Libby Travers

'You hold the right book in your hands. Learning from it will be delicious.' Anthony Bourdain

At a time when we need to be more thoughtful about our meat consumption, this landmark publication offers the most important ingredient: knowledge. 

Meat: The Ultimate Companion is designed to walk you through the topic from the eyes of the farmer, the butcher and the best cooks to help you with the questions you might want to ask before you buy your meat. Carefully curated by Anthony Puharich, legendary butcher and supplier to Australia's leading restaurants, together with accomplished food writer Libby Travers, this comprehensive and ambitious project covers the history of every major animal we raise for meat, international breed maps, cut diagrams and descriptions, as well as illustrated butchery techniques and expert tips on selecting, storing and cooking all kinds of meat. 

Over 110 recipes showcase the major cuts and draw on cuisines and chefs from around the world.

To buy a copy of MEAT: The Ultimate Companion, please click here.

“ … one of the most important books to emerge in 2018 …” - Terry Durrack, SMH

Australian delicious. Magazine cookbook of the year 2018

Selector Magazine
Summer 2015/2016

The kitchen at Mugaritz is bustles. Thirty chefs, brought together from all corners of the world, jostle for space and compete for equipment. The activity in the kitchen is in stark contrast to the empty dining room. The 30 chefs are all cooking but there are no guests, nor will there be for five months.

Mugaritz, in the hills outside Spain’s San Sebastian, closes for the same period each year to allow its research team, or ‘dream mill’, time to create 50 new dishes for the guests when they eventually do arrive. Each chef works on their own dishes, bringing the nuances of their culinary background to the table. With two Michelin stars and ranked seventh in the world by Restaurant Magazine, this is how Mugaritz fosters creativity. 

Dani Lasa, head of research and development at Mugaritz, works daily, while owner Andoni Luis Aduriz comes regularly to taste and critique. 

“Creativity is nurtured in each individual, allowing them freedom to be inspired by the beauty they see,” explains Lasa. “Mugaritz is strong enough to filter any wandering idea. We like feeding unpredictability, lateral thinking, but mainly we enjoy what we do.”

Some of mankind’s earliest culinary creations were serendipitous discoveries of natural process: milk left to sour would turn to cheese; a leg of pork hung in an airy attic became the most delicious jamon; grapes left to ferment created something so delicious it is fairly considered to be the nectar of the Gods.

Perseverance and science also played their role in culinary creation. It could only have been a process of painstaking trial and error that led to the realisation that, trapped within the bones of calves and only extracted through long and slow cooking, was flavour that would become the basis of almost every sauce in the French culinary repertoire; that by boiling seaweed and combining it with flakes of dried, fermented and smoked tuna, you could create an umami bomb that became the building blocks of Japanese cuisine.

It was not until the 20th century that the study of creativity found its way into academia. When Graham Wallis published The Art Of Thought in 1926, he narrowed the creative process down to five steps: preparation (focusing on a particular problem), incubation (internalising the problem), intimation (the feeling that the idea is on its way), illumination (where the creative idea bursts forth) and verification (where the idea is elaborated on and applied). His treatise sat alone for decades. It wasn’t until the middle of the 20th century that creativity was really analysed as a process that could be harnessed.

The kitchen is a particularly interesting space to observe modern creativity, with interest in the culinary arts at an all-time high and shared throughout the world with an almost unmatched ferocity on social media. 

Chefs are constantly grappling with their desire to excite, surprise and please. Closing the restaurant for almost half a year is a massive investment in an elusive process, but not one that’s made on a whim. Aduriz, Lasa and the team at Mugaritz had an inkling that flavour was not necessarily the pinnacle of a restaurant experience. They verified their assumption by categorising every sentence in all the correspondence they had received over the years to confirm what was important to their customers. When they ran the metrics, taste came in at number 13.

“Our guests are very worldly, they come seeking stimulus, they enjoy being provoked,” notes Lasa. “We appeal to the senses, culture, nature, history, art or science in order to trigger their eagerness. It is not to be unfaithful in our relationship with the kitchen, but to take advantage of incorporating wealth into the discipline.”

Martin Benn, chef and co-owner of Sydney’s three-hatted Sepia restaurant, looks to a process of evolution to fuel his creativity. 

“I am learning each day for sure and that is a great thing in this industry, but I read a quote from Thomas Keller the other day that changed my whole outlook,” says Benn. Keller’s quote: “We don’t call it creativity, we call it evolution. We have to constantly evolve ourselves.”
...
Sepia has earned its place at the top of Australia’s dining scene by forging new ground, but this has not been all indulgence, it has been a matter of survival. When Benn created Chocolate Forest Floor, perhaps his most renowned dish, Sepia was on the cusp of its first anniversary. Business was slow, sometimes doing only 15 covers a night. In a last ditch effort to make the restaurant work, he decided to run a series of anniversary degustation dinners, to illustrate the evolution of the restaurant. There was pressure to create.

He was toying with mousses and, upon adding a chocolate crunch for texture, glimpsed a forest floor. “I think it’s just a matter of letting it be organic and not to force the ideas,” says Benn. “You start in one direction and often end up going in a completely different one.” As the idea evolved, jellies grew in the undergrowth, green tea moss sprouted, fennel fronds became ferns, sorbet portrayed fallen fruit. The dish was born.

Channelling his creativity towards dessert was not by chance. Somewhat akin to the crescendo in a musical score or the climax in a novel, Benn sees dessert as an opportunity to jolt the diner out of the comfortable stupor of a long degustation. It was a dish that changed a restaurant, filled seats and gave the chef the courage to push even further.

At the three-hatted Attica in Victoria’s Ripponlea, Kiwi chef Ben Shewry takes a slightly different view, creating with a childlike imagination. 

“In the early days in New Zealand, there was no money and you had to fend for yourself, having fun, making things, building things and having adventures inside your mind,” recalls Shewry. “I brought that with me into cooking.”

Sharing his creations is also a big motivator. Every Tuesday, Shewry runs an experimental menu at Attica, giving the kitchen staff a chance to run riot, creating five new dishes a week. 

“I never thought we would be able to do this, but the customers love it. It’s become the cult night, it’s probably still the hardest night to get into. It has a party-like effervescence. But it’s no less scary, we are prepared to take a chance and fail and you may be made to eat our failures!”

This collegiate attitude and open, shared spirit led to what Shewry believes is his greatest creation: staff speeches. Each week over the past year a different member of the Attica team presents a speech to the 32 staff. 

“It’s not a session for expressing your dissatisfaction, it’s about how we improve things in our world,” Shewry says. “I wish I had written them down, recorded the laughter and tears. That’s the thing about creativity, people would think it would be food, but my greatest creative thing has been staff speeches.”

Garnering inspiration from creative fields outside the kitchen is common among these chefs. In fact, Shewry attributes most of his recent inspiration to those outside the food industry: photographers, artists, musicians and communicators. 

Hosting his first WAW Gathering this year (pronounced “war”, a rough acronym for what a wonderful world), Shewry took it a step further, bringing together chefs, musicians, artists, craftsmen, farmers and food lovers from around Australia and the globe. “Financially it can be difficult as well,” he says. “But it’s the experiences, the exchanges you have that make you rich, not the possessions you own.”
...
The concept of creativity may be relatively new, but the drive for change and ideas is not. At Mugaritz they reference Proust “the real voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” 

With so many eyes on the kitchens of the world it is a fascinating place to watch creativity happen. “The biggest enemy for the human evolution is conformism, self indulgence or denial of the different,” says Lasa. “The more we know about the past, the more we improve the future. We can not remain motionless in this incredible era.”

For the full article click here.

(Photography: the delightful Luke Burgess)

Every day, just before the sun begins its descent over the edge of the Mediterranean and into North Africa, the jellyfish hunter appears at Scauri’s lighthouse. He comes armed with his long-handled net; he is accompanied by his beautiful wife. They smile and talk happily as they scale the vertical cliff wall to the sea, to his hunting ground. This easy athleticism belies their age, they must be at least 70.

In the lingering sunlight the Med is azure, alive with fish, jellyfish and urchins. She dives in. He remains at the water’s edge, net in hand, trident-like. The jellyfish hunter is waiting for the inevitable cry – medusa! – the word, like bindies at an Australian picnic, is accompanied by a calculated panic; everyone freezes, carefully looks around, and, if their coast is clear, swiftly departs the scene.

Beyond his wife, it’s the children he is protecting. Here, four and five-years-olds frolic in the deep water largely unattended, when they reach eight or nine they learn to dive and start jumping off the high rocks – the island disappears steeply into the Mediterranean and so the jumping is (relatively) safe. The jellyfish hunter watches it all.

There is a gentle rhythm of life on Pantelleria, a tiny Sicilian island – only 15 kilometres across – way out in the Mediterranean, closer to Tunisia than Sicily. A volcano in her former life, the dark rock cliffs and lava formations have given Pantelleria the name La Perla Negra (the black pearl). The black stones are used for terracing, the ancient dry-rock walls quilted across the landscape now testament to the island’s long agricultural history. This is an island that has looked inland for sustenance, more than to the sea.

To hide from the many winds of the Mediterranean, the olive trees huddle close to these low walls, they are trained to grow no higher than your waist. The olives are joined by Pantelleria’s famed zibibbo grape vines and caper bushes; wild oregano, rosemary and purslane run rampant across the island floor. Girt by sea, the island is ironically thirsty, and yet, while the sun always shines and the wind often blows, thanks to the fertile volcanic soils, the wine is delicious, the capers salty sweet and the oregano better than I have tasted.

Days are bookended by spectacular sunrises and sunsets over the water, the winds are all known by name, and there is a timelessness that works its way under your skin. The yardstick is no longer hands on a clock, but the sun’s rays, the hunger in your belly, and the arrival of the jellyfish hunter. This timelessness is so engrained in their culture there is no future tense in the Pantescan dialect.

The Black Pearl was not always this sleepy. In the 1970’s and ’80s, Pantelleria became the summer playground of Armani, Carole Bouquet, Depardieu and their entourage of glitzy friends. To accommodate the glitterati, a number of hotels sprung up, high above the dammuso. Many locals, with lira in their eyes, left their small homes and farming plots to cater for the masses. When the tide turned, and many of the glitterati left (Armani and Bouquet stayed) the hotels were deserted; they now stand empty, lonely sentries to ghosts of parties long over. 

The Tunisian-inspired houses, dammuso, are built with the black porous rocks of the island, the walls are thick, very thick. They are ingeniously designed to filter in the cool night air of summer and retain the day’s warmth during winter. Their gentle whitewashed domes are built to trap what precious rain does fall on the island. Fruit trees also cower behind these dark walls – whether inside the cool internal courtyards of the dammuso or the incredible circular gardens found dotted around the island, often designed to enclose just one precious citrus tree.

Her popularity stretches way beyond this century. The reserves of obsidian - the black volcanic glass and one of the strongest natural weapons and tools pre-bronze age - has ensured her popularity since Neolithic times. For those that are so-inclined, the archaeological sites are numerous and in excellent condition. Despite this rich history, and the more recent interest generated by Luca Guadagnino’s (excellent) 2015 movie A Bigger Splash, the island remains largely untouched. This is one of her greatest assets.

A few good four and five star hotels remain on the island, but it is better to live like a Pantesco and rent a dammuso, many of which have been renovated to modern tastes inside, while holding their traditional appeal outside. These run the gamut from humble to luxury (with price tags to match). The south-eastern edge of the island is her most rugged, conversely, the north-western tip is built up and worth avoiding.

Tragically, the old city, with its tiny pebbled laneways and labyrinth of houses, was bombed for a propaganda video near the end of WWII. It was completely annihilated and is now, beyond the striking Tunisian-inspired church, a hodgepodge of panicked architecture. Limit your visits to the weekly market, petrol (you will need a car), the ATM (cash is king, this is still Sicily after all) and the very good deli/wine shop (stocking local delicacies including salted capers, cheeses, most of the island’s best wines alongside Italian favourites such as Occhipinti).

A number of great restaurants can be found across the island. On the north side it’s Il Principe e il Pirata, an excellent restaurant serving beautiful seafood, pasta and couscous (the north African influence is felt on menus as well as in the architecture) with a considered and affordable wine list. Altamarea, on the south side, offers a more formal dining experience, while their port-side bar Kaya Kaya is a casual lunch spot, great for a swim, snack and beer. There are agritourismo and restaurants to be found in the hills that serve more relaxed fare – look out for Rifugio Firiakki. In the summer months booking is a sensible precaution.

Seafood forms a relatively small part of the local diet: fish have little protected habitat on those steep underwater cliffs and instead it is deep-sea fish, alongside the rock-dwellers, such as octopus and urchins, that you find on menus. When fish aren’t swimming in the sea they are found a la Pantesca: swimming in olive oil and the juices of tomatoes, olives and capers. There is also beautiful local wine, seek out Gabrio Bini’s famed Zibbibo wine and Ferrandes’ Passito, or Jacopo Bianchi’s Anforaje.

Beyond the daily quest for food, languid days are best spent chasing the sun while hiding from the wind. It will come from all directions – each wind with its own name, each with its own personality. Use these winds to explore the island: when the Sirocco blows the hot air up from Africa take shelter in the northern outcrops – try Cala Levante and the beautiful arched Arco dell’Elefante or, if it’s really blowing, the port of Gadir; when it is the Mistral, rattling down the Rhone Valley before it shoots across the Mediterranean, you will want to be in the southern swimming holes – Scauri’s port or lighthouse (faro).

As it is a small island (the ring road has a 50km circumference), watching the sun rise and set into the ocean is a feasible punctuation for each day. Follow the sunrise with a visit to Terremoto Bakery in the back streets of Tracino, and the best example of the local specialty bacio - a crisp, puffed, deep-fried wafer that sandwiches a filling of ricotta and cinnamon. Their bread is good and their arancini make a great beach/cliff-side lunch. On the other side of the island the sunset options are numerous, but sitting on the rooftop at Sesiventi with a negroni in hand is particularly brilliant. If the sky is clear and the wind blowing just so, you will see the tip of Tunisia as the sun melts into North Africa.

Turning inwards, the hillsides are also worth exploring. The volcano is not classed as active, and yet the island is alive with its energy – gas seeps out of rock walls, fuels natural saunas in the mountains and hot springs by the sea. The energy is enchanting and a guided walk into the mountains is recommended, as is a boat tour around the island (to be picked up at the port of Scauri).

While there is no future tense, the future looks bright for Pantelleria. Unlike many Mediterranean backwaters, Pantelleria is full of youth, as well as the ageing. This is an island that lives. Alongside the locals, both young and old, there is now a tangle of talent from all over the world living here: artists, ceramicists, architects, fishermen, musicians, distillers.

Raw, dark and a little evasive, Pantelleria isn’t for everyone, her magnetism seems to draw people in or repel them with equal fervour. The internet doesn’t always work, your car may break down, there’ll be no phone reception after it rains. However, people will talk to you, properly, and you will stumble upon your own gems, you will swim in an uncrowded sea, you will find an excellent meal, you will watch many beautiful sunsets. This is not the Truman Show, it’s not a holiday for those seeking a stereotype, but the ideal is there, and it’s real. For an island so bound up in contradictory messages and mystery, perhaps this is her greatest.

Addresses:

Food:

Il Principe e il Pirata
Strada Punta Karace, Pantelleria
+39 0923 691108

Panificio Terremoto
Via Khamma, Pantelleria
+39 0923 915039

Kaya Kaya
Via Porto di Scauri, Pantelleria
+39 320 156 2300

Altamarea
Via Scauri Porto 5, Pantelleria
+39 0923 918115

Accomodation:

Destino Pantelleria
For dammuso and car hire
www.destinopantelleria.com

Corte Pantesca
www.villaitaly.it

Tenuta Borgia (setting of A Bigger Splash)
www.tenutaborgia.it

The Weekend Australian Magazine
February 2011

Like many before me, I moved to France chasing a stereotype. France has largely lived up to my expectations: the women pout, the men flirt, the nation strikes and the food is phenomenal. Yet there is one thing that has caught me off guard … the French don’t get drunk. 

I had grown up with the belief the French were mad for a drink. After all, this is a nation that has re-arranged military campaigns around its vineyards.

Perplexed, I checked the statistics. It turns out the French do drink, in fact, they drink nearly 50% more alcohol per capita than we do in Australia.

So, where’s the drunken behaviour? Where are the heated arguments and punch-ups that we have come to associate with a big night out?

In Australia not only do we like to drink, we are a nation who like to get drunk. According to the Salvation Army 2 million Australians drank with that sole intention last year.

Of greater concern is the rise in violence that appears to be associated with this kind of drinking. “To know that a large number of people on some occasions drink purely to get drunk is not only very sad, but it is very dangerous,” says Salvation Army spokesman, Major Brad Halse, “Drunken behaviour is normally ugly, often boring, and too often violent.” 

Many believe the relation between alcohol and violence is linear – the more we drink the more violent we become. Consequently, health lobbies and Government bodies are falling over each other to reduce the volume of alcohol consumed in Australia.

It is a simple concept, and one that is totally contradicted by the example of France.

If we apply the current thinking in Australia to France, it would stand to reason that the French would have 50% more alcohol related violence. They do not. In fact France has one of the lowest rates of alcohol related violence in Europe.

“You traditionally haven't had the "yob" problem in France that you've had, say, in England, but there has been plenty of excessive alcohol consumption in France, too.” says Michael Steinberger, author of Au Revoir to All That, a frank look at the French culture in the 21st Century.

In spite of the large amounts of alcohol they consume, drinking remains an art de vivre in France. 60% of all alcohol consumed is wine (compared to 35% in Australia). They drink a lot, but they drink it regularly and generally in moderation. It is drunk to complement their cuisine. It is drunk for its taste and smell. It is drunk at the table.

Mireille Guiliano, author of Why French Women Don’t Get Fat believes the connection between alcohol and food is the key, “(In France) we have a few centuries of wine drinking and we consider a glass of wine an element of a meal, like a piece of bread or fruit.”

It appears the difference lies in the culture of consumption. “It's about conviviality,” notes Guiliano, “sharing a meal with wine is a great source of pleasure.” This connection is so engrained in the culture it is actually considered rude to offer someone a drink without something to eat. Consequently, you don’t meet someone for a drink in France, you meet for an aperitif  (or apero). The accompanying food can be taken as seriously as the main meal.

The apero is not a new concept. In 1950 Elizabeth David devoted an entire chapter to the art of the apero, or hors d’oeuvre, stating that it should consist of “something raw, something salt, something dry or meaty, something gentle and smooth and possibly something in the way of fresh fish.” Along with drinking my coffee from a bowl and serving cheese between the main course and dessert, the apero is one French habit I plan to adopt for life.

Furthermore, in France you don’t drink for drinkings sake, “There really are few bars as seen in other countries,” says Guillano  “cafes serve coffee and food as well as alcoholic drinks, so people out socially have more options than beer and booze.” ...

To read the full article click here ...

Published in The Weekend Australian Magazine in February 2011.

St Tropez
Selector Magazine
Autumn 2012

It took me months to find a postcard that portrayed the St Tropez I had fallen in love with. Not the St Tropez of nightclubs, paparazzi, or the super yachts that are parked in front of the beautiful old port. Like the town itself I had to search to find the real beauty, an image of St Tropez without the glitz and gaudiness.

Hanging in the town’s small art gallery I found what I was looking for. Two paintings by Charles Camoin, a post-impressionist painter who took up residence in St Tropez in the first quarter of last century, had captured the essence of the town. It appears I was in love with the same St Tropez he was.

The first depicts the Place aux Herbes where, in the sleepy hours of the morning before the women would hoist themselves into their high-heels and plaster on their make-up, I would buy my pain au chocolat. Camoin painted the soft morning light on the faded apricot and peach façades, and the green and blue of their baked wooden shutters, just as it appeared when I would devour my breakfast.

The second illustrates the muted tones of the Place des Lices, the town’s main square. A game of boules is underway, a few of the men have their hands clasped behind their backs, a stance I came to know well. Many of my afternoons, and glasses of the local rosé, would slip by in the distant company of men just like this.

PLACE AUX HERBES

The tiny Place aux Herbes is the culinary heart of St Tropez. The shop-front to Senequier is located in the tiny square, it opened in 1887 and would have been there when Camoin painted the scene in 1905. While it is famed for its crystallised fruit, it was the buttery slick their pain au chocolat left on my fingers that had me hooked.

There is a small oyster bar in the square that will have up to a dozen varieties of oysters on any given day, alongside mussels, sea- snails and vongole. The square is also home to the most fantastic cheese shop: bowls full of crème fraîche, a score of goats’ cheeses, and a collection of very expensive but incredibly divine charcuterie: white anchovies, small bell peppers marinating in the local Provencal olive oil, tapenades and saucisson.  

MARCHE AUX PECHEURS

The arched tunnel that connects the Place aux Herbes with the more raucous port is home to the Marché aux Pecheurs. Fish are displayed on beautiful marble benches, the tiled floor wet from the melting ice and dripping taps. The open-air fish market is alive every morning with the bustle of the town’s locals, the marble hidden beneath the vibrant colours of lobster, octopus and all the fish of the region’s famed bouillabaisse. St Tropez is a fishing village at heart and this market serves as a constant reminder of her humble beginnings.

PLACE DES LICES

What the Place aux Herbes is to the culinary scene, the Place des Lices is to the town’s social life. Under the natural umbrella of the plane trees the town’s fruit and vegetable market is held twice a week (Tuesdays and Saturdays). Nowhere are the seasons better depicted than in the colours and smells of the fresh produce of a French farmers’ market. The market’s small antique section is also worthy of a visit.

Le Café (also known as the Café aux Arts), in the centre of the Place des Lices, is one of the town’s institutions. In typical French style the chairs all face the theatre of the square. It is here I would sip on fishbowl-sized glasses of rosé crammed with ice cubes and lose myself in the games of boules. The café will lend you a set, if you are so inclined.

L’ANNONCIADE

The town’s art gallery, L’Annonciade, represents another important part of St Tropez’s heritage, as a home to the arts and artists. The converted chapel is situated on the port and, like most of the religious iconography scattered around St Tropez, La Chapelle Notre-Dame de L’Annonciade was built for the sailors, or at least as a place to pray for their safe return. Disaffected during the Revolution it eventually fell into the hands of Grammont, an art collector who donated 56 works from his own collection, and upon his death turned the gallery to the people of St Tropez.

With the colour and light typical of the fauvist and nabist movements, the paintings appear to reflect the spirit of the town. Many of the artists, including Matisse, Derain, Signac and Camoin, were regular visitors. The gallery is more than a place to avoid the crowds, it is a place of reflection, it’s just that now the religion is art.

BROCCANTE MARKETS AT GRIMAUD

Every Sunday throughout the year Le Jas des Roberts, near the neighbouring town of Grimaud, hosts an excellent broccante market. Kitchenware, furniture, fur coats and wooden rocking horses compete for the eyes attention. While some stalls are simply open suitcases, others are set up like lounge rooms, with the olive trees for walls and the sky for a ceiling.

Behind the market, perched on a small hill, is the Provencal mas that must have once been the homestead that commanded the groves and vineyards below. It is now a simple restaurant. When the sun is shining the courtyard becomes a convivial dining room, simple plastic tables and chairs jostling for a little sunlight. By far the best option on the menu is their aioli, the essence of Provence. The rich mayonnaise is spiked with intense flavour of raw garlic and the local olive oil. It is served with simply cooked white fish, sea snails, mussels, boiled potatoes, artichoke and boiled egg.

PLAGE DE GIGARO

There is no beach in St Tropez. The closest offering, the infamous Pampalonne Beach, is better known for its reckless party atmosphere: women in bikinis with fur coats or dresses with very little fabric and way too many sequins. If you are seeking raw beauty drive on to Gigaro just 10 minutes further west of St Tropez. One of the anomalies of the coast here, Gigaro is renowned for its calm and seclusion. 

For lunch, dine at Les Colours Jardin, a restaurant that complements its surrounds. With white-washed walls and a tree that grows up through the middle of it there is a view of the beach from every table. Start with anchoiade and crudités, the only way to eat raw vegetables in my mind, and follow this with a simple bowl of mussels, vongole and razor clams cooked with onions, herbs and white wine. 

AUBERGE DE LA MOLE

Of all the places you visit while in St Tropez, this is the one I implore you to seek out. The township of La Mole is home to the private airstrip that caters to St Tropez. It is a one horse town, or at least a one restaurant town. The Auberge has been run by the same family for over 50 years. The recipes haven’t changed, in fact I doubt the menu has even changed in all that time.

You order your main and the rest is set. The starter consists of terrine de campagne (the best I have eaten, without doubt, when I die and go to heaven that is what I plan to eat for eternity), mousse de canard, rillettes and a large jar of cornichons (with those great wooden cornichon tongs). They are placed on the table in their entirety, for you to partake in as much as you want. For mains you can choose from French specialties such as confit de canard, cassoulet or a simple omelet aux cepes. This is followed by salad and then a platter of 6-7 cheeses, largely in their entirety except where they have been attacked by previous guests.

Dessert is served in the same manner, and while it is not normally my favourite, it is worth saving room for. The crème caramel showcases the delicate flavour of cooked eggs tempered by the sweetness of the caramel, but not overwhelmed by it. The chocolate mousse is gently folded through whipped cream with chunks of dark, rich chocolate suspended inside ... This is the restaurant of all your French dreams.

Selector Magazine
Summer 2009

The markets are bustling with early morning activity. French words and cigarette smoke float on the air as friends are encountered or ripeness discussed. Knowing I am only a few hours from Sydney I find this scene a little surreal.

At the butcher’s the long line of customers moves slowly. Each customer waits calmly as the butcher discusses the dinner menu with the reverence normally reserved for a meeting with the bank manager. This is quintessential France.

In the shade I notice a handsome group of older gentlemen play boules. Their words are reserved for ribbing their opponents. The game is serious, but played in great spirits, the conversation they share can be understood even if you don’t speak a word of the language.

I love France. I will happily save the thousands it costs and put aside my whole year’s holiday leave to fly the requisite 24 hours and indulge in their culture. However this time, I did not fly to the other side of the world.  There was no jet-lag, no days lost to aeroplane food and airports, and best of all it was less than half the price.

I am in New Caledonia, a French province situated in the southwest Pacific, a two and a half hour flight from Australia’s eastern seaboard. While the markets and food stores paint a familiar French scene, there are twists on the stereotype. Seasonal fruit and vegetables tend towards the tropics rather than the Mediterranean and the market place is a sea of durian, yams and pineapples. The chic French outfits have been replaced by more comfortable beach-ware and the colourful dresses of the native Melanesian women. The smell of the ocean is never too far away.

The archipelago of New Caledonia is divided into three provinces: the north, south and the Loyalty Islands. Noumea, the capital of New Caledonia, is situated in the South Province. It is not the prettiest city, and although the food and French language are my personal Mecca, the powder white sand and turquoise ocean that stretch in front of the pine trees of the surrounding islands are New Caledonia’s real draw-card.

The islands are renowned for their unspoilt beauty. The pace is slow and the scenery is breathtaking. The pick of the bunch to my mind is L’île des Pins (Isle of Pines), it is nicknamed “l’île le plus proche du paradis” (literally “the closest island to paradise”). It lives up to its name.

Whether you choose to stay in the exclusive and exquisite Le Meridien in the north of the island, the equally beautiful Oure Lodge in the south, or if you opt to stay in a simple gîte, you can’t help but relax in this beautiful location.

Getting to the Ile des Pins is easy, there are half-hour flights to the island from Magenta Airport, alternatively you can catch the fast catamaran, which will take a couple of hours. However, in the truly bureaucratic French style, a night in the capital is unavoidable as there are no connecting transfers to Isle de Pins, or the other Loyalty Islands (Lifou is another favourite), after arriving from Australia.

Fortunately the capital is a minefield of fabulous French produce and wines. Treats that our customs officials would never allow in to Australia, treats that will transform your beach holiday from the standard sun and sand to gourmands’ paradise.

One day’s shopping is ample to fill your coffers with culinary delights that you can store in the mini bar, bottles of wine to be consumed with the sunset and hand-made chocolates for anytime. There is a bakery at Ile des Pins, so think cheese, small goods and wine, and you will be set ...

To read the full article visit the Selector website here.

Selector Magazine
Autumn 2009

Time spent in a place like Tuscany or the Dordogne is characterised by the local terroir: the farmers’ markets, the village butcher, the region’s wineries and on the table at the local restaurants. The NSW Southern Highlands is re-creating that right here in Australia.

I attended boarding school in the Southern Highlands; for me, the area has always felt more restrictive than romantic. My culinary memories were limited to the school canteen, the occasional trip to McDonalds and charcoal chicken and chips. However, the shackles of my schoolgirl memories were broken by my recent trip to this beautiful area.

Quite simply the Southern Highlands astounded me. Not only for the growing reputation of the region’s exquisite cool-climate wines, but also for the dedication to local food producers. Local produce is available at the farmer’s markets, on the shelves of local supermarkets, in small local delis and gracing restaurant menus across the region. Everywhere I turned there was evidence of the produce that is being grown in this fertile region.

The area is by no means new to holidaymakers and those looking for a weekend getaway. Since the mid 19th century Sydneysiders have been making the short pilgrimage south to get their European fix. The crisp highland air and distinct seasons are reminiscent of the English countryside. The wealthy land-owners who flocked to the region in the 19th century left behind an English legacy, accentuated by the beautiful homesteads and manicured gardens.

Consequently, when taking a drive around the region there is much to admire. The drive along Old South Road that runs behind Mittagong and Bowral is one of my favourites, and The Marist Brothers and Hermitage Vineyard provides a worthy pit stop. Very much a working farm, the Brothers produce their own wine and beer as well as tending to cattle, a flock of chickens, ducks and geese, as well as an olive grove and numerous citrus trees. The cellar door is open on the weekends and their wine is an indulgence worth stopping for, however it was the gardens and homestead that provided the real eye candy for my visit. It is a scene echoed throughout the area and it is this serenity that has drawn many a city slicker this beautiful countryside. 

My next stop was a visit to the home of tree-change couple Nicki and Dave Penn who, along with their two kids, decided to leave corporate life and cultivate berries on a 20 acre property in Bowral. My visit to their farm uncovered not just their flavoursome raspberries, blackberries and blueberries, but Nikki’s collection of homemade jams, raspberry sauce and a truly magnificent raspberry vinegar (delicious paired with seafood such as salmon, trout or scallops, or when poaching fruit).

Talking to Nikki and Dave I was not at all surprised by the quality of their products. They are passionate boutique producers with an eye for the environment (all the berries are produced without the aid of pesticides or herbicides) and with the integrity of the product in mind. Not only can their products be purchased at the Bowral farmer’s market (with the added bonus of Nikki’s beautiful fresh raspberry tartlets for sale in season), you will also find their products in local stores such as the Cheese Store at Bowral and on local restaurant menus including Eschalot and the Centennial Vineyard Restaurant.

Noel Arrold’s mushrooms are also widely available in supermarkets, farmer’s markets and restaurants across the region. A microbiologist by trade, Noel was the first person in Australia to come up with a way to cultivate many of the exotic Asian mushrooms we now take for granted. Making use of the disused railway tunnel that runs between Mittagong and Bowral, he grows Swiss browns, enoki, oyster mushrooms and shiitakes.

Already familiar with his mushrooms and the Li-Sun Exotic Mushroom brand, a visit to Noel’s mushroom tunnel was one of the highlights of my visit. The moist and humid air inside the tunnel and the eerie dense silence exacerbated the surreal surroundings. His mushrooms, coloured from fawn to salmon, are grown on wooden racks that are lined up along the tunnel walls. Not dissimilar to the wooden racks that line the cellars of the Champagne houses in Epernay, the tunnel is like something out of a fairytale.

Local stores are in on the game. The Cheese Store at Bowral was an unexpected discovery in Corbett Plaza off the main road that runs through Bowral. Stocked with local delights alongside many international and Australian favourites such as Maggie Beer, Herbie’s Spices and Pastilla Nash. This intimate shop is packed with pastas, biscuits, sauces and jams. Cuttaway Creek’s jams and raspberry sauces were there, along with other local products such as Cippango honey crisps, lemon curd and an impressive puttanesca. Liz Telford, owner and providore, has a great eye for the best that is being produced locally and her store is a testament to the new culinary identity that is being formed in the region.

The Tennessee Orchards and Farm Gate in Yerrinbool is also a great place to get your hands on the local fare. Open during the autumnal months, when their orchard is at full steam, the farm gate also sources local eggs, jams, honey and fresh fruit and vegetables.

An afternoon of eating under my belt I retreated back to the seclusion of my hotel, Milton Park Country House Hotel, one of Bowral’s first manor homes and my hotel for the duration of my stay. The hotel is perched majestically on a hilltop behind Bowral. The original mansion, built by the Horden family at the turn of last century, is now home to this beautiful hotel retaining the old-school English country charm of the original residence. The grounds are particularly exquisite, with European fauna and flora capturing the essence of England alongside the Australian natives. Designed by Mary Horden when the mansion was built, they are considered to be amongst Australia’s finest.

The cool autumnal weather highlighted by the warm red, orange and yellow tones of the leaves in the garden make this one of the most beautiful places to indulge in the English aura. A quiet glass of local red by the fire proved too hard to tear myself away, with the easy meander into Milton Park’s restaurant, Hordern’s, seeming the best option for dinner.

As sumptuous and elegant as the hotel, the restaurant offered a truly impressive menu, the type that makes it difficult to choose which dish to settle on. It has all the opulence you would expect to find in a French country restaurant with the culinary flair to match. My potato gnocchi with ham hock, gorgonzola and peas was exquisite, while the rabbit, mushroom and suet pie made the most of Noel’s local mushrooms. It was a truly magnificent indulgence in one of the most elegant settings.

The next morning, with last night’s dinner still playing in my head, it was not easy to pull away from Milton Park and get back on the road. However, I did have my list to attend to, and was keen to try the High Tea in the Vines at the Centennial Vineyards. The large restaurant commands views over their vineyard, while the fireplaces and spacious tables allow the kids plenty of room to run around. There are bookcases full of cookbooks to leaf through by the fire and comfy chairs to settle into. High Tea was fabulous, a tradition I am so glad to see revived, and I churned my way through the small mouthfuls of different treats (albeit many small mouthfuls and as such a very substantial meal). The cellar door is separate to the restaurant and very impressive, with a great variety of local wines on offer.

Back on the road, I made my way towards the picturesque and historic town of Berrima, largely untouched since its inception in the 1830s. Originally hoped to become an important southern township, Berrima was practically forgotten when the railway built in 1867 passed the town by, instead stopping at Mittagong and Bowral. The sleepy town lay dormant for over a century as other towns in the region were “upgraded” in the middle of the 20th century. Fortunately this left the town in its original state and the beauty of the 1800s is as real today as it was nearly 200 years ago.

A meander through the streets of Berrima unveils a multitude of treasures, from the lolly shops, jams and tracklements, to antiques stores. My absolute favourite is Peppercorn Antiques, a foodies haven. The large shop is crammed with old wares and antiques of a food nature: drawers full of silverware, bone knives, stacks of plates, rolling pins and utensils. Out the back there is a treasure trove of fabrics, old books (including numerous sought after cookbook titles), ribbons and haberdashery. I literally spent hours pouring through the crammed shelves. A set of crockery and an old copy of Mrs Beeton under my wing I set off in search of food  ...

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Selector Magazine
Winter 2010

“In the colourless twilight every detail stood out, clearly defined and separate ... Everything if only you could see it clearly enough, is beautiful and complete.”

- Picnic at Hanging Rock

For decades the mystery of Hanging Rock has intrigued Australians. Situated in the Daylesford/Macedon region, one hour north-west of Melbourne, there is nothing mysterious about its magnetism these days.

The area abounds with people who care for the land and what they can produce from it; whether it’s in the vineyard, from the earth or on the plate.

During my most recent trip to the area I discovered the backbone to the region is not the produce, as I had imagined, but the families behind each venture. All the wineries are family owned, there are no big corporates. Restaurants and shops are staffed by the owners and their personal pride is clearly reflected in their endeavours.

My three-day tour showed me just how diverse the offerings are. There is a generosity of spirit, everyone is proud of everyone else. This is not just a region, it’s a community.

Macedon Ranges –

I sample my first taste of the terroir at Hanging Rock Winery. The Ellis family come from serious wine stock – Ann is a Tyrell and her husband John was Rosemount’s first wine-maker. The day revolves around the aga in the family kitchen, where the workers are fed every day.

The cellar door has a commanding view over Hanging Rock and Mt. Macedon. The wine selection is comprehensive, with the collection of single estate and single region wines that the Ellis family looks after on offer (the Heathcote shiraz and the Jim Jim Sauvignon Blanc are among their most renowned). As one of the coldest climate wineries in Australia (you can draw an uninterrupted line between the vineyard and the the South Pole) I have come for the sparkling and it doesn’t disappoint.

The drive over Mt Macedon offers more than her expansive views; many of the private gardens and estates are open to the public over the weekend. A quick lunch at the relaxed Sitka Foodstore & Café is a worthy stop; the sister, brother and wife team use local produce and the spoils from their collective vegie gardens (I tasted the sweetest beetroot) to make beautiful, simple dishes.

Curly Flat Winery in Lancefield is my next stop. Winemaker Phillip Moraghan’s cellar door is as beautiful as his wine. The large stone building retains much of the original charm and is more like a home than a cellar door; couches surround the fireplaces and vases overflow with white roses.

Curly Flat Wines are made in the elegant French style, looking towards the old-world white Burgundys for inspiration. His pinots are also exceptional. When tasting be sure to pay as much heed to Williams Crossing as you do the premiere brand … they have both won numerous awards and it is not unusual for the William’s (the cheaper of the two) to comes in ahead of the Curly.

With boutique beer gaining respect in Australia it is no surprise this forward-thinking area is also home to Holgate Brewery. As I sat next to two burly gentlemen (tattoos, earings and beer guts) I discovered that artisan beer is actually an everyman’s beer. As they debated the intricacies of the beer I discovered that Holgate beer is made with 100% malt, real hops and sparkling Macedon Ranges water.

Trentham -

The gold rush town of Trentham is home to quiet streets, beautiful old homes and a lovely botanical garden. It is also home to Red Beard Bakery and I have come for a lesson in baking. Every Sunday John Reid runs a six hour class where you will learn all things sourdough.

John was a biochemist and microbiologist and explains he has done his best to unlearn everything he knew. “The science is in the feel and the intuitive nature of baking …” It is a romantic pursuit in a charming setting, the café is rustic yet fabulously retro. All the food is made on the premises, most of it in their 120 year old Scotch oven using traditional techniques.

Kyneton –

Piper Street is a country shopping strip like no other. Shops such as Lulubelle (great for vintage dresses and handbags, including some adorable little dresses for toddlers fashioned from vintage fabrics) and Kabinett (with its eclectic range of antiques and oldwares) are the norm. The day I visited there was an exquisite marble prosciutto holder and a 1940s poster that I would have snapped up in a heartbeat, but it was fantastic black vintage dress that came home with me.

Annie Smithers’ Bistrot is credited as the catalyst for this amazing street. Annie’s latest endeavour is her own market garden in Malmsbury that is now providing 80% of the restaurants fruit and vegetables.  Many locals describe her classic bistro food as the best in the region. The menu is littered with references to her garden: “the first of our heritage apples, blenheim orange, turned into a classic tart tartine.”

There are great cafes as well. Little Swallow has just been opened by husband and wife team Steven and Sarah Rogers (who are also the ex-head chef and pastry chef of Jacques Reymond). Inner Biscuit, Slow Living and Ladle are also great.

The Royal George Hotel, with its old-fashioned sense of grace and fine-dining sensibilities, is using local produce to serve lovely cutting edge food. Dishes such as a tomato tarte tatin are served with Holy Goat sorbet or try their squab garnished with a rich yet delicate foie gras foam.

The wine list features many of the great wines of the region including the elusive Bindi and the Epis Williams Estate cabernet, a non-conformist in a region resplendent with pinots and chardonnays. Other great picks include the Cobaw Ridge chardonnay and the Knight’s sparkling (being poured by the glass while I was there).

My Sunday night is spent at Pizza Verde (also on the strip) a casual restaurant that is exquisite in its simplicity. Their menu includes melon wrapped in local prosciutto, chorizo with flat-bread, wonderful thin crusted pizzas featuring the best of the local produce. They aim to use the finest ingredients from as close to their door as possible.

I stayed across the road at a gorgeous apartment housed above Macedon Range Interiors. Run by Lindy Priest it has the same sense of style evident in the shop and a gorgeous view over Kyneton’s blue stone church.

Sutton Grange –

 My foray to Sutton Grange was a bit of a personal indulgence. Carla and Anne-Marie are undoubtedly making the best cheese in Australia; a big statement, but one I am willing to invite anyone to challenge. Holy Goat is not open to the public, however you must look out for their cheese on menus around the region. The girls know all their goats by name and work incredibly hard to produce their exquisite cheese on their biodynamic farm.

Sutton Grange Winery, just down the road, is also farmed using these principles (don’t be scared by the concept, the Europeans have been practicing biodynamics for centuries … the moon controls the tides, why not the earth too?). The vines are influenced by the granite in the soil, helping Gilles Lapalus to make his exquisite rose and his very enjoyable “rouge” (a Beaujolais-style red). Sutton Grange Winery was one of my favourite locations. The beautiful cavernous stone building is both cellar door and winery. With a glass in hand we discussed why Gilles uses bio-dynamics (he knows a lot if you are interested!) and watched the sun slipped away. 

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