The Sun-Herald

Sunday, July 26, 2009

The single life

This week, I've been obsessed with singles and their secrets. But for once, I'm not talking about humans. Instead, think grape and grain.

I found myself at two singles events which didn't feature speed dating, reprehensible chat-up lines or dodgy games played with padlocks and keys.

The first was a showcase of single vineyard wines from Wynns Coonawara Estate, conducted over a four course meal at Beppi's in East Sydney. I like to learn while I drink and I was able to soak up the combined knowledge of Wynns senior winemaker Sue Hodder and regional vineyard manager Allen Jenkins as they talked us through a tasting of their single vineyard reds made in Coonawarra, the highly sought-after slice of land 400 km south of Adelaide.

I learned about its "freakish natural phenomenon" of the terra rossa ('red earth'), a low, cigar-shaped ridge of soil around 15km long and 1 km wide, ideal for producing low-yielding, intensely flavoured grapes perfect for premium wine making. Terra rossa vineyards are the most expensive in Australia, selling for around $100,000 a hectare. They produce spectacular Cabernet Sauvignons.

Each wine was accompanied by a vivid description of the little patch of land that bore it, and an explanation of how the unique soil structure of the vineyards forms the eventual character of the wine. It's exciting to see the concept of terroir, so long an integral part of French winemaking, take on more importance in Australia. We have an extraordinary diversity of quality winemaking soil, and the expertise - viticulturists, winemakers - to extract the best drops from it. As Sue Hodder says, "we just need to tell the world."

I particularly enjoyed the Harold Vintage 2001, a big, opulent Cabernet made from 38-year-old vines planted on nine hectares of the superstar terra rossa soil.

As in every successful singles event, there was expert matchmaking. This menu of Beppi's signature traditional, rustic Italian fare complemented the reds perfectly.

After lunch I went for a snoop in Beppi's backrooms and found myself in a series of treasure chambers; dim-lit, bottle-stacked cellars packed from floor to ceiling with vintages up to 60 years old - all hand-labeled, and many covered in the patina of dust necessary for complete wine cellar authenticity.

Read 'em and weep:

Two days later I was deep beneath the footpath in my favourite food bunker, Spice Temple, for the Glenmorangie Secret Society lunch. Who's in the Secret Society? I can't tell, but we are united in our enthusiasm for great single malt whisky, and had gathered to try as many as was decently possible, paired with flaming food.

The highland single malts were: The Lasanta (aged in sherry casks), The Quinta Ruban (aged in port casks); The Nectar d'Or (aged in French Sauterne casks); Astar, a fearsome but smooth 57.1 percent dram, and Signet, an aristocratic malt made from 'high roast' malted barley resulting in a rich, almost chocolate character the makers call a 'velvet explosion.'

The chilli in the leatherjacket drowned in heaven facing chillies and Sichuan peppercorns was explosive, too - but that's the sort of food that stands up to good whisky and, like any passionate partner, coaxes out its inner strengths. I thought the bites and drams went off together like a feisty couple. But then after five malts you begin to think a lot of things, many of which are thankfully forgotten.

Here's the perfect marriage of a menu:

And here's my line-up of whisky dates. Sexy.

Conclusion: bottled singles aren't so very different from the human sort. You meet them in a bar, admire their appearance, sample their smell and taste and if all goes well, you take one home. Or perhaps two or more, if you're adventurous.

Do you have an insatiable appetite - like me- for drink, food and all things fun? Follow CocktailAmy on Twitter for a first glimpse behind the scenes at parties.

• by Amy Cooper at 09:48 PM
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Friday, July 17, 2009

My frenzy of Frenchness

A backstage look at my heavily Gallic week, and tips on where to find the best of French in Sydney

As a Pom, I grew up with the peculiar relationship between France and England. This bickering pair of old nations can't live with each other, and can't think of many bad jokes without each other.

We can't even agree on the stretch of water which separates us like a giant, wet, referee. The English call it, of course, the English Channel, while the French refer to it as La Manche - The Sleeve. (That's what they're like, an Englishman will tell you - never use a name when an oblique metaphor will do.)

We love to hate each other but have, during times of detente, joined together to produce offspring: Concorde; the Channel Tunnel. But each claims to have been the first to come up with the idea.

We revel in each others' stereotypes, which are best captured by Walter Russell Meade in his article Entente Infernal, a review of a book called That Sweet Enemy which tracks the history of the Anglo-French dynamic:

"The French have long felt that Englishmen do not like women, are bored or frightened in their presence, and turn to drink as a substitute for female company. They suspect that the custom of educating British boys in single-sex public schools has something to do with this .... The British have felt that Frenchmen like women too much, or in the wrong way, and believe that the French are constantly involved in extramarital affairs. The Englishman is a boor, the Frenchman a fop."

So there's your historic context for this week's party activity. It was Bastille Day on Tuesday, and I used this as an opportunity to advance Anglo-French relations. (I'm all for parties as a platform for international diplomacy. Once, when I found myself going head to head with the Argentinian ambassador to Thailand in a public breath-holding contest at a Bangkok movie star's birthday party, I let him win, in a magnanimous gesture I felt our leaders could learn from.)

My endeavours began at Sally Beresford's Bastille Day Dinner at her antiques and bespoke furniture gallery in Woollahra. I was immediately detected as a Pom, and marched in under military escort:

Chef Eon Waugh had created a sumptuous feast that reminded me you just can't argue with the French when it comes to cuisine. These were my two favourite courses. The steamed gingerbread pudding was so perfect the room fell silent while we savoured our first bite. Sally's Mount Ashby wines - especially the full-bodied Merlot - were a worthy match for the warm, heady flavours and aromas of this opulent winter feast.

French attention to detail:

Next day I was still happily digesting when a dark, handsome stranger appeared on my doorstep with a box of fresh French pastries. It was Olivier Charkos, owner of La Renaissance French patisserie in The Rocks.

Recently, I'd been bemoaning the lack of good almond croissants in Sydney and Olivier aimed to change my mind with these:

They were delicious, and so were the macarons, especially the salty caramel (Fleur de Sel de Guerande). Olivier's late father was French and his son is doing him proud at the patisserie after a year's intensive pastry chef training in France. Merci bien, Olivier.

My final tribute to Bastille Day was a journey through the delicious cheese selection at Gazebo Wine Garden, accompanied by some tasty Gamay, Grenache and Merlot. By then, I had to stop, for fear of becoming the size of France itself.

You can take your own trip to France in Sydney any time you like. Here are a few more of my picks:

Sel et Poivre - hearty, authentic, friendly little Parisian enclave in Darlo. Escargots and steak et frites are highlights.

Flinders Inn - new, intimate restaurant in Paddo featuring star chef Morgan McGlone's flavour-driven, modern take on French bistro cuisine.

L'Etoile - don't miss chef Manu Fieldel's souffle au fromage at this Paddington favourite.

• by Amy Cooper at 01:57 PM
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Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Ahoy me parties

Now with photos and sometimes even video, my freshly pimped-up blog takes the fun to sea this week with explorer Mike Horn and some Hamilton Island revelry.

Last week I was one of a lucky few to spend a day with fearless explorer, adventurer and eco-warrior Mike Horne aboard his sustainable yacht, Pangaea.

Mike and his crew had docked in Sydney for three days just next door to the Sun-Herald offices in Pyrmont, to kick off a recruitment drive for participants in his current four-year global expedition aboard Pangaea. Mike selects talented young people to join him in his mission to explore the farthest reaches of the natural world and discover ways to help the environment.

So far, teenagers from several countries - including China, France and South Africa - have made it through Mike's rigorous selection process, but there hasn't been a single Australian applicant. "I can't understand it," he says. "Australians have a love for the outdoors and the ocean."

The adventure has taken Mike and his young helpers to Antarctica, where they measured snow layers, and will head through the South China Sea and into Asia, where they will hit dry land for a while and explore the Himalayas.

Mike also plans to walk part of the trip at the bottom of the ocean wearing lead boats and a diving belt while he charts the levels of man-made debris in the oceans. Don't be surprised - this is the man who swam the length of the Amazon, circumnavigated the Arctic Circle and took his two daughters for a walk to the North Pole when they were under 12. One celebrated her 11th birthday at the polar ice caps there.

What impressed me most about Mike was that unlike many explorers and adventurers I've met, he's driven by a desire to embrace nature rather than to conquer it. "I have been humbled so many times by nature," he told me. "I come back home each time feeling smaller than when I left."

Here's Mike below decks in Pangaea explaining how she's built from bamboo, scrap wood and Aluminium and manufactures all her own water using an on-board desalination system.

You can track Pangaea's progress and apply to join Mike's amazing expedition at his website.

Days later I took to the seas again, this time up in the Whitsundays. I flew there on board Virgin Blue's inaugural Sydney to Hamilton Island service with a colourful posse of showbiz faces, other journalists and travel industry people.

As we made our final descent towards the 1852m Hamo runway I was alarmed to see fire trucks waiting on the tarmac. I watch Aircrash Investigation and know what this means. But there was no emergency - just a ceremonial hose sluicing to mark the historical landing.

Here's Deni Hines, Tania Zaetta, Mike Goldman, Melissa Hoyer and Bianca Dye shortly after touching down on Hamo.

We packed a lot of fun into a 24-hour trip, sailing around the island, dropping into the serene surrounds of Qualia resort and celebrating Independence Day with local tourism execs and the mayor of the Whitsundays, Mike Brunker, who's pictured here paying a restrained tribute to Michael Jackson with the help of Mike Goldman.

In stark contrast, I'm off to Melbourne this weekend. You can be sure there won't be crotch dancing, sunny beaches, 26 degree temperatures or anything at all that looks like this:

• by Amy Cooper at 03:40 PM
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