The wine and food were good company

I was meant to have a dinner date on Saturday last, but I blew it — big time. To compensate for my stupidity (OK, by this stage I was in denial and almost at war with myself), I had a squiz at some recipes (Delicious magazine was the source of choice this time) and hit the market, hell bent on creating something memorable to get me over the line.

The yield included some big, fat Canadian scallops, fresh peas, mint, chillis, limes and pancetta. Late in the afternoon I made friends with the half bottle of cleanskin Yarra Valley chardonnay that was, hard to believe though it may be, left from the night before. It’s a cracker — great value at 11 bucks a throw from my local Vintage Cellars. The wine was great (and my only) company during my time in the kitchen — which was bugger all time, but the resultant food was as good as it gets (big call, I know, but it’s my call).

I had the eight big, fat scallops with minted pea and wasabi puree, scattered with crispy bits of pancetta, chilli and a drizzle of olive oil. The full recipe is at the bottom of my blog. I reckon I spent no more than 15 minutes at the stove. If you’re having a dinner party, I can’t imagine a better starter, one that’s certain to impress your guests. And as the only guest on the night, I know it impressed my socks off.

I was almost as equally impressed with an Ashcroft 2009 Chardonnay from Margaret River. It was 31 bucks at my local (although I noticed later that it was $26.99 at Nicks Wine Merchants) but no matter. I was treating myself. Denial does that apparently. What a cracker wine, a great match for the food. The vineyard grows all its own fruit and harvests by hand. It shows when you loosen the screwtop and let it loose in a glass.

It’s got good colour, and has plenty of peachy, citrus things happening on the nose. And yes, there was even some cashew stuff going on (that was the easy part because I’d eaten some cashews during the afternoon). In the mouth it was crisp, with a big, fruity flavour (it’s a robust 14.5% alcohol) that was well and truly worth the price of admission.

I may have been lousy company, but the company I kept on the night was right up there.

Pinks bits on a plate

Dinner has taken a few of strange turns lately … and not necessarily for the better, especially the fact that I’m not having dinner with my favourite person in the world. But that’s another story and not for this place.
I’ve had a house guest the past couple of weeks … a mate who lives down the coast who has had some work in the city. A commute is out of the question.
Given that I’ve also been working my arse off of late, we decided to grab a quick bite at a local pizzeria called Basilico … one website describes it as “Basilico offers the epitome of chic, modern Italian dining …”
Be that as it may.
I had a hankering for a chicken parma … I’d had it there a couple of times … it’s close to home, so an easy walk after a couple of glasses of something to wash down the said parma.
My mate ordered some garlic bread to kick off. Mistake one.
What arrived at the table was a small basket of mainly blackened, sliced baguette. “Bit on the burnt side,” said my mate.
The waiter countered with something like “Oh, is that not satisfactory?”
Well no. “I’ll replace it, shall I?” That would be good, ta.
And so it came to pass.
Then the mains … a pizza for my mate and my parma.
We were busily chowing down when I had a good look at the parma. It was cooked on the bottom and as pink as all get out on the top. It looked like it was dressing the part to go to a Pink concert. Raw.
Sweet mother of Jesus, it’s not that hard, is it?
I called over the waiter and asked whether they were serious in sending this out of the kitchen.
“Shit, that’s not good enough,” he said, “I’ll take it back to the kitchen. Can I bring you another one?”
Ah, no, but thanks anyway. I was done and dusted in terms of food for the night. And done and dusted in terms of ever again giving my hard-earned to Basilico.
Oh, there was no charge for the pink bits.
Then a few nights ago I went with some friends to a restaurant in South Melbourne. It was to be a wind-down after working 50-odd hours for the week.
Great venue, great atmosphere, great wines.
We also had some great things to eat … an antipasto plate to die for, snapper, flathead, fantastic cockles and seafood fettuccine. Yeah, the fettuccine.
The pasta was cooked to within an inch of its life. The fish bits in it were overcooked (I was assured the prawns were great), my serve included a mussel that didn’t open (alarm bells for me) and the scallops were at tough as footy boot stops. (For those of you unfamiliar with the term “stops”, they were little leather things that were nailed onto the soles of the boots. These days, they are studs moulded to the boots.) But you get the picture.
Again, it’s not that hard. If you’re paying good money, it’s not unreasonable to expect good food. No excuses. Who cares if the chef’s dog has just gone into labour or that he or she got a puncture while riding their bike a couple of days before?

A YARRA VALLEY WINNER

If you fancy a value-for-money drink … and don’t we all? … you could do a lot worse than find your way to Vintage Cellars and have a crack at its 2008 Yarra Valley cleanskin chardonnay.
At about 11 bucks a throw, it’s a cracker. There’ll be a case at my house today to ensure that there is always a quaffer on hand.
Talking of cases, I got a note (OK, it was an email, but I’m still a note kind of bloke) from my mate, Ben Thomas, the most excellent wine writer at The Weekly Review.
Ben wrote: “Here's a good option to stock up on some booze for Christmas. You can drink the bonus Moet on NYE.
“Haven't tried the wine but Hardy's rarely puts a foot wrong with the Oomoo range.”

The website says: Oomoo Sparkling Shiraz and Moet SPECIAL SALE. Buy a dozen Oomoo 2004 Sparkling Shiraz for the SPECIAL PRICE of $9 A BOTTLE AND GET A 750mL BOTTLE OF MOET CHANDON FREE!!
A slack delivery man notwithstanding, there should be a case wending its way to me now.

The good oil

This, the latest offering as appeared on Crikey.
Yeah, I know that last week spring was the order of the day. And yeah, I know it has still got a ways to run. But what the hell? Next thing you know, it’ll be summer anyway.

It’s hard to stress enough the importance of spring, of getting some edible stuff into the garden and the subsequent joy of harvesting. A snip here and there not only puts tucker on the plate, but it’s good for the plants because it promotes more growth, hence, more things on plates. This week I managed to use some mixed salad greens, some delicious dill, some basil and some mint. A good start, I reckon.

And getting set up for summer salad season (nice alliteration) has partially been taken care of in my kitchen.

Think oils for starters. Now, I'm big on oils. I already have a bottle of basil-infused olive oil, a great addition to pasta, salads, whatever. I have also prepared a dipping oil -- done with rosemary and the rind from a slab of parmigiano reggiano. I always keep the rind for that reason.

I just take a bottle’s worth of olive oil, a bunch of bruised rosemary (sorry about that) and the said rind, whack it in a pot on the stove and heat it very gently for as long as it takes to infuse the flavours. Then I let it cool overnight (still more flavour), strain it through muslin, put a fresh sprig of rosemary in the bottle and it’s done. It’s an absolute knockout with fresh bread.

Garlic is another winner. I bought a few heads (yeah, yeah, I’m talkin' garlic here), peeled the cloves and did a confit in olive oil. I very gently heated the oil and left it long enough for the cloves of garlic to become just slightly soft. I then took it off the heat and let it cool overnight. I have a constant supply of pungent garlic for pastas. It’s even great just spread on fresh bread with whatever you want. And a never-ending (I top it up as I go) supply of strong garlic oil. (The garlic and the oil are infinitely better than the crap sold in jars in supermarkets.)

On the agenda next is to flavour some oil with lemon, some chilli and whatever takes my fancy at the market or from the backyard production line.

As for some vino, this past week I sampled the joys of Logan 2010 Chardonnay from Orange. It’s kind of pale and kicks in with a fruity, citrus thing (they say there’s other stuff there, but I’ve got no idea what marzipan smells like). At first taste I furrowed my brow, but it relaxed and finished well, again fruity. It was thoroughly enjoyable.

So too the Boat O’Craigo Rob Roy Pinot Noir from the Yarra Valley, the Ad Hoc Nitty Gritty Pinot Gris 2011 and a special mention to Moppity Vineyards 2010 Sauvignon Blanc. (Yeah, it has been a big week, especially if you count the bourbon during the grand final on telly.) Like last week’s TWR sav blanc, this Moppity fella is soft (it’s not a full-on assault on the tastebuds), fruity and it’s all too easy to find mthe bottom of the bottle, but I’d recommend any of the four wines.

Spring has sprung ...

I reckon I’d be considered a seasoned campaigner rather than a seasonal campaigner, but that’s not to say I’m dismissive of seasonal change. Anything but, because spring does it for me — in spades.

It did it last weekend — and from memory (it’s the wine that does it — OK, maybe old age is having a say too) I think the weather was decidedly spring — and I made it a perfect example of things good and things easy. I hit the market to buy some goodies and have a “welcome-to-spring” feed.

After plenty of toing and froing, organic fettuccine was the order of the day (OK, it was the night by the time I ate it) and the sauce could not be any easier: butter (lots of it), flat-leafed parsley, basil, garlic, a hint of chilli and a splash of olive oil. And no cooking.

I chopped the lot into a pretty coarse mixture, boiled the pasta and, voila, eight minutes later I was eating a healthy meal that tasted of spring. The butter gave it a richness, the other stuff (each ingredient spent time on centre stage) a wonderful seasonal freshness that was rounded off with an earthy, wholesome feel-good, taste-good smugness on my part. Spring, what a wonderful bastard you are.

The wine to go with it? Well, I broke my own rule by opting for a New Zealand sauvignon blanc (from Marlborough). It’s normally verboten on my to-drink list. It’s the almost gum hurting, make you pucker, strip the coating off your mouth, Christ there’s just too much fruit happening, kind of thing that has given sav blanc the No.1 spot on my banned list.

The New Zealand Wine website says Kiwi sauvignon blanc is famed for its pungently aromatic green capsicum (bell pepper), gooseberry and lush passionfruit characters. Styles can vary from this traditional style to those showing fresh-cut grass, tomato stalks, melons and lime. The Marlborough region represents 80% of all plantings. North Island styles tend to show soft, ripe, more tropical characters, whereas the more southerly styles show crisper, lighter more vibrant styles. I usually prefer my description.

Anyway, I had a bottle of 2010 Te Whare Ra (TWR) Sauvignon Blanc (priced somewhere in the early 20s) and, for me, it broke down some prejudices. Sure, it was like smelling everything in a fruit shop (aren’t all sav blancs?), with loads of grassy character and passionfruit by the basketful, but it wasn’t to the detriment of the wine, or the drinker. Although by the end of the bottle, I was pretty mellow (OK, it’s just 13.5% alcohol, but it had been a big, big weekend).

In the mouth it was as clean as all get out; soft, well-balanced, crisp and the fruit lingered on and on. It was spring in a glass and the perfect foil for the pasta.

To round off a memorable, really easy and healthy meal, I’d somehow managed to bake two lemon tarts (one to take to the office and share the next afternoon). The recipe is at the bottom of my blog.

A decent-sized wedge of tart with some King Island pure cream (thicker than the accent of a pissed Scottish soccer fan) and I knew I’d be duty bound to do some extra walking the next day. Done. And there was some tart left for the next night.

This little pig ...

Things porcine have played a big part in the past week, not the least being how many times John Elliott last weekend said “pig’s arse” after being told that West Coast was the better team on the night. I smiled (all right, I laughed) every time I thought about it … well, Carlton’s year is done and dusted. Enough said.

Pork was also mentioned in dispatches from my son, Liam, in Vanuatu. He now has a pet pig -- affectionately known as Jeffrey -- to go with the two dogs, Stu and Angus, (Why do you ask, Two Dogs …?), the cat (called Cat) and the no-name python (which he caught in the backyard).

Pork was also on the menu at home. I had a hankering to make a terrine and, after touring the food arcade at the market to see what looked good, I opted for some coarsely minced pork fillet, another fillet cut into about five centimetre chunks, and a chicken fillet.

I (mostly) used a recipe from Stephanie Alexander’s The Cook’s Companion, which includes spices, pistachios and cognac. Too easy with a couple of small changes … prosciutto (rather than hard back fat) and the said chicken fillet. The full recipe is at the bottom section of the page.

After marinading the mixture overnight, I cooked it — in a terrine dish covered in foil and in a baking tray with water coming halfway up the dish, cooled it and then weighted it down (with some cans of tomatoes and a very heavy pestle) in the fridge overnight.

It became the mainstay of a bloody good lunch in the sun on Sunday (did I mention that it was the day after Carlton copped it up the freckle?) and there was plenty left.





A couple of slices of terrine, some fetta-stuffed olives, some cornichons, some coriander and chilli pesto, a small(ish) piece of brie, some toasted garlic-and-shallot sourdough and a terrific salad of rocket, nashi pear and some curls (use a vegetable peeler) of parmigiano reggiano, and topped with some lemon-infused olive oil.

It made a beautiful day even better.

That task was further enhanced with some ever-reliable Chateau Tahbilk Shiraz.

I have many great memories of visiting the winery over the years and of its wines, which tend to make it into my place every couple of weeks or so. It’s one of the oldest family-run vineyards in Australia and the Purbrick family’s love for all things grape shows through in the bottle.

The 2008 shiraz is a good example. In the glass, it’s really dark (think the mood of Carlton supporters) and on the nose (no, that’s not a John Elliott joke), it’s chockers with berry smells, pepper, (the label suggests that there is some liquorice there, but I couldn’t find it) and lots of chocolate. In the mouth, it’s spicy, has a nice oakiness, easy tannins and it hangs about.

It’s a healthy 14.5 alcohol, has a screwtop and will set you back $21 or thereabouts.

The winemaker's note says: the 2008 shiraz is everything you would be looking for in an Estate release from a very good year for reds.

It’s pretty hard to argue with that. It went perfectly with the food and helped continue the pork theme … i.e. I was as happy as a pig in … OK, you get the drift.

IT'S ON THE CARDS

I remember a while ago when there was there was a heap of crap going on about the Australia Card and privacy.
To quote Wikipedia, as dangerous as that can be given its oft-inaccurate summations:
The Australia Card was a controversial proposal for a national identification card for Australian citizens and resident foreigners. The proposal was made in 1985, and abandoned in 1987.
The Australia Card proposal was, and is still, the subject of strong views. The proposal was either an egregious intrusion into individuals' privacy, giving bureaucrats enormous power; or it was an efficient and evolutionary step for a technological age, combating fraud. And its defeat was either a triumph of citizens acting to protect their rights; or irrelevant in the end due to the expansion of other identification systems and data matching.
So, what’s the deal with everyone wearing ID cards these days?
I walk by James Packer’s money box every morning on the way to the office and, surprise, surprise, almost everyone has a cord hanging around their neck, attached to which is an ID card.
Personally, I don’t give a rodent’s rectum about who knows what … but everyone seems to be wearing them, telling the world who they are and where they work. Go figure.

EVERYTHING IN GARDEN IS COMING UP …

What a great weekend. I spent the most part of Saturday weeding, emptying terracotta pots of soil that had seen a better days and generally tidying the area that I laughingly call my backyard. Yeah, it’s a small area, but still.
I managed to get all the crap onto the back of the ute and the following morning deposited it at the local tip.
There’s something inherently good (read blokey) about heading to the tip to make a deposit, especially in a ute.
The rubbish even included the barbecue, something I hadn’t used for about 18 months … after the people who were house-sitting my place decided that, despite a non-stick surface, they used something like a circular saw to clean the hotplate. Some people just don’t acknowledge their grey matter.
Anyway, it has given me an excuse to buy something a bit more practical.
Maybe it’s a trip to Bunnings at the weekend.
The garden, however, has mint, flat-leaf parsley, tarragon, lemon thyme, common thyme, basil, basil mint, sage, rosemary, chillis, capsicums, chard, spinach, lots of lettuce varieties, a native mountain pepper tree (the leaves are sensational), chocolate mint, perennial basil, dill, a lemon myrtle tree and marjoram. The mountain pepper tree and the lemon myrtle are both available at my brother’s native plant nursery (he runs bush tucker stuff). Check it out at here. He has the best garden I have seen, bar none.
It’s great to have some stuff in the garden again … I can’t wait to start using the proceeds.

I HAVE A GRANDPIG

News of late from my son, Liam, in Vanuatu. He now has a pet pig -- affectionately known as Jeffrey -- to go with the two dogs, Stu and Angus, (Why do you ask, Two Dogs …?), the cat (called Cat) and the no-name python (which he caught that in the backyard).
Jeffrey lives in the bathroom at the moment … it’s all about training (read house training).
Last week Liam Carried him to the backyard for a bath and Jeffrey, none too pleased, put the bite on him literally. He almost took the end off Liam’s finger. Thank God for sobriety (whatever that is) and quick actions.

BLOGGING WITH A HELPING HAND

I haven’t done a lot lately, other than running what has become a regular column in Crikey … food, wine and general bonhomie. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
At least it has got me, in earnest, into the kitchen to get into it.
At the weekend, I managed to get to my favourite wine bar — Lina’s in Albert Park — to savour some opera and a glass or seven of something palatable … to whit, the house white (by a couple) and the more than enough tempranillo to sustain me until I got home and opened a bottle of French red.
That was made easier, courtesy of Raf’s (he’s the Lina’s chef) chicken balls with tomato salsa and a balsamic reduction.
And the singing. Ben Logan (OK, he’s a good mate who manages the bar and also happens to be a tenor who does stuff with Opera Australia) has an amazing voice. The highs are high the … let’s just say that he’s a gun. He’s on Twitter at @Loganmusicevent. He organises some amazing stuff. Private concerts, whatever. He’s worth the price of admission.

California dreamin' with a chardonnay

Another of the weekly Crikey posts.

My first taste of wine was some homemade grappa (OK, it was just a sip or two and my old man wasn't happy about it … "bloody wogs" or some such insult), but it was my first step towards the-then unheard of multiculturalism. I had it with some spag bol (also a first), cooked by Mrs DiMarco during dinner with her newly arrived Italian family across the road. It was circa 1958, a time when migrants were somewhat ungraciously referred to as, among other derogatory tags, "New Australians". Little did we know at the time what a wine and culinary debt we would owe them.

For my first real taste of wine (OK, a drink), it took me quite a few more years. It was a Metropolitan Hotel house red, bought for me as a 17-year-old copy boy, by the late, great Truth reporter Jack "Ace" Ayling. I struggled to get the first one down (rough as guts still readily springs to mind), although the second and third glasses were easier. And they have been getting easier ever since.

It was the '60s and it was all California Dreamin' and California Girls. Well, it was musically at least, thanks to the The Mama's and the Papa's and Beach Boys although I was into Elvis then and still am. I’ve done a bit of California dreamin' and the occasional Californian g… (OK some things are better left unsaid) during my four trips there over the years.

Right now though, Californian dreamin' has become a reality, courtesy of some Dry Creek Vineyard Russian River Valley Chardonnay 2008 out of Sonoma.

What a good wine. It is aged in French oak for nine months, weighs in at 13.5% alcohol and has a (recommended) ageing potential of 3-5 years.

That said, it is fruity (I would have said fruit salad rather than specific fruits) and apparently toasted almonds (buggered if I could get that to happen), nor could I get the hazelnuts (what the hell do they smell like?) after a while in the glass. No matter, it tastes good. The acid is well balanced, as is the oak, which isn't too over the top. In the mouth it’s a smooth, mealy sensation that lasts. Oh, and it has a buttery finish, something I love in chardonnay.

I grabbed mine at my local Vintage Cellars for about $29. Not a cheapie, but worth the price of admission. I married it with a home-cooked cassoulet -- find the recipe at the bottom my blog -- courtesy of an early (for me) trip to the South Melbourne Market. I took the recipe from Leon: Ingredients and Recipes, by Allegra McEvedy, very kindly on loan from my friend, and fellow cassoulet lover, Sue.

I added chorizo to it, but other than that I almost followed it to recipe, although I added carrot and used chicken breast and thigh meat (half and half). Oh, and on the side I had some mafaldine pasta tossed in lots of butter, a couple of cloves of finely chopped raw garlic (it softened with the residual heat but still did its thing) and a handful of roughly chopped flat-leaf parsley.

I left the cassoulet for two days in the fridge after cooking and the flavours grew an extra leg (I know that because I tasted it a thousand times along the way). And together with the wine, there was no need to repeat the marriage vows … this pair made sweet love together for the duration. Very Californian, eh?