The Milawa Gourmet Region... So after a night of having our car smashed by gargantuan raindrops, we decided to hit the road big style and bomb our way down to the Great Ocean Road (just east of Melbourne). We chose to take the ‘freeway’ that cuts inland, via the Southern Highlands and the Northern Alps, rather than the coast. After a few hundred kilometres, the clouds dispersed and the tarmac became drier. While on the road, my capable co-pilot spotted a place called the Gourmet Region near the wine producing Samaria valley. Only a short drive off course, how could we fail to be drawn, like a moth to flame, to a place called a Gourmet Region?
We took the next exit off the freeway and took a leisurely drive along dry roads and fragrant eucalyptus trees. The first good sign was the bright gold and deep reds of autumn vineyards. The colours were bright, the smells of eucalyptus and sweetened grapes were vivid and the scenery magnificent.
Our first stop was the King River Cafe, a place described as not being afraid of ‘bold flavours and generous servings’. We ordered our food and took a seat outside. We sat on an old wooden bench in the terracotta tiled garden. We had to brush off the sun-crisped crisp autumn leaves from the table before sitting down under the warm outback sunshine. A few moments later, our waitress arrived with our order.
My wife chose a flourless chocolate cake that was so heavy and full of eggs, creamy butter, sugar and intense chocolate that it appeared as though the aged wooden table bowed under the weight. Thinking of my sister, I ordered a particularly generous slice of lemon tart. To my delight, it has been scorched and caramelised on top to create a wafer thin but highly crispy crème brulée effect. Few things more satisfying than using a heavy fork to break through a resisting sheet of brulée, then to penetrate though and dig into a succulent and moist centre before scooping up a rich butter and biscuit base onto the fork. What is more satisfying than that though, is ramming the tart laden fork into my mouth and enjoying the sharpness of the lemon, the sweetness of the caramel and the tang of an obliging mascarpone all mixing together, making my taste buds revel in delight. All this was washed down with a wonderfully smoked English Breakfast tea.
After a brief walk through a neighbouring vineyard, we moved on to ‘Walkabout Apiaries’ which specialises in locally produced eucalyptus honey and mead. We sampled a wide range of honey from spiced, to sweet, from runny to creamy and from intense to mild. Ju then moved on to try the local mead. Unfortunately, they had run out of the typical anglo-saxon version (blended with various spices and nutmeg) and so we had to settle for a small bottle of mead that was closer to sherry than what we anticipated.
A short-drive took us to Milawa Cheese Factory. Here we took our time to sample various handmade cows milk and goats milk cheeses. Ju preferred the fresh tasting and particularly creamy chevre and I selected the Aged Milawa Blue, whose rich and complex flavours reminded me a little of stilton. We also bought some fresh and crusty bread to go with them.
Twenty minutes later, down a dry and dusty track, we stopped off at a vineyard to test our pallets on various whites, reds and dessert wines. Unfortunately for Ju, I was driving, so she had to do all the tasting. Ju started with a crisp, dry Riesling, then a tangy, orange Muscat, followed by a late harvest, deliciously rich, honey flavoured Riesling. In a bold move, she skipped the rose, and compared an overbearing and pungent Merlo with an equally unpleasant Shiraz. To finish, Ju tried a slightly more delicate Cabernet Sauvignon but the Muscat won first prize, but we already had the Mead so we moved on.
To end the drive, we stopped off at Frank’s Olive Grove. Here we bought a selection of fresh, green, black and Kalamata olives with a balsamic marinade. Laden with delicious goods, we went in search of a bush camp. After a brief drive in the bush we found a good, isolated clearing. While Ju prepared the food and the bed, I made the fire. Now, I may be pointing out the obvious, but it is the easiest thing in the world to make a fire in a region of drought. The air is so warm, the earth so cracked and arid and the wood so dry that even a scummy, cognitively challenged, soap-dodging back-packer could make a fire out here. As the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the surrounding gum trees, the splendid warmth of the fire kept the chill at bay.
Dinner
When in such splendid isolation, my imagination tends to get a little carried away. As the night fell, The Noises of The Wild increased. In particular, the sound of fallen branches breaking and twigs cracking under the weight of a heavy animal caused great alarm, especially as it was getting closer and more frequent as the flames of the fire regressed. While my wife became visibly more anxious and worried about the noises, I did my husbandly duty, remained calm and reassured her not to worry about things that go bump in the night. As far as she was concerned, it was probably only a curious wombat or the like. Secretly, however, I suspected that a more sinister being was responsible. Something like a totally deranged, entirely demented, wholly psychopathic and utterly hysterical pseudo human, covered in filth and greenish slobber, whose only aim was to cause great fear and trepidation to unsuspecting nobility (us ... my great grandmother was a countess by the way).
Well, we made it through the night regardless and we awoke to a delightful chorus of parrot chirping and cockatoo wailing. The embers of the fire were still warm so we stoked the flames with dried eucalyptus leaves and branches and the flames flickered once more, spreading soothing heat to warm us up. Today, we are off to Melbourne, where hopefully, we will be able to post all this on the blog...
