Restaurant review: Mr Jennings, Richmond

Wowee, it's been a long time since I blogged. My life is a lot more action-packed than it was when I started my blog eight years ago, leaving little time to call in and say hi at my favourite blogs, let alone write my own, so sorry for not giving my old regulars any love lately :-( To tell the truth, much of the action has involved going out to eat delicious food (G is such an enabler!), so I might as well write about it.

 

I miss writing and I'm keen to exercise my writing muscles regularly again, so I thought I'd dip my toe in the waters by reviewing restaurants, cafés and other services from the Melbourne 2016/17 Entertainment Book that I take advantage of. Not having to think of topic = blog more likely to be written!

Disclaimer - the Entertainment Book has no idea who I am, but we got one last year and loved it. We recouped the cost (around $60 - some goes to charity) within a few weeks, as most  café and restaurant vouchers are 25% off or better. You can get a book or a digital membership (app). I've had both, and both have their strengths and weaknesses. I'd suggest trying both for yourself over a couple of years.

 

We probably spend more money on eating out than we otherwise would, as it puts more expensive restaurants within our reach. But there is a whole world of magnificent food out there in all price ranges (they even have Maccas vouchers), just waiting for you to walk at it with your mouth open, so get amongst it!

 

Every so often the Entertainment Book pairs up with a restaurant and a food supplier or winemaker and offers a tasting menu with matched wines to showcase their goods, for a discounted price. G and I went to one earlier in the year at Church Street Enoteca, which featured Flinders Island meats and McWilliam wines, and it was pretty amazing.

 

The atmosphere was slightly awkward at Enoteca, probably because it was a larger venue and so the interruptions between courses, as Jason from the Entertainment Book and also a representative from the brand being showcased got up between courses to give a spiel, felt less like a conversation and more like a lecture. But everyone politely sat and listened before tucking in to the next amazing course. Bring your friends and you'll barely notice. The atmostphere there wasn't impersonal as such; it's just a much bigger venue.

 

On Tuesday night I attended a similar event at Mr Jennings on Bridge Road, Richmond, down the Hoddle Street end, close to the Epworth Hospital. It was sponsored by Mount Pleasant wines, and my hot date for the night was my bestie whose name is also Ness (that's how we became friends. True story!). We were in for a treat, with five courses and matched wines for $95, which is normally $145.

 

I'll just leave that there and wait for you to catch your breath, eh?

 

We good now? :-)

 

This is what I mean about it making higher-end restaurants more accessible - it's still a heck of a lot of money and is certainly not an every day or even every month thing, but because it's below the $100 threshold and includes drinks (wheeee!) it's somehow less shocking.

 

And did I mention that I love food and am able to see value in a positive eating experience? ;-)

 

Also, at this point I feel the need to disclose that 3/4 of my dining experiences involve fighting over the perfect $10 pho on Victoria Street (I favour the availability of sliced pickled onions at Thu Tue, whilst G loves the smile of recognition and the broth at I Love Pho two doors down), so I'm not this fancy all the time!

 

Also-also, I'm not entirely sure that matched wines with dinner is a good idea on a school night, but hey you only live once, and as long as you rehydrate before bed it's all good.

 

This time there was no awkwardness; Mr Jennings is a far more intimate venue, and the wait staff had already engaged us in friendly conversation by the time Jason stood up with chef Ryan Flaherty to introduce the evening, before leaving us to our own devices with tasting notes for the wine.

 

Because this week was Mr Jennings' second birthday, and Tuesday was Chef Flaherty's actual birthday, there was an air of celebration. Although obviously busy and keen to get on with his main business, Flaherty was also personable and humble, making a quick joke about his evolving décor before zipping back to his beloved kitchen. It's very much a venue with personal touches, and the 35-seat restaurant felt simultaneously homely and special. 

 

There is also a smaller private dining room upstairs, and a chef's table experience with a several-course tasting menu in the kitchen area, which is definitely going on my bucket list!

 

Here is the menu for the evening:

Something I love about tasting menus is that they challenge me to try things I would otherwise shy away from (bone marrow, anyone?), either because they don't appeal to me or because I have no idea what they are. As it turns out I'll eat pretty much anything as long as the chef knows what they're doing, and with a pedigree like Flaherty's you're certainly in good hands.

 

I'm not gonna lie, I spent ten minutes Googling the heck out of the menu before dinner, because I feel like a goose not knowing what they're talking about (although most wait staff are willing to educate you; this only backfires at somewhere like Gingerboy where the music is pumping and you can't hear them properly, and it's too dark to lipread). If you're interested in deciphering a few things, this is what I learnt:

 

Bonito flakes - dried, fermented, smoked tuna flakes. I ate plenty in Japan but didn't know what it was called. They can be very strongly flavoured and are quite confronting - the rising heat from the food makes them wriggle around like they're alive. As a result I have drawn the conclusion that the Japanese certainly must have a sense of humour!

 

Semillon - a dry white wine (I knew it was white), sort of like a Sauvingon Blanc, but heavier and less acidic. Hmm, sounds pretty drinkable... :-)

 

Skate - I knew it was some kind of fish, but am somewhat horrified to discover that they're very much like a ray and are all cute and squishy (check out the Wiki page, which describes what sets them apart from a true ray, which makes you feel slightly better about eating it). They do have a very slow lifecycle (i.e. are at risk of being fished into extinction), so I'm curious as to what the food industry / suppliers do in terms of sustainable sourcing, which is something I will look into in the future.

 

Anyway, enough waffle (mmm, waffles...) - we're all just here for the food!

Round One was whey risotto with bonito flakes. Please excuse the washed-out colours in my poorly-lit photos from my phone - I feel pretty silly carrying my DSLR around, and food looks awful with a flash, so you'll just have to make do with my phone camera.

Mr Jennings makes a lot of their own basics; as such, the whey used in the risotto was from the ricotta in Round Two. The waiter wasn't sure whether the bonito had been made in-house, but it was much milder than any I've tried before, so either it was house-made or it was simply better quality than my previous bonito experiences.

 

The risotto was creamy, the chives gave some zing, and the smoky-salty bonito cut through the richness. This was our favourite course (although they were all great!).

 

Round Two was maple roasted pumpkin with ricotta and garlic. I was far too excited to remember to take a (poorly lit) photo, because I adore roasted pumpkin and couldn't wait to get into it.

 

Picture this: a matte black high-sided plate / low-sided bowl (much like the one the skate was served on ), with a perfect arc of deep orange maple-roasted pumpkin, embracing a mound of flavoursome ricotta topped with a small pile of bitter salad greens. Normally I find ricotta a bit meh, but this was smoother; and, with the garlic, was just the ticket to offset the sweetness of the pumpkin. A light winter warmer.

 

Round Three was skate, buerre noisette and pickled onions.

Well the good news is that despite its possibly-questionably-sustainable status (or perhaps because of it?? There, I said it, I'm a monster!), it was delicious. The fish was crispy on the outside, and melted in your mouth. True, it might have been the butter it was swimming in that did that (not gonna lie, the word "buerre" in the description is a sure-fire way to win me over), but I suspect the flesh inherently had a creamy texture.

 

The fresh green of the broad beans made it visually pleasing, and I'm not actually sure what the pale smear on the left of the plate was, but my money is on pureed Jerusalem artichoke (or even potato?? Or cauliflower? I wasn't paying enough attention), flavoured with pickled onion juice. The pickled onions themselves were a fun addition, and they helped make the butteriness feel less decadent.

 

Round Four was the one I expected to be the most challenging, due to the inclusion of marrow.

It's obviously all in my head, because there is absolutely no difference between eating meat and eating marrow; it all comes from the same animal. You're still eating an animal. There is also no real difference between eating marrow and eating traditional jelly, because it's all derived from bones. I guess the colouring of marrow is just a little beige, and when things you're not socially accustomed to eating are kind of beige and also squishy and don't hold their heat well it can make your stomach turn a little.

 

BUT - as it turns out, if you eat it on a piece of lamb, it just emphasises the flavor. The flavor - and this makes perfect sense, and clearly I'm an idiot for not having thought of it before - is the same as when you're chewing on those delightfully crisply, tasty little bits of fat along the edge of a lamb bone. I had always thought that flavour was the fat, but I'm now thinking that the marrow may have oozed out as well during the cooking process (if a chef could please confirm or deny that it would be awesome). Live and learn!

 

The lamb was cooked to perfection, and I'm not sure why the "potato salad" deserved inverted commas, because it certainly seemed like potato salad to me. Unless it was some kind of construct, like those little pearls of flavour (like deconstructed, reconstructed peas) that are all the rage? Anyway, visually it looked like the canned Edgell potato salad people used to bring to BBQs in the 80's, but you'll be pleased / unsurprised to know that it tasted like actual potato salad, not like a pile of vinegary starch.

 

Round Five  - the fifth and final round - was chocolate sponge with yoghurt and basil.

Flaherty had explained earlier that he makes the sponge in the microwave, an admission that made it a dish that doesn't take itself too seriously. The lighter brown you can see is a chocolate mousse, the white is a creamy yogurt (almost like whipped cream in consistency) with what I can best describe as chocolate pop rocks sprinkled on top, and the green parts seem to be pureed, shaped and dried basil, which were crispy, sweet and herbal - an almost after-dinner mint finish to an amazing meal.

 

TL;DR - if you're looking for somewhere a bit special for dinner, head to Mr Jennings. You won't regret it.

 

Another night of amazing food and wine, at a venue I probably wouldn't have experienced without the Entertainment Book (and fortuitously this dinner didn't use up my voucher, so I'll definitely be heading back in the next year - huzzah!).

 

Congratulations to the crew at Mr Jennings on holding on for two years in a tricky kind of dead spot on Bridge Road. I sincerely hope that your presence helps transform this shopping strip - here's to another two years. 

100 Days of Awesome: Day 59 - Restaurant Review - Dining Solo at Steam, Rye

Most of the reasons my day was awesome were work-related, including scoring both a sleep-in and a hot chocolate paid for by my company, all because I had to catch up with a member of the public and sort out an issue. Sometimes the community aspect of my job drives me nuts, but yesterday was not one of those days!

 

Because of the meeting I didn't get to work until about 10:30, which you'd normally think was awesome, except it meant that I got a heck of a lot less work done. D'oh! Yep, looks like these last few productive weeks have gotten me a bit hooked on the rush of getting stuff done.

 

Haha, yeah, that's pretty sad isn't it...

 

Anyway, I decided to spend the night at Rye (because I have to be there before 7am on Wednesday mornings, and the early starts have been wearing a bit thin). It's awesome that my company will pay for my accomodation, even though technically they don't have to.

 

So I did a bit of Googling to figure out what I was going to do for dinner, and landed upon Steam, which is on the main street of Rye. I'm pretty much a fan of anywhere that puts their menu on their website and enables my menu stalking habit, so they were off to a good start.

 

The menu looked pretty magnificent, and is very much set up for sharing with a friend or a group. As such, it seemed a bit lacking for the solo diner with just four items in the "individual small plates" section, with a further three items available in "entrees" which again, are probably more for sharing - I mean, who wants to plough through a whole plate of edamame on their own?? I imagine I would not have noticed that if I wasn't dining alone, but I did find the menu choices to be a bit restrictive.

 

It was a quiet Tuesday night, so service was perhaps not as snappy as it otherwise may have been. I had a nice Canadian girl for my waitress, and although she was friendly she did place my order incorrectly, so I ended up with two rice paper rolls and one sang choi bao rather than the other way around, which she had personally recommended. Le sigh. But she was appropriately apologetic about it.

 

There was a second waiter, who did a good job of picking up the slack when my primary waitress was otherwise occupied. The style of service was friendly and fairly casual, and they made me feel welcomed. The second waiter in particular seemed to be quite experienced and professional, or at least confident, which was good.

 

I ordered the Tom Kha Gai, Rice Paper Rolls, and Duck and Shitake San Choi Bao (so, I effectively experienced 75% of the solo menu, and wasn't full afterwards). For a drink I had the White Peony Tea (I had intended to have a Lychee and Ginger cocktail, but they were out of the ginger element), and, because I wasn't quite full, I tried the Indonesian Black Rice Pudding for dessert.

 

The trouble, when you fancy yourself as a decent home cook, and have travelled fairly extensively, is that, if the flavours and textures aren't spot-on, you can get a bit more finnicky about your food than your Average Joe might be. I'm the girl that sits and watches Master Chef or My Kitchen Rules, and yells "YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!!!" and "I can do it better! *rolls eyes*" at the TV. So I'm just putting that out there, to provide a bit of context to the review which others nay find to be unfair.

 

You could tell from the prices that the servings were going to be quite modest, kind of like an assortment of entrees, and The Tom Kha Gai was no exception. It came in a small bowl (cup??) that probably only held about 150-200mL. It was thick with coconut milk, and had a few slices of mild chilli, some bean shoots, half a cherry tomato and a prawn swimming in it. The menu says it is flavoured with lemongrass and galangal, but I have to say that the coconut flavour definitely dominated the soup. I recall from when I made this very dish in a cooking class in Thailand that the flavours were far stronger, so I was a little disappointed.

 

The Tom Kha Gai was pleasant enough, but not quite what I had expected. My expectations of the soup were obviously unfairly raised by a) my experience in Thailand, and b) the amount of time I've spent with The Kiwi in Asian restaurants on Victoria Street lately, where both quantity and quality are king, and at a very reasonable price, too. But none of that changes the fact that I wasn't especially impressed by the temperature, quantity or strength of flavour. The prawn was pretty nice, though, and I'm not a big prawn person.

 

The Rice Paper Rolls... errr, so I heard a rumour that there were prawns and pork in them...?? To be honest, I mistook what I now realise was the pork for some kind of roasted chicken, kind of like that dodgy chicken you get in the chicken and avocado sushi rolls they make in shopping centre food courts, and didn't really notice the prawn or remember it was supposed to be there until I was half way through the second roll.

 

As it turns out, the prawnts were butterflied and hiding along one side, and were rolled up with an abundance of rice vermicelli, a couple of leaves of Vietnamese mint, and I think there may have been just a skerrick of grated carrot and maybe a beanshoot or two, although the fact I don't clearly recall indicates that they obviously weren't the star of the show. There was a stalk of coriander and a wedge of lime on the plate, but no coriander actually inside the roll. I ended up picking off a coriander leaf and placing it on the roll for every bite of the second roll, just to add a bit of interest to it.

 

Look, I've never been to Vietnam, so I don't know for sure what an authentic rice paper roll tastes like. But I did just Google the heck out of it, and all the recipes for authentic rice paper rolls came up with more balance in terms of meat and vegetable content and were lighter on the rice vermicelli. This page explains the importance of balancing flavours and textures, and I more or less felt like I was eating noodles using my hand. Again, I know I'm biased because I don't even bother putting the noodles in my rice paper rolls - mine are all meat, bean shoots, veggies and herbs - but I've eaten a few rice paper rolls in my time, and none were that heavy on the noodles.

 

Lastly, I had the San Choi Bao. I always love the combination of a cool, crisp lettuce leaf with hot, flavoursome meat. And again, I enjoyed that aspect of it. I would probably order it again, although the water chestnut slices were still whole (in my experience they're normally chopped), the primary flavour of the meat was salt (not unpleasantly so, but I'm just saying that the flavours of the spices didn't really come through), and I would have been quite certain that the meat was a pork mince and not duck, had I not previously read the menu. I suppose I am just accustomed to my duck coming in whole pieces, and enjoying the texture and flavour, rather than having it all minced up. It kind of seems like a waste of duck.

 

I sat for a moment or two after finishing those three dishes, before deciding my hunger wasn't quite satiated. So I asked for the dessert menu, and chose the Indonesian black rice pudding, served with coconut milk ginger ice cream, on the basis that it would be served warm. (Note that, having eaten the meal, I think the coconut and ginger ice cream were actually supposed to be two separate entities, but the punctuation did not reflect that.) On a cold night like last night, having a warm dessert was important! The price of $13 indicated to me that it would certainly be bigger than the servings of the other foods I tried, and I was right. The generous portion came in a large, flat soup bowl, with warm, fragrant black rice piled in the middle of a sea of sweet coconut milk. A dome of what I had assumed was ginger ice cream was set in the centre, sprinkled with toasted, shaved coconut.

 

In general, the dessert pleased me. It filled me up, warmed me up, and the flavours were nice. I had two criticisms, however. The first criticism is that I'm pretty sure the dome of ginger ice cream was actually a dome of whipped double cream or maybe even Crème fraîche. It wasn't noticeably cold (nor did it melt), it wasn't gingery, and it was distinctly buttery to the point of over-richness, so I laid off on that after a couple of spoonfuls.

 

The second criticism is that the cardamom pods and star anise were still floating about in the rice, which meant that I found myself unexpectedly chewing on a strongly-flavoured cardomom pod serval times. I had learnt my lesson by the time I was about a third of the way through the dessert, and began thoughtfully probing each mouthful of rice with my tongue before biting down on it, to allow myself the opportunity to discard those little flavour bombs. You shouldn't really have to work for your rice pudding, and a graveyard of blackened, par-masticated cardamom pods atop your serviette is none too pleasant a site for other diners to behold, but nonetheless it was a nice dessert.

 

Overall my experience at Steam was fairly positive, despite finding the food to be barely above average. The quality of ingredients was excellent, but the execution of the dishes I ordered was not. I had a serious case of of food envy when the ladies at the adjacent table were served some amazing-looking food, to the point that my mouth watered and stomach grumbled just smelling what had been placed before them. Understandably, I was pretty bummed that, as a solo diner, those meals weren't really an option for me, and it would be good to see those dishes offered as a half-serve for the occasional lone wolf. I imagine that if you are in a group, and have the entire menu available to you, your dining experience would be a far more positive one than what I experienced.

 

Overall, I would probably return there, but certainly not alone.

 

I should also point out that the waitress let slip that the chef was "the new guy", which may account for several of the factors that I picked up in terms of the quality of the food, or the food not quite matching the description. And I won't know that unless I go back there. But I'd be interested to hear about the experiences of any readers, to see if they match my own.

 

Despite my grumbling, it was still a pretty decent meal, insofar as I live in a country where a little seaside town can support decent-quality restaurants in the off-season. My bill came in at $38, including two cups of white peony tea, and that's probably roughly what The Kiwi and I have been spending between us on almost twice as much food on Victoria Street (which obviously use lower-quality ingredients and have lower overheads, but which is far more authentic).

 

I would describe Steam as an upmarket Asian-inspired restaurant with potential, inspired rather than Asian itself, because it appears to be totally run by Anglos, at least, it does on a Tuesday night! Perhaps the meals have been altered to suit the local palate. Who knows. Like I said, I'd go back with a group but probably not alone. That said, having seen the serving size of the sharing plates, you could probably be a rebel and order just one for yourself and perhaps some rice. Just a thought.

 

So, did everyone have an awesome Tuesday?

Review - The Junk Food Cooking School, Docklands, Melbourne

A couple of weeks ago I had the pleasure of being asked to join my friend Tanya in a Vietnamese cooking class on a Chinese junk (formerly a brothel moored in Footscray, now casually moored in the harbour at Docklands). Tan's husband, you see, had quite obligingly suffered a bout of gout that week and so I was chosen as the person who would most appreciate it. And boy, did I appreciate his pain. Thanks, Mark! :)

The Junk Food Cooking School is run by a lovely woman named Hazel, and there are classes on various cuisines available throughout the year. I wanted to attend the Mexican class quite badly, but I'm being moved to a FIFO roster at work and am not sure which weekends I will be available to fly back to Melbourne, so I guess I'll have to let that one slide for now. Boo :(

In the meantime, I have done the Good Morning, Vietnam! cooking class and discovered just how simple (and healthy) Vietnamese food is. Because it's been a while since I posted a recipe I'll post my favourite one, but if you want the rest of them you'll jolly well have to attend the class ;) I don't have any qualms in posting this as similar recipes are widely available on the internet and so there are no trade secrets being given away, but I do encourage you to go along to a class. You'll be glad you did.

Two things struck me about the food we cooked: One, even though we made seven different dishes (including dessert), I wasn't completely stuffed full - the food was light, and not at all greasy; and two, the same ingredients were used again and again - chilli, lemongrass, fish sauce, sugar, salt, pepper, vinegar. So it's really not one of those cuisines where you need lots of fiddly things. I don't know about the rest of you, but I already have all of those things in one form or another in regular circulation in my pantry. Now all I need is a garden with some herbs in and I'll be set.

The classes were well-run, and Hazel was open to questions about dietary requirements etc. She has herself been recently diagnosed as caeliac, so I do know that at least the cooking class I did was gluten free and I wouldn't be at all surprised if some of the others were, too.

Our class had around ten people in it, and there was a cooking/prep work/demo table at one end of the junk and a dining table and chairs at the other. We were also given a choice of bubbles, wine or beer to drink (plus water, coffee and tea) with our meal, which I didn't expect and which I thought was a nice touch. You could participate as much or as little as you liked, with everyone standing around the demonstration table and Hazel getting people to participate in various ways. As the class wore on we found that the group naturally involved itself and took it in turns, so Hazel didn't have to do too much directing. I guess we had a good group dynamic.

The class lasted four or five hours, including eating the meal and checking out laughing at the buck's night (well, day) boats going in and out of the harbour. You should wear closed-toe, comfortable shoes because you are on your feet for a lot of that time (that, and you don't want to drop a knife or hot oil on your bare foot), but I imagine you could just as easily sit back and watch if you wished. Personally, I'm a more hands-on sort of gal, especially in the kitchen.

Chilli and Lemongrass Curry - The Junk Food Cooking School.

INGREDIENTS:
500g chicken Marylands, chopped into 3 pieces and excess fat and skin removed
1tsp sugar
1/2tsp salt and 1tsp black pepper
2tbsp fish sauce
2tbsp vegetable oil
2 lemongrass stems, white part only finely chopped and pounded, bash remaining ends
2 garlic cloves, crushed
3 birds eye chillies, thinly sliced
90mL water
2 spring onions, sliced on the diagonal
1 bunch Chinese broccoli or other Asian greens
2 birds eye chillis, sliced, to garnish
1/2 bunch coriander leaves, to garnish.

Combine fish sauce with sugar, salt and black pepper. Stir to dissolve sugar.

Add chicken pieces, stir to coat then cover and chill for half an hour.

Meanwhile pound lemongrass in mortar and pestle until it goes powdery. Fry on medium heat until golden.

Pound garlic and add to wok with chilli and cook until fragrant.

Add chicken and marinade and stir-fry for around 10 minutes until coloured. Chicken does not need to be cooked through at this stage. Add water and bashed lemongrass ends and bring to the boil then reduce heat and cook, with lid on, for approx. 20 minutes until the chicken is cooked through.

Just before serving add greens and spring onions and cook a further 2 minutes then serve garnished with chillis and coriander.

It won't look pretty, but you'll be surprised at how rich and flavoursome it is!
 

We made seven dishes in all - a variation on a rice paper roll, with a prawn and pork sausage in the middle along with herbs, rice noodles and a peanut sauce; sugar cane prawns; pork spareribs braised in coconut water; chicken, chilli and lemongrass curry; coconut rice; green mango salad; and sticky rice to finish off. Today I have shared with you the chicken, chilli and lemongrass curry because it packed such a flavour punch, and also because I was downright shocked that it didn't contain coconut milk - the sauce was just so creamy. It's definitely one going on regular rotation in my kitchen!

Besides the curry we made sugarcane prawns (seen here sitting on a green mango salad)

Pork spareribs braised in coconut water

 Coconut rice

 

Rice paper rolls with a prawn and pork sausage 

 

And sticky rice with banana for dessert.

  

What a feast!

 In addition to plenty of food, drinks and a cooking lesson you also get a snazzy red apron as part of your ticket price. Which is just as well because I get an apron grubby just about every time I use it, so multiple aprons are a must in my life!

 I get the impression the classes do book out fairly quickly, so if you want to book several places then plan well in advance. Hazel does run private classes, though, which could be an option for a hen's night or a work function. I'm not sure whether the price is any different, but it would definitely be worth a look. Included in the normal price is the class, the (multi-course) meal, a drink or two, an apron and a booklet of recipes (I assume that applies across the board for all classes), which I think makes it very good value for money. All in all I recommend the Junk Food Cooking School for a nice day out with friends, or as a gift for someone.

Review - The Tea Room at QVB, Sydney

I obviously didn't post last week, and that's because I was a bit busy - I found myself in Sydney for the weekend, and, determined to pack as much into my weekend as possible, my schedule looked a little like this:

  

9am - Breakfast with the entire St Kilda Football Club (hmm, I should think harder about how I word that one, given their track record... what I meant was that they happened to be in the Virgin lounge where I happened to be eating my breakfast!)

 

11:45am - get off plane in Sydney and high-tail it to my hotel to drop off luggage, then walk down George Street towards the Queen Victoria Building, foolishly wearing unpadded sandals

 

1:10pm - arrive at the QVB and spend some time wandering about. Decide that I like it well enough because it resembles Melbourne and its arcardes (sorry, Sydney, I like you on weekends but I can't imagine living there!), what with the mosaic floors

 

and domes

 

and old-style architecture

 

and general all-round arcade-y-ness.

 

1:30pm - finally find my way to the Tea Rooms on the third floor. It honestly took me quite a while to figure out how to get there, because I knew it was on the third floor but most of the building only goes to the second floor. Here's the tip: if you walk to the north end of the building, you will be faced with the Fat Budha restaurant, and most likely be confused. But if you look a little more closely you'll see a small sign and a staircase to the right, and you climb that to reach the tea rooms.

 

More on my jam-packed weekend later, because given the title of this post I should probably actually write about the tea room!

 

I chose the QVB tea rooms after contacting the lovely Lorraine at Not Quite Nigella and asking for her high tea recommendation. She said she hadn't been to QVB in a while and had heard that it had slipped a little, but that it was quite a traditional service. I think the Royal Albert flatware alone probably sold me!

 

I was meeting Cesar and Pete, two guys I met on my recent trip to Africa (I'll write about that one day, too, I promise!). I figured seeing as I'm rarely in Sydney I should try and see some Sydney-siders, and also should probably take the opportunity to cross off one of my New Year's resolutions, in addition to climbing the Harbour Bridge (that one's on my 101 Things list, and I did it the following day). Done, done and done.

 

We met at the table, which I had booked the day before. I was under the impression when I booked that we had nabbed literally the last table in the house, so you should definitely book ahead by more than 24 hours. And because they start to close at 3pm on a Saturday they wanted me to make a 1:30pm booking, not a 2pm one like I had originally planned (I've been stuffed around by flight delays so many times that I nowadays try to build in a half-hour contingency to everything). Anyway, it all worked out okay and Virgin ran on time despite a late take-off in Melbourne. You never used to be able to trust them but these days they're definitely improving.

 

They took our order quickly - probably a little too quickly, given Pete had literally just sat down and had not even picked up his menu when the waitress came scurrying over - but because we were having the traditional afternoon tea ($43 on weekends, including tea or coffee) it wasn't a big deal. We were given glasses of water almost straight away, and little silver teapots came with matching tea strainers about 5 or so minutes later - one individual one for Pete, and a two-person one for Cesar and I. From there it was probably another 10 minutes or so before the food came out, and I was starting to wonder where it was but I suppose they were heating the things that needed heating.

 

As it turns out, three tiers plus one plate of food all spaced out might not look like much, but it's actually quite a challenge to get through!

 

I started with the spinach and feta pastry, which was moist on the inside, flaky on the outside and very tasty.

 

Next, assuming them to be warm and that they should be eaten that way, I attacked a mammoth scone with clotted cream and jam. The scone wasn't as warm as I had expected, wasn't really warm at all, in fact, and I have to say the scone itself didn't impress me greatly... but that's because - yes, I'm going to say it - I make the world's best scones. I'm sorry, but I do. Or, I did, this one time. They were utterly perfect, and every scone that has passed my lips since has paled in comparison. But this was a good, robust scone; not too dry; and didn't fall apart when I spread my jam and cream on it, which is important. Not a scone to be ashamed of, and certainly generous in size.

 

Next I moved onto the fingers of sandwiches. There were two for each diner, and there were two each of three different types of sandwich, so you had to hope that the other diners wouldn't want the same sandwiches that you did! Our plate included two tuna, two curried egg, and what we thought was two chicken salad but turned out to be one chicken and one ham. I had an egg sandwich and a chicken one, and both had lovely, fresh bread and the fillings were just right. The chicken salad had a little celery and a little walnut in it, which was a nice touch.

 

On the same tier as the sandwiches there were these tiny, odd little pastry cases filled with what seemed to be a warm cheese sauce or maybe even aioli?? I think we had all assumed that it was a mini quiche and one of us actually tried biting into it and ended up with it on their chin. If it was a quiche it certainly had not set properly. I, unusually for me, put it all in my mouth in one hit and didn't make any mess at all! The filling was too runny for it to stay long on my tongue so I didn't have much of an opportunity for the flavour to register, so I can't say a lot about it. Perhaps we were supposed to put it on the sandwiches or on the spinach pastry - I really have no idea. Maybe someone more cultured than me can tell me what it was supposed to be?!?!

 

Coming in for a slightly closer view now, the next thing I attacked was a passionfruit yo-yo (melting moment). It's the round one between the two macarons at the front of the bottom tier. The two biscuits were quite thin and melt-in-your-mouth shortbready, and the passionfruit buttercream was tasty and full of flavour, but I knew the very second I picked it up that it had been sitting out a little too long and that the filling was soft and warm. So I sort of slid the two halves of the biscuit off so that both had some filling on them, and ate them separately. I once again, surprisingly, made the right choice, because when Pete bit into his the cream squirted out the sides. But the filling hadn't separated out or gone greasy; it was just a bit tricky to eat.

 

Next came those little oblongs of cake on the top tier. From what I can tell, one layer was a hazelnut (or possibly almond)-based cake, one was plain sponge and the top was a chocolate gel. The cake reminded me a little of tiramisu, although not as strong, with its moistness and chocolate and hazelnut flavours. Definitely a winner, and certainly only for consumption in inch-long pieces!

 

Back down to the bottom tier for those little lemon meringue boats. Barely a mouthful, airy and light, and the lemon filling was beautiful. I could probably rack up half a dozen of these and eat them with a cup of tea and good book in hand, no problem at all.

 

I then ventured into macaron territory. Now, I have to say I'm a little embarrassed to admit, but my macaron experience is quite limited. My first-ever macaron was at Doncaster shoppingtown at Laurant Patisserie and I expected big things, given that we were in the midst of the Great Macaron Craze of 2011. I found it to be a bit meh, but then, when I thought about it, I realised that a biscuit made of almond meal and egg white is likely to be quite plain and that the star performer should be the filling. I don't think Laurant should take what I say personally as I have only tried one in their range so far so can't really judge.

 

My next macaron (okay, it wasn't one - I ate three) was at La Maison du Chocolat in New York City in October last year (why yes, I do have a knack for sniffing out patisseries, chocolatiers et al in foreign cities, why do you ask?), and I also tripped over Magnolia bakery, just around the corner, which is why I didn't get around to eating the macarons until late the following day. I wasn't terribly concerned as I was aware that they are at their best on Day Two or Day Three. So they were stuck in my hostel locker with a stinky backpack that has done a lot of work over the years in my travels with no wash (you'll be pleased to know that the first thing I did when I got home was throw it in the washing machine!), but they still fared reasonably well. It confirmed for me that the ganache in the centre was the star performer of a macaron.

 

So when I encountered a pistachio macaron I wasn't really sure what to expect. I mean, it was certainly the exact shade of pistachio, but I like in-your-face flavours like lemon and raspberry and dark chocolate, and pistachio is obviously a much more subtle flavour. I am pleased to announce that the flavour of the macaron did not disappoint me - it did taste like pistachio, and the light but creamy filling carrying that flavour did not overwhelm it. But the structure of the biscuit went much the same way as the passionfruit yo-yo - the filling oozed out the sides, and this time I hadn't thought to separate the two halves. Sigh. Now I feel like I have to go on a macaron-tasting adventure to determine what makes the perfect filling, both in flavour and in texture. If there's somewhere you know (preferably in Melbourne but not necessarily) that will offer me a spectacular macaron experience, pease let me know!

 

At around this time, the tea rooms were starting to be packed up around us, table cloths and all, and bills being brought to tables, which was a little bit offputting. I suppose that was the intention! The room, surprisingly, became even echoey-er than before with fewer people and furnishings in it. It had previously been quite difficult to hear Cesar and Pete speak, I suppose because of the shape of the room, but then, I am a bit hard of hearing with background noise. It's probably not the best choice of location if you want a quiet, intimate chat, though.

 

My last-but-one petit four was one of those fruit tarts on top. I saved it until amost-last because I love fruit tarts in all their forms, and they're pretty hard to get wrong. I also wasn't certain I'd be able to fit it in if I ate that orange miniature cupcake on the bottom of the stand first, and the waistband of my skirt was already a little snug, so I didn't want to risk not eating it. The pastry was sweet and crumbled perfectly; the creme patisserie was light but rich; and the fruit was, well, fruit. As I said, pretty hard to get wrong (unless the creme patisserie tastes like uncooked cornflour, in which case you know you have a problem!).

 

And finally, as the bill was paid, I made a final lunge at the orange mini cup cake. It was rich and buttery, with a strong orange flavour which balanced the butteriness. I'm glad I squeezed it in :)

 

All in all, I would recommend the Tea Room at QVB, if only for the setting - it is a mixture of tables and of old-fashioned, studded leather and brocade lounge chairs - and the experience of having high tea on nice china. There was a good selection of food, and most of it was well-prepared, but I was a little disappointed by how soft the filling in the biscuits was. I would suggest perhaps going in the morning instead of the afternoon to counter that. Luckily I don't judge a tea room by its macarons ;)

 

As for the rest of my weekend, well it involved two dinners with friends down at Darling Harbour, two lots of fireworks, a drink down at the King Street wharf with Pete and Ceasar, a Harbour Bridge climb, a couple of cocktails at Bar 100 in the Rocks, and hot chocolate and cake at the Lindt cafe. Not a bad weekend at all, thank you Sydney!

Restaurant Review - The Meeting Pool, Eltham

On a hot, windy summer’s Saturday my dad and I went for a lunch date to a (I believe) recent entry in the Age Good Food Guide – The Meeting Pool. It’s literally walking distance from my mum’s house, and, besides visiting Montsalvat many a time growing up (including giving a brief harpsichord recital in the gallery above the Great Hall; being chased around the place by peacocks; and visiting a violin-maker friend of my (quite musical) uncle Andrew) I’d also been there before for a pre-wedding rehearsal dinner. I enjoyed it then, but at the time I obviously didn’t take any photos or pay a great deal of attention to the food (and I can’t even remember what I ate, being 18 months ago!), and this time around I wanted to really concentrate on the food rather than the socialising.

The brick building, backing onto an art gallery (Montsalvat being an artists’ colony), was pleasantly cool on such a warm day; and, owing to its limited capacity, service was rapid and friendly. There is also a courtyard outside, but the day was too hot and blustery for more than two brave souls to sit out there. The restaurant is named after a childrens’ book one of the co-founders of Montsalvat, Mervyn Skipper, wrote. The book is now out of print, but drawings from the book adorn the walls, and you can buy copies through the gift shop. His grandson is still affiliated with the colony, and Mervyn’s son Matcham (I presume he’s still alive!) lives down the road from my mum (and my childhood home). His yard, guarded by an imposing gateway, is filled with all sorts of building junk from Montsalvat and other homes in the area, and is a little slice of Eltham history. My brother and I would sneak in and explore the yard on our adventures down the creek in summer.

The specials of the day (from memory) included a pumpkin soup with coriander; a sweet potato gnocchi with basil; and a flourless chocolate cake with berry coulis. All of those sounded incredibly appealing, but I’d already planned my line of attack by viewing their menu online and committed to the duck salad ($22) followed by a dessert (the jury was still out at this stage as to which dessert that would be). Duck may not be especially low-fat, but it was one of the better options. Particularly when you are simultaneously trying to lose several kilograms of stress-eating and holiday weight, and also planning on eating dessert. Which, believe it or not, can be done. True story!

I was given around 150-200g of duck (i.e. the amount of meat one is supposed to eat in a sitting). It is described in the menu as “Confit du canard en salade – warm duck salad with shallots and walnut dressing”. I have to say, I don’t think what I got particularly resembled what was written on the menu – it was duck salad, alright, but to uncultured me, shallots are spring onions so I was momentarily confused when I realised that they actually meant those tiny French onions, which were cooked to perfection and sat atop the duck. I'm still not quite convinced it involved a walnut dressing, though. Perhaps it was a small, seasonal change to the menu, or was perhaps related to the availability of ingredients, or maybe someone just put the wrong dressing on my salad; but it was essentially duck served on a bed of salad greens in a regular soup/salad-sized bowl (not crazy-large, not old-fashioned small), the shallots, a couple of grape cherry tomatoes, and a dressing that was light in texture but heavy on the balsamic flavour.

I thought I detected the slightest hint of the bitterness of walnut in the dressing, which may or may not have been the power of suggestion. Certainly there were no walnut pieces to be seen, not that the menu suggested that there would be. But by the time I came to wipe the last pieces of duck around the dressing in the bowl I was slightly more convinced that there was walnut lurking, somewhere – there was a certain creamy, nutty richness to the dressing that went beyond the sharp, cutting flavour of the balsamic. But it might have been a good-quality olive oil that I could taste, too.

Two of the three pieces of duck were cooked to perfection – succulent and tender, the (relatively scant) skin melted in my mouth, and the meat was pleasing both with and without the skin. It is difficult to describe the flavour of the meat, except to say that it had the sweetness of duck meat and a spice somewhat reminiscent of Chinese Five Spice (very possibly the chef would be offended to hear that!). The third piece of duck was lacking skin and also moisture, and, never having actually cooked duck myself, I will go out on a limb and presume that the two are related. But it wasn’t dry enough to be upsetting, and I was happy enough mopping the flavoursome meat around my plate to absorb the moisture from the scant remains of the dressing - nice that it wasn't drowning in dressing, too. The salad itself was a bit pedestrian, but let’s face it, I was in it for the duck. You don’t win friends with salad!

My dad opted for the Wagu rump steak open sandwich on grilled sourdough ($25), which was served with a smear of beetroot relish (or perhaps it was some sort of grated beetroot – I didn’t taste that part myself) cushioning the medium-rare steak; crowned with a spoonful of pleasantly sweet, caramelised onions; and accompanied by a heaping pile of perfectly-cooked, golden French fries. Nobody needs that much potato in their life, but the good news is that it meant I could sneak some off dad’s plate without him objecting too loudly! So much for shifting that holiday weight…

Dad was good enough to give me a small sliver of meat, and it was tender enough, but I’m a medium-rare girl and the edges of the steak – which I was given – were distinctly medium. I’m also the wrong person to ask about the quality of the meat because, whilst it sported the gentle richness one expects from a Wagu steak, I’m just as happy with a cheap porterhouse smothered with pepper sauce down the pub, and prefer the fat to be down the side of my steak and not marbled throughout. I know, I know, chefs everywhere are lining up to slap me, but I prefer the meatier flavour over the fattier one.

After our plates were cleared the waiter asked whether I would like to see the dessert menu, to which I responded with a resounding “Hell, yeah!” He handed me the menu and I was trying to decide between the flourless chocolate cake special ($12.50) and the lemon sabayon tart ($15), when the waiter threw a spanner in the works and told me his favourite was the House-made Neapolitan ice cream-filled profiteroles with hot chocolate sauce ($16). During my recent overseas holiday I learnt to ask the waiter what he or she recommended as I found myself ordering the same old familiar things, so I went with the profiteroles and I was not disappointed. 

Three profiteroles, stuffed with what I took to be house-made ice cream, smothered in a hot chocolate sauce, were served with a blob of whipped cream and a sliced strawberry splayed across the top. The chocolate ice cream was incredibly rich and quite dark; the strawberry ice cream was tart, with small pieces of the strawberry fruit to be seen in it; and the vanilla ice cream was relatively mild – you could see little pieces of vanilla bean, but the flavour was more creamy than vanilla. Mind you, I do a lot of baking, and I’ve been known to lick the spoon after I scoop vanilla bean paste out of the tub or measure out pure vanilla extract, so I’m probably not the best judge of whether vanilla is too mild or not. The profiteroles were a little hard, which is to be expected when they have to sit in the freezer filled with ice cream, but thawed out well enough under the heat of the chocolate sauce. A word of warning, though – use your spoon to steady your profiterole while you imbed your fork, then use your fork to steady it while you cut with your spoon, otherwise I suspect the profiterole will go flying!

All in all, I will definitely be making a repeat visit. Not only am I blessed to have this gem more or less in my back yard, but it combines a relaxed atmosphere with good-quality food which are two of my favourite things. I wouldn’t necessarily suggest it for those on a tight budget, unless you are the sort of person who can contain themselves to eating just one course (I’m afraid I’m not someone that can do that!), but the more limited lunch time menu is more affordable than the dinner one so it is still possible to treat yourself.

 

Book Review - Long Walk to Freedom, by Nelson Mandela

This book has been on my mum's bookshelf for almost as long as I can recall. I think, in the beginning, I had a natural aversion to it on account of the fact that she had recommended it to me. Same reason as I hated Nirvana and the Foo Fighters and Metallica - because my brother liked them.

I know. I'm a dolt.

But I'm a loveable dolt! Right??? *looks hopeful*

Two vaguely interesting although minor segues - one, two of my closest friends Al and Emma have both read this book. As in, this copy. As in, they spend maybe 10 hours per year in my mum's house and they still read it before I did. Al beat it to me by a good ten years, perhaps even closer to fifteen (although it can't be fifteen because I didn't meet him until 1998).

Two, I had the opportunity to meet Nelson Mandela, thanks to Al... and I turned it down because I didn't really want to race to the station and catch a train into town and THEN find wherever it was this youth conference was being held, on time, all on my own (bear in mind that this was in a time before Google Maps and iPhones) - I think it was Etihad Stadium, previously known as Docklands Stadium, the Telstra Dome and Colonial Stadium, depending on who sponsored it that week . As it turns out, I would have been grossly underdressed to meet a leader of such global significance (I was wearing more casual clothing than the girl in burgandy shirt below), plus, at the time I knew he was a pretty awesome dude but that was about it because at seventeen I just had NO clue what the fuss was about... so my scardey-bone winning out probably wasn't such a terrible thing. Imagine an awkward moment where Dr Mandela asks me a really deep question and I blink at him like a goldfish, and that is how it would have gone.

This is a picture from the Day I Could Have Met Nelson Mandela But Didn't. Al is the well-dressed young man in the centre, and the guy over his shoulder to the left is another friend I have long since lost contact with, but who my money is still on to make a mark on the world somehow. I think I was also his first kiss during a highschool game of spin the bottle! The lady to the left of him was my Year 7 tute teacher, as well as my humanities teacher, and she was an odd one. Normally she was lovely, but don't even consider crossing her because she could just turn on you and get reeeeeeally nasty. As in, her eyes would send daggers of ice into your heart. I wonder what became of her, and what she was actually like outside of the classroom...

Anyway, back to the book.

It certainly WAS a long walk to freedom! But not in the same way that you felt you suffered through every single step and every single day that Brad Pitt spent in his Seven Years in Tibet (mind you, I was fifteen when I saw it so I may get more value out of it now). No, this was an informative and enlightening journey; and, as I find happens when I read any sort of book that lays down the history of a region, I felt like I understand the world a little better. It really is true that to move forward you have to acknowledge- but not dwell on - what came before.

The only thing I will say against it is that it is the only true (auto)biography I have read (the closest I have come is Three Cups of Tea, which is a really interesting book about Dr Greg Mortimer's experience building schools where girls are welcome, in the Pakistani foothills of the Himalayas), and that so far I don't find (auto)biographies to really be my style. Obviously that's not the fault of the author - it's just a matter of preference on my part. Some, like Three Cups of Tea, are written as though they are a story and that makes it a more enjoyable read for me. It is probably testament to the fact that Three Cups of Tea was a story told by the Dr Greg to the author, who then documented his journey. Long Walk to Freedom, on the other hand, was actually written by Dr Mandela, with only fact-checking and re-writing of confiscated sections completed or co-written by others.

As a novel (which I had mistakenly thought it was) it is a little bit heavy on the detail, but it's not a novel at all (well done, Vanessa. Well done.) - it's a work of non-fiction; an historical document, if you will. It chronicles every single name of every single person involved in any vague way with the fight for freedom in South Africa, and on what dates they particpated in that fight. Because of that saturation of information I can only recall literally a handful of names used (note: I began writing this six weeks ago and have since forgotten all but two names). But because  it is an autobiography it therefore makes sense to document the minutae of Dr Mandela's (and the African National Congress') struggle for freedom and for non-racial democracy in South Africa.

It begins with his childhood on his father's "farm" in the country, and his gradual move to the city for education. He completes highschool and obtains a law degree, all whilst being a major player in the ANC - initially in its youth arm and then then later in the main body of the organisation. Later still, as the fight intensifies, he founds an armed arm (heh. Sorry about that) of the organisation in response to the white government's refusal to cease violence against blacks, coloureds and Indians. (That's something else I learnt - that the three groups were treated separately, and that there was a hierarchy amongst them in terms of how the white government viewed them.) The book also describes the lengthy trial against himself and other freedom fighters, and what follows is quite a large portion of the book taking place on Roben Island, where Mandela was incarcerated for the majority of his 27 years in prison.

I never really understood the significance of Mandela being freed, or the circumstances under which he was locked up, until I read this. I knew it was a great step forward for the world when he was released, but I didn't know why. Some would call him a trouble-maker, and there is no question at all that he was a law-breaker and a revolutionary, but only because he existed in a climate that made it all but impossible to live freely in a lawful fashion. Being criminalised was an obvious outcome of not being allowed some quite basic freedoms.

I would definitely recommend a read. It willl take you quite a while to get through, but it is compelling enough to help you cope with the length. At the very least it should help you appreciate some very basic freedoms that we take for granted.

Lastly, it also raised some interesting questions in my mind about accepting the status quo in today's age, at least in the Western world (watch out, my mind's about to wander off-topic!). The freedoms we fight for seem so very trivial when you consider the marginalisation or unfair laws that various ethnic groups suffer in different parts of the world - even when they represent the majority of the population. These people's heads would probably explode if they ever heard about the CFMEU's latest EBA, and that under that agreement you can be paid around $1100 per 36-hour week for driving a 12-tonne truck (which just requires the appropriate licence), and $750 per week living away from home alowance. Sure, our cost of living is greater, but surely it's not twenty to forty times greater than the majority of African nations. Our expectations, on the other hand, probably are twenty to forty times higher, and that's the stuff mainstream society fights for here (freedom to own a flatscreen TV! Freedom for every family to own two cars! Freedom to not be made to do your homework! Freedom to be handed money by the government for breeding (accidentally or otherwise), and then the freedom to complain about not being paid enough to not work while you bring the kid up! (heh. Sorry. Capitalist rant over. Although this is an interesting read - barstool economics)), not real, basic freedoms.

With the focus in the West so heavily on individual entitlement and freedom to do whatever one jolly well pleases with no consequence and no thought of others (precious little petals that we are), surely it's only a matter of time until life as we know it collapses into a smoking heap of rubble. The lack of genuine freedom has a similarly chaotic effect - Long Walk to Freedom demonstrated that very clearly - but after the point where basic, actual freedoms are fought for and (hopefully) obtained it becomes a philosphical argument. Why should some little punk with his underwear sticking out the top of his pants, in the space of half an hour, be free to graffitti public property, evade train fares and listen to his iPod so loudly that everyone within a 20m radius can hear it, too? And if his freedom encroaches on my freedom to be proud of where I live, not be visually assaulted by his underwear (or worse, his bum crack) and enjoy a reasonable level of serenity, then why can't I be free to drag him by the ear to the local cop shop? It's my country, too, and I'm not so keen for jerks like that to exist.

And on it goes.

I think that that we in the West should take a moment to think about which freedoms are important and which are not. Society became regulated for a reason, and even the most basic structures in society have some form of regulation. Even a hive of bees has rules and structure and process.

So what freedoms would you give up? And what does freedom mean to you? And how far would you go to fight for it?

PS - I turned 30 last week, and I think it really shows in this cranky old lady rant. I'm enjoying this 30 business!

Let There Be Cheese!

A few weeks back my BFF Emma and I headed for a goat cheese making course at Red Hill Cheese on the Mornington Peninsula. Cheese has long held a special place in my heart - from memories of my dad making us crispy toasted cheese sandwiches filled with sharp, melted cheddar for lunch on a winter's day, served with a Granny Smith apple; to our usual Cup Day lounge floor picnic, complete with every cheese under the sun, not to mention the cured meats; to visits to the highly-scented Preston Markets, where salamis of every shape and colour hung temptingly above wheels of cheese stacked 5' high. I. Love. Cheese.

In more recent times - specifically, following my move to Adelaide and subsequent sojourns about the amazing wineries there - I broadened my cheesy horizons a little with various trips about the Barossa, McLaren Vale and the Adelaide Hills. You see, pretty much all there is to do for a visitor in Adelaide is to visit wineries, and so that is what I would do when my Melbourne friends came to stay. And what better way to do that than with a wine trail pack, that provides you with a cooler full of cheese and a recommendation of which wine to try from what winery to match with each cheese in your pack. So every time I had a visitor I would take them for a cheesy, winey wander.

McLaren Vale's cheese-tastic self-tours begin at Blessed Cheese; The Barossa's begin at The Barossa Valley Cheese Co. in Angaston; and the hills' one begins at Udder Delights in Hahndorf. They vary a little in price, but for around $50 you will get 3-4 types of cheese with crackers and a little dried fruit, and that's enough to keep two people pretty well satisfied (although not over-stuffed) on a day of wine tasting. You'll be ready for dinner when you're done, but you will have no need to buy lunch, so it is decent value for money with a day's entertainment included.

So, back to my cheesemaking adventure!

Emma and I headed to Red Hill on a cold and rainy morning in late May. Starting at 10am, we spend around six hours doing the Purely Goat course, which walked us through making feta, farmhouse goat cheese, Greek-style yoghurt and ricotta. It showed us about sterilization, cultures, draining, salting and maturing.

This is Emma in her cheese-making gear. I thought she'd like the entire internet to see her kitted out in a dorky hair net. Hi, Em! :)

This is what feta looks like when you cut the curd. First you test for readiness by slicing the curd fairly shallowly then placing the knife under it and pushing upwards; if it is firm - almost like jelly - and the cheese continues to split on its own, it is ready. Then you cut the cheese like so, and, eventually, drain it.

To get the feta cheese to this stage, we had filled this container with goat milk, added some calcium and some renin (starter) and left it to do its thing at a certain temperature - it was all wrapped up in a styrofoam box and had towels over the box, too. Different starters give you different cheeses.

The cheese is then drained in baskets like this - known as a cheese hoop. This one is upside down because you basically flip it back and forth a few times over several hours to ensure it is properly drained.

This is what it looks like when it has drained. When the curd was first scooped into the cheese hoop it filled it almost to the top, but with draining and flipping it compacts itself. After this you brine it; I haven't yet tasted my brined feta yet but I'm quite looking forward to it!

The farmhouse cheese was a little simpler - we filled our individual containers with goat milk and renin, left it in an esky to stay warm and, after a certain period of time had elapsed, we strained it. Then flipped it. Then flipped it. Then flipped it. Then flipped it. Then salted it. Then ate it. It comes out a little like mozzarella in texture (or a little softer), but tasting like a weak chevre. I ate mine on rye crackers with tomato, salt and pepper. Yum :)

Lastly, we made yoghurt, which was milk + cultures. I found the yoghurt to be a bit of a pain in the backside because you have to keep it at a certain temperature for a sustained period of time. This means having an esky full of warm water, and a thermometer, and you have to keep that water between 40 and 45 degrees celcius for 3-8 hours. My yoghurt didn't seem especially keen to play the game, so after I gave up expecting it to turn out like a thick greek yoghurt, I tipped it into a colander lined with cheesecloth (= a couple of layers of clean Chux!) and let it do its own thing for a while. It worked wonders! Apparently you can also purchase commercial yoghurt making machines which would take a lot of the work out of the fermentation. The yield wasn't great given the amount of milk used, but I guess at least you know what's in it.

Mum said it tasted like goats or hay or something, but I thought it tasted just fine :) I added a grated apple, some sultanas and some cinnamon and ground cloves and made a super-yummy dessert out of it. Or breakfast - I was inspired by something similar I ate in Austria for breakfast. I did take a photo of it, but it turned out blurrry and really, it's just a sloppy mess of apple-y, sultana-y yoghurt!

Oh! And the ricotta was made using the whey from the feta plus a little warm milk, which had vinegar added and was kept at a certain temperature (I think it was up around 80deg celcius) for (I think!!!) about ten minutes and then strained. It turned out quite eggy, which I wasn't a big fan of, but apparently you can change the egginess by changing the ratio of ingredients. The vinegar-adding made sense, when I think about it, because it is a bit like when you make buttermilk by adding vinegar to milk - it forces the curds out.

If you liked home economics and you enjoyed science or maths at school you will most likely enjoy this course - it is a fusion of the two. It's basically "add X amount of product A to Y amount of product B and stir at Z degrees for C minutes". At first it seems a little daunting but once you realise you're just following a recipe a bit more carefully than you would in the kitchen, it's okay.

During lunch they gave us the opportunity to try several of their cheeses, and my favourites were as follows:

Point Nepean with Cumin - this one was a firm cheese with cumin mixed through it, which was a surprising (and delicious!) touch.

Bushranger Gold - I believe this one was a washed rind cheese, and I was surprised I enjoyed it because washed rind cheeses are often a bit stronger.

Arthurs Peak - this one was like a chevre with oregano on the outside. Yum.

Paradigm Log - this one was similar to Arthurs Peak, but was coated with vine ash.

The cheese courses book out fast so get in early. They also do camembert courses, amongst others. Em has done that one and said it was thoroughly enjoyable. And really, how can making cheese not be enjoyable?