We're On A Road To Mudgee #7

Day Two Part Two

In which tasty things come quaintly, with newspapers



With the digestive capacity of two well-cheesed machines, Charlotte and I somehow found room for lunch amid the quaintly quaint quaintness of Sajo’s Lounge Bar And Restaurant right in Mudgee’s middle. Our own middles expanding with almost alarming speed and enthusiasm, we took a grateful load off and admired our surroundings while pleasant people cooked our meals.


Sajo’s is warm, inviting and dark – like dark chocolate, if you warmed it up and got it to invite you somewhere. Coffee-coloured shelves on one wall, gorgeous oldey-timey apothecary drawers on the other, with stained glass and pressed metal to tie everything together, it’s an unmitigated spunk of a restaurant, with food and staff to match.

 Unbelievably friendly and stylishly aproned Shelly took us through our culinary paces, sloshing it all around with local Chardonnay and Semillon while our buttocks made appreciative dents in the comfy plush chairs. Sigh. If you’re not completely jealous about this road trip yet, you really should get in some envy now before there’s a queue.

Apparently there was some other, less delicious things happening in the world at the time.

Shelly, in one of the rare moments she wasn't topping up our wine glasses.

Let’s let the food do the talking.


We’ll look after the belching. Don't worry - we're professionals.

Grilled Barramundi with chargrilled kipfler potatoes, rocket & lemon aioli. I know, right?

Smoked salmon & asparagus linguini with roasted cherry tomatoes & basil and almond pesto. SHUT UP I DID SO.

Bloody well cheers, lady. And also burp.

Just like at your house, only way, way, way, way better.

Not pictured: the draw labelled 'Awesome'.

We're On A Road To Mudgee #6

Day Two Part One

In which tasty things are made from cheese, as tasty things so often are.

Right. Now that all that frivolous model stuff is over, let’s get back to the truly important, serious things in life. CHEESE.


Leaving Bathurst was difficult, but our sadness was mitigated by the insane beauty of the scenery on the way to Mudgee. This is classic country – corrugated iron sheds, the standard smattering of livestock (I still haven’t grown out of the habit of making animal noises every time I see one), winding roads, and long slow hills that force you to shout “Wheeeee!” during descent.


I started playing a game with road signs, which Charlotte either found highly amusing, or pretended to find highly amusing, knowing she still had three days in the car with me. “Careful”, I would say, spotting a sign with black and white stripes on it. “There are liquorice allsorts up ahead”.


Charlotte herself has a special skill that I’m sure many people don’t know about – that woman can spot roadkill from three kilometres away. We briefly marvelled at the fact that the local wildlife are courteous enough to take themselves off to the side of the road when they meet their early and unfortunate demise, but we were soon distracted by Amelie, our French GPS, who refused to give us any accurate directions once we hit the Mudgee outskirts. I can only guess that, being French, she’s just jealous of any place that makes spectacular wine.


Eventually we had to stop in at the Mudgee tourist information centre to ask for directions to the High Valley Wine & Cheese Co. – we just couldn’t bring ourselves to keep cheese waiting, and my navigation skills leave a lot to be desired. A single clue about navigating, for starters. Charlotte kept the motor running while I popped inside, and I was halfway through the sentence “We’re trying to find High Valley Cheese and Wine, but our stupid GPS...” when Ross, the unbelievably friendly man behind the counter, said “You must be Jo”. Goddamn, I love the country. The stunningly lush green grass is really just a red carpet wherever you go.


That noise you hear is angels singing.

Once we’d finally located the place that shall be henceforth known as Thank You Sir, May I Have Another, we were warmly greeted by owner and passionate cheese guy Grosvenor, who seemed to instantly develop a minor crush on Ms Dawson, as so many people who are alive do. He noted the deep love in our own eyes once we’d spotted the cheese cabinet, and became an instant enabler, offering us generous samples of Persian-style marinated feta, brie, Caerphilly (a farmhouse white mold cheese that has to be devoured to be believed), aged cheddar and a truly spectacular blue.


That noise you hear is angels salivating.

Grosvenor then offered us a tour of the cheese making plant, which was very attractive to us, and regulation white gumboots and hairnets, which, well, not so much.


That noise you hear is angels pointing and giggling.

We were shown shiny vats, friendly cheesemakers, cool vaults where delectable discs matured and teased with their sexy lactose wiles, and the table at which we would be served our first wine of the day and a complimentary cheese platter. If I’m ever on death row and have to decide what my last meal would be, this exact same deal would make up courses one through eight.


Too cool for drool. Almost.

While we sipped and supped, Grosvenor told us a bit about Mudgee and the unofficial policy amongst locals to keep the town as it is – with locals producing incredible food and wine and resisting any kind of influx of big business or touristy cheapisms, and it was easy to see why this is so important. Mudgee feels like a properly-established regional settlement without being besmirched by logos, corner-cutting or gaudy materialism, and as a result everywhere seems friendly, relaxed and delicious. Oh. So delicious. We souvenired ourselves some jars and bottles of delicious from the well-stocked shop on our way out.


Finally, a tip – if you like life hilarious and a little bit mean, don’t tell your travelling companion that she’s forgotten to remove her hairnet until you’ve walked through a busy room, across a carpark, and driven well across town.

Unless, of course, you want to be called a mole.

We're On A Road To Mudgee #5

Day One Part Four



In which tasty things keep arriving every few minutes.

The first thing I need to say about Bishop’s Court is that you should drop everything (unless you’re holding a child, in which case you should place it down gently and call a babysitter) and go stay there. As the name suggests to anyone with a basic command of English, it’s the former residence and chapel of churchy folk, and hence has history, grandeur and stateliness oozing from every blessed brick.


The People Under The Steeple
Our hosts David and Christine are two of the warmest, most relaxed and wonderful collections of cells you’ll ever come across, with the added skill of being uncannily able to guess whose bags belong to whom. That may not sound like much, but I’m sure Charlotte was pleased to find that all the glamorous accessories and top-shelf skin and hair products had been delivered to her room, whilst all the cotton-polyester blends and sarcasm had been deftly placed in mine. We also met Amy, whose handy collection of skills include website design and concocting delicious foody morsels, and Louie the photographer guy, who was there to take some photos for the Bishop’s Court website and generally be a top bloke. We were told that Liz and Tony from Vale Creek wines would also be joining us for dinner, and matching wines to each course. Hint: this kind of information is excellent.


And On The Fifth Day, God Created Special.

Every flat surface in Bishop’s Court, whether horizontal or vertical, is covered with curios, art, knick-knacks, candles and reading material, yet the whole place retains an air of calm relaxation, with a bit of something-awesome-is-about-to-happen mixed in. And, it’s fair to say, something awesome always did.

Our bedrooms, Charlotte’s with an ensuite and mine with an incredible private bathroom just down the hall (“I’ll just turn your heated towel rack on”, says Christine. “My head just exploded”, responds Jo), were each decorated in the same this-is-what-they-mean-when-they-say-relaxed-luxury manner. A stunning building-length balcony roughly the size of my house reached between the two rooms, which is a lovely place to have a post-dinner wine, if you’re so inclined. Charlotte and I were so inclined we could have been a tower in Pisa.

Downstairs, exactly where you’d expect to find a welcoming crackling fireplace and a gin and tonic, you’ll never, ever guess what we found. No, go on. Guess.
Wow. You’re smart.

We also found two Burmese cats called Chocolat and Latte. Bet you didn’t guess that. That’s one thing we’re learning in the country – people name their pets after drinks.

The taste and attention to detail (and also the cats) follows through to the massive garden, where candles, statuettes and sunshine calmly compete for attention. Bishop’s Court hosts corporate events and weddings out in the garden, and may also expect to host my arse on one of their garden benches for the rest of time, if they’ll have me.

Cookery In The Rookery
Okay, so I don’t know what a rookery is, but I think it’s churchy and it rhymes, so it’ll do. Make no mistake – if it was possible to steal a kitchen, I’d be in jail right now.

Charlotte and I doubled over with kitchen envy (which is totally a medical condition – look it up) as soon as we walked in. To call it a commercial kitchen would be to deny the space its homey warmth and chicly designed edge. To just call it a home kitchen would be like calling Madame Tussaud a candle-maker. We also doubled over with foody lust (which is probably also a medical condition, and I have a chronic case) when we heard what was in store for us. Christine explained that she and Amy were cooking an Asian-themed degustation menu just for us. There has been no finer sentence uttered in the history of time. Also, if you ever want to pop on a chef’s jacket and pretend you’re making a soufflé out of whiskey and air, this is totally the place to do it.

Dinners For Sinners.

The absolute hands-down winner of my-jaw-hit-the-floor feature of Bishops Court is the converted-chapel dining room, complete with preacher’s pulpit (where Charlotte took it upon herself to give a brief gastronomic sermon), organ (Pfffft! I said ‘organ’), and approximately forty-five thousand candles, which roughly equals one candle for every wine glass.

Once we were seated, an astounding array of magnificent food and wine was stylishly plonked in front of us. I think I’ll let the dishes speak for themselves, because lord knows my mouth is full.

Peking Duck pancakes with hoisin reduction

Sugar cane prawn with dipping sauce

Betel leaf prawn with mirin dressing, coconut and peanut

Gyoza with ponzu sauce

Tom Kha Goong soup

Prawns with snow peas, scallops with garlic beans and (not pictured, but certainly digested) barbecue pork.

Of course, on Sunday morning, we just had a casual breakfast of local coffee, muesli with stewed fruits, and local bacon with pesto tomatoes, spinach and poached eggs. Expanding waistlines never, ever had it so good.

 

She really is a morning person.

We couldn’t possibly have had a more incredible time at Bishop’s court, and the sterling people there didn’t seem relieved or exhausted at all once we’d left.

Y'know. Much.

We're On A Road To Mudgee #4

Day One, Part Three: In which tasty things come in tiny, tiny glasses



After settling into our digs at Bishop’s Court in Bathurst (which I’ll unreservedly gush about later), the willing and amicable co-owner David and his compadre/photographer/good egg Louie drove us to Stone Pine Distillery, clearly because the road trip theme of fermented and/or distilled intoxicants is a strong and relentless one.*

Stone Pine was the first of many buildings we encountered on our trip that made use of local wood, corrugated iron, whimsy and chickens to really let us know we’re in the country – in other words, it’s rustic and charming as all get-out.

From the die-cut metal sign to the found-iron dragon sculpture, we were almost distracted from our primary goal – to taste some boutique hooch. Now, anyone who’s ever met me or read any five words I’ve strung together knows that my two primary loves in life (along with food, music, Wookiees, disdain and man-parts) are beer and gin. So when David told me that Stone Pine make their own gin infused with native citrus and botanicals, Charlotte and I almost got some exercise sprinting towards the cellar door.

Inside, we met Ian the Scot, owner and maker of pure angel’s tears. Now, I just want to check – at any stage today did you have an adorable man with a Scottish accent constantly offering to refresh your glass with all manner of delicious potent nectars? No? I guess Charlotte and I won that round, huh.

After settling in at the rough-hewn, local-wood bar, the tasting began. I must say, if I were allowed to invent tourism awards (and hell, this is my blog, so let’s just say I am), this place would win a bucket-load, primarily 2010 Bar That Most Makes You Want To Slide Shots Along It Just Like In The Movies. In order, we tasted:


1. Wild Lime Vodka. Ian the Scot has a thing for limes. Charlotte asked him if that was why he was wearing a green jumper. Neither of us can remember his answer.


2. Gin made with juniper berries (duh), lemon myrtle, ironbark, river mint, finger lime and wattle seed. This is amazing. I’m fairly hardcore with my gin, with my penchant for extremely dirty martinis and whatnot, but I think even shot-shy folk could enjoy this straight. Half citrusy, half botanical, there’s a sophisticated late-summer cocktail party in my mouth and everyone’s invited.


3. Wild Limecello. Mild. Tangy. Refreshing. Ian the Scot is a total lime-ophile.


4. Bramble Liqueur. A blackberry liqueur that stops the right side of sweet just long enough to settle into the armchair of awesome.

5. Grappa, made with product from Vale Creek wines, the owners of which we were to meet later at dinner. Grappa is for champions of alcohol only.**

On a side note, I’ve always wanted to ask Charlotte Dawson to give me some catwalk tips. On our way back to the car, I can only assume that her advice would have been “Stop walking in a zig-zag and saying ‘woo!’”. That girl really knows her stuff.


On an even sidier note, I have a message for any bartender worth their cocktail onions – get some Stone Pine into your cocktails, quick-sticks. And also save me a seat at the bar.

*And we have absolutely no problem with that.


** Yeah. I mean me.

We're On A Road To Mudgee #3

In which tasty things come on sunshiny plates



Sometimes in life, it just needs to be all about food.

Oh, you know I’m kidding.

IT’S ALL ABOUT FOOD, ALL OF THE TIME.


And wine, a little bit.


Seriously – we’re barely halfway through the first day of our trip, and it’s like local produce is jumping out of the ground, sprinting towards us, and plonking itself on our plates.

As such, for our meals on this trip, I figure I’ll let restaurant decor and dishes speak for themselves. Because it’s not always about Charlotte and me.


Oh, you know I’m kidding.


IT’S ALL ABOUT US, ALL OF THE TIME, CONCURRENTLY WITH THE ALL-ABOUT-FOOD THING.


Cobblestone Lane in Bathurst is a gorgeously understated spunk of a restaurant – warm wood, pale walls, a welcoming soft clamour and obediently slanted sunshine flooding through the windows. Our waitress was so efficient and unobtrusive that we forgot to ask her name, so Thingy-Whatsit? Thanks for everything.

If you can't read it properly, it just says 'awesome, awesome, awesome'.

Nothing makes a lady happier than that first glass of wine.

Apparently they serve water as well as wine. Who knew?

Staff here are awesome, especially when back-lit.

Tomato & Basil Bruschetta

Smoked Rainbow Trout Chowder (Dawson won the entree round with this one)

Grain fed beef fillet, potato galette & shallot jus

Vincisgrassi (I learned a new word!) - Mushroom & grana padano lasagna with tomato & basil coulis

Banana & toffee pudding with chai caramel. Wipe your chin.

Citrus tart with vanilla cream.

Thanks, Thingy-Whatsit! You were tops.

I do hope nobody's upset if we come back five kilos heavier. Because that's totally going to happen.