Tannic Teeth

The thought struck me the other day while walking through Subiaco, how things are falling into place. Initially they started off slowly, like the trajectory of the sun in summer, but we do get there in the end. I also thought, it’s often the people who hold the doors open for us, or show us the way, that we get to where we are wanting to. I wanted to add this category of “People who inspire me”, to acknowledge people in my life who have been influential. Thank You.

Larry Cherubino

There are few people in possession of a palate as acute, or a business mind as savvy. Combine the two, and it’s no surprise that Larry has won the coveted title of James Halliday’s ‘Winery of the Year 2011′. In a parallel of wine tasting worlds, Matt Skinner also named him ‘Producer of the Year’ in his annual 2011 wine guide. Larry has travelled the world making wines in USA, France, Italy and New Zealand, and knows what works to the enth degree.

I had the opportunity of interviewing Larry for SPICE magazine back in Winter 2008. We talked, ‘why he chose to settle in Frankland River’, the upcoming grape varieties, and the environmental future of Great Southern Region. Every answer was impressive, showing a tender thought process involved. Larry gave me the opportunity to work alongside him, helping out in communications. Doors have opened to other places.

Larry’s perceptive intensity shows in his work. His wine range Ad Hoc, The Yard and Cherubino all respectively over-deliver on price, are smartly dressed packages, and have a single vineyard focus. The latter is an important issue to ensure Australia’s export and domestic market doesn’t suffer from becoming an amorphous vinous multi-regional punch.

He’s leading the way with a new philosophy for the way things are done in the vineyard and winery.

And it looks to be a raging success.

There are few restaurants you can go to along the coast on a swelly Sunday morning in winter and get a decent fast-breaker.

The cafes and restaurants along West Coast Drive in the Northern Suburbs have priceless vistas that curve along the blue horizon.

It is often just the view as a lure, to enjoy a Sunday brunch, that most people frequent these establishments.
Usually the desultory staff (who would otherwise be off chasing a few sets in the surf) are there to greet you, take your order, and deliver your equally desultory food. They would then stare nonchalantly as you let them know your coffee was burnt, and the eggs were still runny. Sound familiar? Perhaps because you have not been to Voyage.

Voyage Kitchen and Delicatessen is one of the best places to eat along West Coast Drive.

It’s next to a conspicuous petrol station of the recently misadventured BP, and you have to look around the back parking lot for a vacancy on any given Sunday. It’s a place that I’ve driven past many times, not even considering to dine there.

The cafe is set into a building complex, so ample natural light can penetrate into the darker interior. There are many tables and chairs — a hotchpotch — long benches, large tables and smaller dining ensembles. The space appears concise and vibrant when it’s packed to the rafters. By all appearances, it’s the quintessential beach-side eatery. The thing that demarcates it from the rest of the dining wannabes  however, is the precision of how it’s managed. We arrived late on a Sunday morning (regretfully didn’t book), but we were promptly tended to, seated on a large share table (with the prospect of snapping up another table when it became free). The staff were bright and attentive, asking if everyone was ready to order, and suggested a coffee to start.

The rest of the scenario panned out like this:

1) we saw a table was free within 5 min of being seated anyway and asked our wait staff.
2) 5 min later we were seated at the said table (wiped), also with an ice bucket and champagne glasses we also had requested (for the Cava we brought), and the coffees delivered.
3) within a comfortable 10 min we had ordered our meals.

A hiccup of the morning, one of us ordered Eggs Benedict ‘well done’. They arrived runny. We sent it back with no fuss from the waiter, and new one arrived soon after.

All things considered, these guys were under the pump. They would have turned the tables over at least twice that busy sunday, so I suppose my point here is to show, a job well done.

I’m not going to write about the food (as a quick search on urbanspoon will confirm how good it is). Best casual brekky thus far. Quality ingredients go a long way.

The Cava also went down a treat, and topped off a boozy Sunday brunch.

Segura Viudas Reserva Heredad [Pedenès, Spain]

Light, floral, citrus with a fine chalk-like structure. Not overtly complex, but some lusciousness of autolysis character just popping though, more evident as the wine warmed up from 10c. The crunchy acidic core compliments most of what is going on over the nose, it’s a style of Cava made according to méthode champenoise, that is approachable from many angles — visually for starters.

Perhaps it’s remiss to mention it here, but the first thing I notice about Zekka — aside from the modern rusted laser-cut signage; aside from the hand-illustrated shop-long mural, and aside from the snazzy fashion on display — is a penisless cardboard mannequin 1.5 times the size of a normal humanoid.

He They It stands at the entrance, gawking out of the cafe to King St beyond.

Zekka is an edgy, fringe, avant-garde fashion outlet that houses some serious brands I’ve never even heard of.

I haven’t shopped there myself (perhaps sometime in the future), but I do come for the coffee.

The cafe occupies a similar space as the fashion outlet, however it is less edgy and more minimal and a helluva lot more functional.

Zekkacafe is found at the rear of the store which opens up high into the urban environment, the lighting is reflected by the buttresses of buildings. Its an airy column of brick and mortar– good for soaking up the thermal mass of summer, but more like a conduit for breeze in winter.

As you would expect, the cafe does all its own cakes and glass cabinet goodies, light lunches and the like — nothing too serious.

The (coffee) prices are what you would expect in Perth ($3–4), and the quality is worth going back for.

They use Crema (thanks everyone for letting me know!) and Avon Valley Milk.

This time of the year, because of the greener pastures, the milk is sweet.

Don’t believe me?

Order a milk-based coffee without sugar and you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

I’d recommend this place if you’re after a little get-away from burning up the CC on King St or having your office cubicle close further around you. Respite time? It’s perfect.

The space is quite unusual and the coffee is tops — a spirited rival to Tiger Tiger for the best cup in town.

My 2 cents? They don’t have a small bar license. Pity.

(08) 9481 1772
Perth City
74 King St
Perth, 6000

Now I’m not a fan of commercial TV.

Adverts on the box always treat you like you’re some cash-fisted supreme moron.
In fact we don’t even have a TV. Not that we’re book-loving, net-surfing troglodytes anymore than we are sun-loving, real surfing,  socialites.

Like promise of dusting the bike off and riding a lung-bursting 100km, or getting oil paint so forced into your dermal layers you may as well be embalmed for the afterlife, life is an amazing place — to explore. With all that said, I have a confession to make.

I am a Master Chef fetishist.

No, not in that way.

I don’t ogle at the contestants nor any of the judges. Believe me, the sight of an overweight cravat-strangled crusty englishman, expressive as an anaesthetised bloodhound, is not my idea of romantic delirium. However, the dishes are.

I blame it on dinner at my old folks. They have the telly on Sunday night, eating dinner that was inspired from the week before. We’re there and we tune in. Food is central to any family. To see my mother’s cooking style change over time to something that is more experimental and edgy, is humbling. Every kitchen utensil has been replaced with tender detail to the functional and effective. The influence of good food has penetrated thanks to MasterChef.

Along with MasterChef comes events that expose people to good food. For a while now the Good Food and Wine Show have been running annual show-stage for everyone in the state.

So it’s no surprise this event will bring together en masse . The Good Food and Wine Show at Perth Convention Exhibition Centre will showcase gourmet creations like a shiny cabinet of curiosities.

From 2nd–4th July 2010 show up to wallow your way though the flavours of your dreams. And you won’t need to skip the adds.

Prices

Adults $30

Child (6-16) $22

Concession/Groups (10+) $24

Wine Lovers Ticket $75

Skirting around the faux pas food–wine matching, Shiraz and Asian is an unlikely combination. But it’s a folly well played.

I know food and wine matching goose-steppers would resound crisp Riesling or Sem Savvy Blancs with Asian food, so it was with stubborn denial that I ventured with a friend to Hawker’s Cuisine with a McLaren Vale Shiraz in tow. The aim was to see what dishes this rickety bee-hive of a restaurant had to offer.

Upon first impressions, this restaurant looks like any grime encrusted eatery in China Town. If the jittery queue of people trying to get in is anything to go by, they would sure be blind to this fact. We were assured our table would be ready in 10–15 minutes. No biggie. I wouldn’t have expected a place bursting at the seams to accommodate anyone as a table walk-in.

After having a stroll around Northbridge to kill some time, we entered Hawker’s Cuisine again, bumbled around inside for a few more minutes, then sat at a table. I would imagine everyone goes through this triage in order to dine. Our waitperson scurries off with an order. Wine time.

While at Steves earlier on that day, I had bumped into a young winemaker, Tom Stransky. A graduate from UWA’s Viticulture and Oenology, his curious intensity lead him around the world in 13 vintages to almost every wine producing region bar Spain.
He has delicately made small-batch wines from McLaren Vale fruit, and had them emblematically labelled. The Mo’ Shiraz it’s called. Profoundly, it has a Mo’ on it.

Tom was to save the only spare bottle he had that day (the gold mo’s are apparently for family) to give to his uncle, but he graciously gave it for tasting. [Tasting note at the end]

We ordered Spicy Squid Tentacles (they apologised and brought out sliced squid tubes instead), Beef Rendang and Tofu Veggie Claypot. Aside from the squid being a little too oily with a thin batter, the flavour of intensity were commanding. The Rendang espically married the wine, a soft sweet fruit immixed with the star ainse based beef. The tofu came out on a little tea-light burner to keep it hot, was as expected in quality and mass.

This is a place for a no frills midweek meal. The service is edgy but effective.

Like most people dining outside, we disregarded the cockroach crawling up the wall in favour of a steaming bowl of Asian love. Really hits the spot.

Thumbs up for Hawker’s.

The Mo’ Shiraz 2008 (Mt Compass, McLaren Vale, Clarendon)
If supple could be used as a descriptor in wine, this red is a Russian contortionist. It has a chunky fruit-jube character on the nose, it’s a ripe temptress. Slurped with gusto over the tongue, The Mo’ is lighter than expected in tannin profile. This gives two impressions. One a bendy, flexible nature to it — a fleshy skinned plum cheek. The other, it’s not as tapering or elongatedly thread-like. It ends solidly with ample fruit weight. 17.1

Tapas is today what “sun-dried tomato and basil” was in the 1990s.

You can’t dine at any small bar without hearing the words tapas, tapasy, share-plates and the likes.

In many ways it’s a welcome change to the usual stiff formality of  Anglo-Gallic cuisine that calls for the traditional entree, main, dessert.

We live in an age where we like to have more options. And let’s face it, we all know the questioning eyebrow we flick when we see a fellow diner order something better only to look down at our lack-lustre plate-of-boring.

I guess, it was only a matter of time before people wanted small meals that actually filled your belly like a bigger one. Diners needed options, and the Spanish had it for ages. The benefits are — for those who like to try all flavours under the sun — an endless procession of flavour.

Tapas etymologically is derived from the Spanish word tapar “to cover”. One of many tales of tapas-genesis are the Andalusian sherry drinkers who wanted to keep away hovering fruit fly. Committed not to have a fly in the ointment, they covered their glasses with a slice of bread. Bits of cured meats — salivatingly salty — served along side the bread, gave sherry drinkers a reason to stay on. To abate a salty tongue with more alcohol, restauranteurs loved the idea. Ta-dah, tapas!

True tapas is a mix of seafoods, slow-cooked  and cured meats, cheese of every description, and seasonal veggies. Convergent evolution has it’s benefits — Asia came up with Yum Cha.

Erring closer to contemporary tapas than something that would be found on an Andalusian street corner, we sizzled a few chorizo, dry battered fingers of haloumi and crunched it down with Onion and Thyme marmalade on the now ubiquitous turkish bread. To provide the redeeming flash of cleansing acidity, Larry Cherubino’s — The Yard ‘Channeybearup’ Pemberton Sauvignon Blanc 2009 was all that was needed.

[Insert here: a dew-fresh night, a temperamental gas heater, laughter-lines and smile-creases of full bellies in good company.]

Tasting for Cherubino The Yard ‘Channeybearup’ Pemberton Sauvignon Blanc 2009

“Valiantly standing in the face of the trans-Tasman Sauvignon Blanc tsunami, The Yard gives Australia (and Pemberton) something to ripple back to NZ. It’s pristine and highly varietal on the nose, polished gem-like in appearance holds nothing back on the palate. Gooseberry, nettle, some white peach as well. With texture that you just want to nibble at, piece-meal at a time, for the flavours burrow down into your tongue like a little lemon-lime driven auger. Impeccably balanced with a keen eye set on longevity, akin to a white Bordeaux. It takes guts to make SB in a market full of cheap imports — then to do it so well against the tide. 18.5 pts”

Testament to the age of this wine, it’s curiously named Rhine Riesling.

Back in the good old days when European countries weren’t yet up in arms over wine appellation, you could name your wine in honour of the region of the grape’s birthplace. Burgundy, Chablis, Champagne. In many regards, Australians today have abandoned the ‘Burgundies and the Chablis’ but are still grappling with the term Champagne. I hear it thrown about on a regular basis when the term Sparkling wine is meant. “I am after Bella Champagne” — “No, you are after Bella Sparkling.”

Unlike Champagne, the term Rhine Riesling has too gone the way of the dodo.

On that note, wines made in the era of lose appellation often surface now and again. 1986 turned out to be pivotal for Leeuwin, the Rhine Riesling soon to become the ‘Arts series’.

Deep yellow in colour like when you have too many B vitamins, it has all the toffee notes from afar, that flitter from butterscotch to lemon whizz-fizz. The palate has softened, bringing with it what it could drag from the nose. Toasty complexity meets limey zing. A totally coherent little bento-box of surprises. The acidity (still fresh) is enough to bestow the title of Methuselah. If only it had been on screwcap it could live for another two decades. Once in a lifetime wine.

Now 1986 is almost quarter of a century of life in the bottle. And who does the best value-for-money age-worthy Rieslings in Australia?

Great Southern.

Producers like, Castelli, Castle Rock, 3 Drops, Oranje Tractor, Frankland River Estate. They all do fantastic wines.

If you can track down a good Riesling and squirrel it away for 25 years, you’ll be surprised with what you’ll find.

It may just be a taste hangover from the previous rabbit post, but again I’m in the game, for game. And good wine.

Aside from the standard European table-fare of game (rabbit, boar, pheasant, grouse, etc), we decided to have a crack at Kangaroo, Emu and Possum.

Yes, I know eating all of our national coat of arms would probably make the rest of the world recoil in horror, but I must tell you, when paired with good wine, it’s a  combination worthy of the deserved political atrocity.

Kangaroo is now a common meat available at most retail supermarkets, but keep hush-hush about it. I’d like to see it at $13.67 per kg for a long time still.

Emu is less common. With a dark meat, and similar pH, texture and taste to beef, you’d be hard pressed to convince a Beefeater it was a giant bird from Australia.

Last was Possom. Confit(ted), it tasted like duck with a slight ripple of porkyness. The texture was akin to chicken thigh that had a run-in with a forceful kitchen-hand. New Zealand has an issue with possums; they should eat them crumbed with sweet chilli. “Sweet Chilli Possum Wrap at KFP” — Perhaps it’ll take a while for the market to warm.

The wine that we decided to pick-a-part on the night was Forest Hill Vineyard “Boobook” Shiraz Viognier 2007 [Great Southern]

From first inspection it’s easy to tell there is much going on below the surface. Good splatterings of ripe berries and decorous oak which swayed between vanillian and cedar. On the tannin-front the wine presents a powdery texture, as if you copped it in the mouth in a baby-parlour. Purposefully  balanced, with Viognier’s heart sent on complimenting Shiraz and not providing too much to dwell on; Florally lifted, tumultuous fruit. As easy going as you’d expect from  Great Southern for the price. 17.6 points

Spend Summer with the Locals. Flora and Fauna.

So you’re fresh from your Christmas holidays with the crisp white pages of 2010 to unfold. Your desk is eerily vacant and suspended in time from the last joyous hours of 2009. You’re back into the daily grind till the cooling days of Autumn brings Easter (with more festivities). You also know what’ll help you along the days is coffee. Bitter, sweet, luscious and hot. And if you’re lucky enough to work in West Perth and be in need of the bean, there may be a little (coffee) house right up your alley (literally).

Pony Express O is a coffee house in reverse. Like me, you could be forgiven to think you’ve come through the rear, or heaven forbid, behind the bar. But you’d be wrong. If you’re trying to be smart and go on the other side of the bar, you’ll be faced with another expresso machine. Clearly the function of this coffee house is bring you to the steamy face of coffee. You get to see the extraction as clearly as the barista. This used to be the Ashton Stables, the building is now heritage listed. The space has been transformed. Art hangs from the walls, high airy ceilings upon to a faux-grassed lane-way under umbrellas. The only equine link is the rib-nudging name, Pony Express O. Get it. Hah Hah.

The brain-child of Garret of Blink in South Fremantle,  it carries some of those elements. Smart use of space, clear access to expresso machines, a funky coin payment system and above all else, fine coffee. Crema is his choice of bean. Get to know it. It’s the new Fiori. His attitude is casual, inquisitive and friendly. It’s a communal joint, where you’ll see regulars popping in, picking up conversations where they left off, and others lounging about reading books and eating their lunches. There is a bring-your-own-lunch policy here. Pony Express O plays its cards well, limited sweet pickings in favour of BYO. Bring your books too or read the paper, and use the foot massager. Yes that’s right. A foot massager.

Pony Express O

21 Mayfair Street West Perth

OK.

So I may be a little obsessed with wine from Great Southern as of late.

But I can assure you there is reason for this unhealthy obsession. First it was the 2001 Gladstones.

Unfortunately I was remiss in brining my camera to the tasting, thus no review.

But I can say, if you have it sitting down somewhere, drink it now. The leather tones are only going to increase.

Speaking of leather, the Pinot offering by Castle Rock Estate is something worthy of a fatty chew.

As with most Pinots, it’s the colour of an anaemic Cabernet. On the nose it’s mixed-tape of rhubarb, strawberry and a certain barnyardiness that gives all Pinots their allure.

Over the tongue, it’s got a deep sinewy feel. Something not unlike a fatty cheddar. But I’ll leave it at that. It’s racy with electric acidity but held into check with a good expressive fruit weight.

Well worth a try.

Go Great Southern*.

*if this was facebook, I’d like this.