Yarra Burn Blanc de Blancs 2004 – $45 – ****

100% Chardonnay. Very pale yellow with an edge of green, fine bead. White flower petals, light biscuity yeast and a hint of green apple on the nose. Youthful, dry and elegant in the mouth with delicate Apple Danish flavours against a background of beautifully integrated lime acidity at the finish.

De Bortoli Rococo Yarra Valley Rosé NV – $22 – ***

A sparkling blend of chardonnay, pinot meunier and pinot noir. The colour is a pale, just off-white, candy pink. Lively fragrant nose of rose water and strawberries. Shows a dry, clean palate of new season summer berries with a tang of lemon zest at the finish. Ideal summer luncheon fizz.

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Bread has all but disappeared from restaurant tables and we should all lament its absence.

In mediaeval days, they served meals on trenchers instead of plates. The trencher was a thick slice of stale bread and the meat and gravy were ladled on to it. When the meat was finished, nobles and peasants alike gobbled up the gravy-enriched trencher as a second course. Read the rest of this entry

Holey Dollar Over Proof Rum – seen around at $55 to $65 ***

This is a powerful drop at 57.2 per cent alcohol, but the power is smooth and constrained in its rich mouthfeel. Flavours are reminiscent of molasses, vanilla, walnuts, chocolate, toffee and warm spices. It goes down very well on its own, with ice, or with a splash of water. Try also as a fine mixer. For a Dark ‘n Stormy, pour one measure of rum over ice and add about four times that amount of dry ginger ale, garnish with a wedge of lime.

Chandon Vintage Brut 2006 – up to $40 ****

Yarra Valley, Victoria. Pinot noir, chardonnay, pinot meunier blend. This bubbly spent two and half years on yeast lees and the lees contact is evident in the aromatic, bakery oven nose. The palate shows brioche like flavours along with new season white peaches and a hint of lime juice. It finishes with lip-smacking zest. Read the rest of this entry

Kuta Beach Club Hotel, Bali, 1975

Kuta has an obvious village atmosphere. Bare-chested old men in sarongs sit on platforms and groom their fighting cocks. In and around the thatched buildings, scabrous dogs, chickens and swayback pigs root around, wistful-eyed cows graze in nearby coconut groves.

Traditionally dressed women place little woven trays of flowers, rice, and incense, as offerings to the gods at shrines and strategic sites. Soldiers with guns walk around the market stalls. Hippies and Bali Boys ride motor bikes along the beach waterline.

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Under the Influence – A history of alcohol in Australia

Ross Fitzgerald and Trevor Jordan. ABC Books, Paperback. $33.

Booze consumption, its benefits and abuse, have been an integral part of the history of Australia since the days of white colonisation. The authors present readers with a well-researched, academically referenced yet eminently readable account of the sometimes over indulgent foundations of this alcohol-girt land.

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War-games with oyster entrée

In March 1965, a bunch of us Regular Army electronics technicians were posted to provide backup for CMF* war games in the bush near Tea Gardens, New South Wales.

 On the penultimate day of pretending-to-shoot-each-other manoeuvres, a CMF officer (i.e. a sweating red-faced jumped up bank teller from Sydney) ordered us to work as kitchen staff in the officers’ mess tent for their farewell dinner the next night. ‘Nah,’ we said, ‘we didn’t come here to wait on weekend warriors.’ Or words to that effect.

He went away muttering about undisciplined rabble and later came back. ‘What if we pay you?’ ‘Okay… Sir.’ (Cue limp salute here.)

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Hardys Stamp of Australia Cabernet Sauvignon 2008 – I bought a dozen at around $6.60 the 1 litre bottle – ***

I know it’s only September, but this red gets my value for money wine of the year award already.

 A lovely robust melange of fully ripe berries, plums, sweet vanillin American oak, mildly assertive tannins and a pleasant aftertaste. Good on its own or with tucker and a stunner at the price. Some very ordinary cask wines are dearer.

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Getting a reservation at the Sant Pau (c/Nou, 10 – E-08395 Sant Pol de Mar – Catalunya, Spain – T: +34-93-7600662) is not an easy matter, this three-star dining room only has 9 tables. Catherine and I travel frequently to Catalunya, my parents live in the Baix Empordà area; the region is also one of the earth’s true hot spots for star chefs: within 120km of Sant Feliu de Guíxols, that useful tyrant known as the Red Guide has identified 38 one-star eateries, 2 two-stars and 3 three-stars! While I can only describe my experience at super-legendary elBulli as “interesting”, a recent visit to El Celler de Can Roca proved to be one the most memorable and perfect lunches of my life. Sant Pau is very different from Can Roca, and yet both share the same extremely high level of taste, precision, service as well as culinary culture and intelligence.

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by Martin Field
Yeah I know you high flyers are doing it hard and don’t know where the next magnum of Krug is coming from.
Public sympathy for scammers and skimmers is in even shorter supply than usual but we lower socio-economic dwellers are charitable, so I’ve decided to share a few tips on alcoholic cost cutting to ameliorate your pain. I have assumed none of the following tips will breach your bail conditions.
Make your own wine. Buy some grapes, put them in a large garbage bag and have the home help trample them on the marble kitchen floor. Bung some yeast in the drained off juice and, when fermented, store in a barrel. Bottle and drink when ready. (True, this is how a friend does it every year.)
Brew your own beer. Buy a can of Coopers home brew stout mix (the best of them all) follow the instructions (or ask your PA to do it). Drink.
Drink more cask (bag in box) wines and cleanskins. Dollar for dollar, cask whites always taste better than the reds – don’t know why.

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by Martin Field
Maybe it was 20 years ago. ‘How about I take you to lunch at the Melbourne Club?’ My eye specialist, a generous, learned gentleman of the old school and also the father of a friend, wanted to repay me for fine-tuning his office PC.
Never having been there – they have an invisible brass plaque by the front door saying ‘No women, no lefties, certain religions are a bit suss, and definitely no riff-raff!’ – I accepted. ‘You’ll have to wear a suit you know,’ he smiled, gazing at my public service uniform: Miller shirt, Lee jeans and Blundstones.
When I arrived at the club, I certainly didn’t look like a member – longish hair, beard, baggy tan suit, a ridiculously narrow dusty pink leather tie and tan R.M. Williams Cuban-heeled boots (to match the suit, you understand). However, after the business with the rubber gloves, some pointed interrogation and upon showing my passport and letters of accreditation, they let me in.

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