to the recently cleaned up and tidied dresser that is my spice rack along with sundry other jars of stuff. There, under the dresser, is a pine display box that I bought about 18 months ago. It had four Italian wines in it, along with a decanter and a waiter's friend. It was on special at the local bottleshop and I snaffled it.
The time was right to trot out one of the wines ... a 2006 Toscolo Chianti from Tuscany. It was ballsy, dark, had a good nose and after the first glass (that's probably to do with smoking and how it ruins the taste buds) it drank beautifully.
One down, three to go, two of which are pinot grigio, the other being more chianti.
It was a good feeling, you know, buying something quite a while ago and forgetting all about it. Great surprise.
At dinner with my friend (she of the presents) on the weekend just past, we went to Eis (pronounced Ace as close as I could get it, courtesy the hugely polite, efficient and smiling Japanese waiter. He was just great.
So too the food. Again we had the degustation menu ... eight courses of contemporary Japanese food and five matching wines, including French bubbles to kick off, a shiraz, a pinot, a chardonnay and a sweet plum wine with dessert.
Don't reckon we've had a bad course there, let alone a bad meal. The oyster shot in mint vodka with chilli and corriander and beef tartare starters were just what the doctor ordered. The eel was great (unctuous, with steamed rice soaked in green tea), so too the miso-marinated lamb cutlets, the salmon, the aged beef, the sushi and sashimi ... it was a cracker meal although the crepe for dessert just about did me in. The highlight of the menu again was the rick, thick pumpkin soup with three fat prawns in it and truffle on the top.
$110 a head for eight courses and five wines. It doesn't get a lot better or if it does, I'm yet to find it.
A glass each of Mount Langi Ghiran Shiraz at Lina's rounded out a fine night ... well, we had a few chards when we got back to my place.
After snaffling the Italian wine under the dresser, I also thought about the huge cane basket that is overflowing with corks. The collection started out as keepsakes ... on every cork I wrote what food went with it and with whom I shared it. It was always good to wander through the corks and try to remember what the time/meal/occasion was about. A great memory lane thing.
These days I just throw the corks in the basket. Perhaps it's time to start recording the details again on the corks. I just know though that I'm gonna need a much bigger basket.
Finally on wine, Ben Thomas, The Weekly Review's excellent wine writer gave me a bottle (after he'd had a taste) of Seppetsfield 21-year-old para port. I haven't tasted it yet, but it's high on the agenda when the occasion is right. (I cheated after I wrote that and tried it. It's a wonderful drink.)

Steal resolve

I'm pretty pissed off right now. My youngest son rang me today to ask whether he can stay the night ... he finishes work at midnight ... no problem other than the spare bed is taken for a few days by a mate who's is working this week and next in town (he lives way down the coast).
"I'' grab a sleeping bag out of one of the toolboxes on the back of the ute. You can have the couch," I said. I grabbed the keys and went out the front of the house to the ute. Seems I didn't need the keys. Some bastard/s had wrenched the locks off and decided to help themselves to whatever was in there. In this case, a sleeping bag, a swag, a couple of blow-up mattresses and a few other camping bits and pieces. Not sure whether my bag of fishing reels is still there. The toolbox on the other side had one lock ripped open and the other had been started on ... perhaps they were interrupted. That's got tool of all kinds, a compressor, a beautiful axe and all the shit you need when you hit the bush in a four-wheel-drive. At least I reported it to the local cop shop ... they're great blokes there (I know cos I've had a bit to do with them over the years). I know there's bugger all they can do, but at least I'm on the record. And it is my second time. I also have a Subaru Forrester, which left me $1400 in the red after another ... maybe the same .. bastard broke into it and ripped off some stuff. I still don't understand ... and probably never will ... the need to steal someone else's stuff.
I keep a rather large hockey stick (my eldest used to play roller hockey) behind the front door and although I'm as much a pacifist as I can be, I rather fancy beating the puck out of these bastards if I ever find them hanging around my stuff.

Sleep-in is a welcome thing

By and large, it has just been a week of solid working. I'm acting editor of The Weekly Review this week while the editor does some well-earned R&R in Bali. Spose it's a good thing at least to get a sleep-in in the mornings ... I don't start until 10 (I'm usually at Crikey at 8.30).
No tram to and from the city, although I'm glad that I was on the tram one day last week, just to watch two youngies (early 20s maybe) enjoying their time together. He had his arm around her and they just stared at each other in a loving way. What made it special to see was when the tram approached their stop, he stood up, took the girl's coat and held out his hand to help his girlfriend up. For me it was a beautiful display of manners, of caring, of being a real gentleman. All power to
them. I hope their love lasts forever.


Kids in the kitchen

It's good to see that my kids have taken to the kitchen,
My eldest, Liam, sent me a message on Saturday morning (he lives in Vanuatu) asking for my laksa recipe. He was cooking a dinner party for 20. He'd already worked out that the starter would be grilled salmon on wasabi mash, then the laksa. From what he told me, he nailed it and finally managed to get to sleep at about 8.30 (alone and that's a rarity from what he tells me) on Sunday morning and slept until his alarm went off at six on Monday morning. He plays hard, the boy. Some might even say he's a chip off the old bloke.

For the record, it's Andrew McUtchen

I'm pleased that after a night of merriment at my place on the weekend that my CD collection is still in alphabetical order, no mean feat given my inability to keep them tidy. I've just added two discs to the collection, both by my mate Andrew McUtchen ... Down With Wanderlust and Songs To Get Us True. Do a Google search on him, find his website and have a listen. He's a major talent and a decent bloke.