I was recently asked to present an eight course degustation paired with wines at Clairault Winery, Margaret River. This quintessential Margaret River winery was host to 70 diners on a perfect autumn day. The only thing missing here is the sultry sound of jazz by Michelle Spriggs and Kevin McDonald.

To keep all our belts from prolapsing, I’ve presented the degustation in segments. Enjoy part one.

[Play music]

Noodle soups are the 100 metre sprint of dining. And if a one bowl wonder is the fastest race on earth then degustations are the marathons of culinary arts.

To be at the receiving end of an eight-course procession at Clariault winery by Jone of those “watch-this-space” chefs Jake Drachenberg, is an instructive experience. Firstly, Jake insists on sourcing locally. So much so, the kitchen staff multitask as green thumbs to Clairault’s vege patch.

Clairault’s Local Degustation teed off with “Little flavours from all over” (unpictured). Sauvignon Blanc 2010 with its attentive lime-zest timbre, quelled the spicyness of the chilli-pineapple seared scallop. It was succulent and thick in the maritime juice it exudes when cauterised on a hotplate. This was part of a canapé procession: shortcrust leek tarts, beef and caramelised onion and venison rounds.

The first entrée, another quattro of flavours: salmon, occy, cuttlefish and mussel came plated in a mild acidic jus – two nipples of homemade mustard a nod to the wasabi–sashimi tradition. Each of the creatures, wickedly different in their nature, had the saltwater tang the ocean imprints. The SSB 2010 became Poseidon’s trident, commanding the dish together. Vegetal citrus SB and the steely cool edge of Sem is an easy win with seafood.

Most playfully experimental and borderline Tim Burton of the courses: Orange Brioche, chardonnay jelly with beetroot and curd. The starchy butteryness, with orange zest played off the lactic goat curd with ease. Chive flowers that exploded in alliaceous tingle, while the beetroot – sweet and earthbound – gave the dish bassey brown tones. The cube of wine jelly – the umbilical cord – a mild genuflect to the racy Estate Chardonnay 2009 of which it was paired.

The course of whiting, zaalouk (eggplant), labne (hung yoghurt) with sliced fennel and cardamom was the older sister to the entree. Yes, it was another easy win. But to have whiting so unapologetically fried with nothing but salt, on a bed of cardamom infused eggplant? Here there was dynamism, confidence and a gesture to Middle East, and with the Estate Chardonnay 2006 unfurling in the glass beside, stole the show.

[Jazz music fades]

It’s cosy, francophillic, and focuses on the company of others to entertain you. No LCD monitors playing the latest SKY broadcast here, just plain, unabandoned human interaction. The place could have been surgically removed from a Parisian corner if not for the lustrous Jarrah tables and floors which shine like spilt Burgundy.

On the other hand, I can see why some people wouldn’t like it. It has no coffee, only a handful of beers and even less Scotch (and you can forget the other spirits). And the approach to food is as canny as the reason for the choice of only just 7 wines by the glass. Keep it simple.

There is a very good reason why small bars work. Well, to begin with they’re, um, small. Size of a bar weeds out rambunctious behaviour for the same reason why we, as humans, go inexplicably silent when riding a lift full of strangers. The staff at a small bar provide efficient service because the ratio of staff to patron is higher. You get to know the staff and the exchange is mutual. It’s the same reason why you’d want to be on first-name basis with your butcher, baker or candlestick maker. Whisper’s reception is warm, casual and intellectual. It’s geared more like ‘that corner bar’ feel that you’d pay several thousand dollars on travel to experience in France.

The menu is astonishingly simple. Fresh baguette and duck pate. Marinated octopus and goats cheese. These are bold flavours that have several wine-match options. There is something provincially satisfying when you have a chalky dry white back-to-back with a liver pate and watch the street turn sepia in the sun. People travel farther to France, pay more, for less.

Whisper Wine Bar has a saucy little cellar of wines spanning very reasonably priced Australians through to cherry-picked Frenchies. You can find that eclectic trove up stairs in a glass vault, although it’s only marginally more seducing than the romantic balcony that overflows with views of Essex St.

I’d wish to see a rambling cobbled Parisian back alleyway, but you can’t have your crêpe and eat it too.

I’m a sucker for a good wine list.

It can tell a great deal about the experience and confidence the propriters have, their worldly awareness of all things vinous, and the degree of playfullness their clients have with the dollar bill.

At Lamont’s Cottesloe the carte du vin is as extensive as any cerebral bottle-shop — for it is a restaurant spliced with a fine wine store.

Set in a row of shops on Cottesloe’s Station Street, this Lamont’s is the forth incarnation by owner-chef, Kate Lamont. The vision of an enoteca, of serving wine by the glass, light meals to something substantial with an open option for cafe, came into fruition in 2008. Yes it’s a small bar, yes it’s a restaurant, and yes, it’s a winestore. The place is packed on the later days of the week with most of the movers-and-shakers of Perth.

Diners sit alongside the kitchen which stretches the length of the store — as do the wine racks — giving an involved atmosphere to the food. The dramatic face of the kitchen, with it’s many moods of the night, and gastronomic miracles woven, are for all for the viewing. You can sit behind a wall of Comte Georges de Vogue Chambolle–Musigeny and dream of drinking every bottle. This restaurant marries sense-of-place well.

Rolling with the seasons, the menu follows the cycle of years in thigh-cast ripples. It’s modern Australian in style, with no holding back on calories. Winter had the standout dishes of duck arancini and venison chorizo. Oh, and the memory of the pork rillette — my liver just got hard thinking about it. They’re full-flavoured, provincal-esque, and laconically satisfying.

The dining experience overall — each time I’ve been there — has been great.

It’s what you’d expect from the restaurant in Cottesloe and surrounds. And it’s what you’d expect to pay.

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.

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”

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.

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.