Bushwhacked

January 5th is my birthday.  It's not exactly the best day of the year.  It's right after Christmas when no one has any money and they're done celebrating anything until Valentine's Day.  But it could be worse. My sister was born on December 22nd, just three days before Christmas.  We were born in the same year.  I was born in January and eleven and a half months later she was born.  They call that Irish twins.  We fight like the Irish, so it must be true.

For two weeks of each year we're the same age.  When we were younger she used to taunt me, "I'm the same age as you, I'm the same age as you."  This was generally followed by a tongue stuck out and a smirk.  But now that we're of a, um, certain age, I'm the one chanting, "I'm the same age as you, I'm the same age as you!"  This is usually followed by wine.

But this year I wouldn't be celebrating with my sister, or my friends.  I was in the Barossa Valley, Australia and it would just be Russell, me and my new friend, Shiraz.

I started the day with a creamy, frothy latte.  As this was our fourth day at our accommodations, the Barossa Pavilions,  Russell had finally mastered the expresso machine in our room.  He fancied himself a barista.  This is a major feat considering Russell doesn't like coffee, a major character flaw I have chosen to overlook.  He handed me the steaming cup as I swung on the porch swing that beautiful morning.  He would look cute in a Peet's Coffee apron, I mused.  I may need to get him one.

Russell and I are picnickers.  I had read about this great farm stand in my investigations of the valley, called Maggie Beer's Farm Shop.  Apparently Maggie is an institution in Australia, kind of like the way Martha Stewart is in the U.S.  Her claim to fame was a restaurant she owned called the Barossa Pheasant Farm Restaurant.  They owned a pheasant and quail farm that supplied the restaurant.  Visitors used to come to the farm and she'd make them a snack, usually her world renown pheasant pate, and invite them to enjoy it on the premises.  She went on to have a televised cooking show and published several cook books.  Now she produces an entire line of products you can buy at stores all over the world and she has the farm shop.

The farm shop was great.  It's reminiscent of a country store but with savory samples on each table.  They have an order counter where you can take away some pre-made gourmet picnic boxes.  We did this and it was awesome!  I wish we had bought more pate.  It was the best.

The Farm Shop

Guests are invited to either eat on the patio overlooking the pond or somewhere on the park-like grounds.  Some friendly turtles, (I love turtles) tried to convince us to stay.  It was enticing but we had other plans. 

Farm Shop Greeters

Did I mention I love turtles?

We drove up to the far side of the valley to a place that has a spectacular view called Eden Valley Lookout.  It was a park in progress.  So far they had some dedication rocks, explaining how the park was founded, blah, blah, blah.  And they had a big cross,  picnic table and one trash can.  There was no bathroom and no shade.  Those were yet to come.  What they did have was a great view.  We breathed it in and the hot, dry, 90 degree Barossa Valley air.

Dedication rock.

Picnic table; no shade.

With it being hot and no shade, and me wearing black, the rose wine went way too fast and so did the pate.  They were both sooo good.  It was really windy up there so we had to decide what was more important to hold on to.  I chose my cup.

Thank goodness I wore a hat and black.

The sprig of rosemary in the pre-made picnic box

is a nice touch.

Nice view. 

Nap time.

Here's your birthday present.

Come unwrap me.

After our lovely picnic we took the scenic route back to our place and stopped along the way at various vista points. It was a lovely birthday afternoon.  I capped it off with a nap.  When I woke up a kangaroo came over to the pavilion to wish me happy birthday.  He was standing just on the other side of our porch near the BBQ.  

My birthday kangaroo.

He does kid parties too.

On the way to dinner we saw a wallaby, which is a smaller breed of kangaroo.  

Don't confuse me with a kangaroo.

I'm a wallaby, damn it.

My birthday dinner was held at Appellation at the Louise Resort.  I had actually considered staying at this resort.  But it was twice as expensive as our place, the Barossa Pavilions, and it didn't have a view.  

It's my birthday and I'll wear high-heels if I want to.

We started with a couple of glasses of champagne, my favorite beverage, on the patio overlooking the vineyards.  The sun was just beginning to set, cascading the day's final rays of shimmering light and warmth across our happy faces. 

Did you say champagne?

Bring it!

This does not suck.

They sat us at their best table next to the fireplace and candle wall.  

I wonder how long it takes to light those candles.

The food was excellent.  I especially loved the sorbet served in asymmetrical glass cups.  Unfortunately they wouldn't fit in my purse.  Just kidding.  I mean about taking them.

Aren't these neat.  I love the little spoons too.

I thought I would have room for dessert or a cheese plate.  No luck.

But they brought out a birthday plate anyway.

Those are not mini-hamburgers.

After dinner we went back to our pavilion and drank some more delicious wine, while we watched the stars come out in force for my birthday.  Sigh. So nice.

At 3:30am in the morning, as happens after many a drinking night, I had to go to the bathroom for some water.  When I got back into bed I noticed some lights and dust just on a opposite ridge close by.  For a moment I thought it looked like a fire.  In the dark, cars driving along the dirt roads threw up dust that suspended like smoke in their headlights.  I concluded it must be a car.

My stirring woke Russell up and he asked me if I was all right.  "Yes", I was just thirsty." "What's that?!" he commented.  "Oh, I thought it was a fire at first but I think it's just a car on a dirt road."  "Uh, no, that's a fire."  I looked again.  Sure enough, the line of light I had thought was just headlights had grown to a half moon along the ridge and it was moving fast.  Soon you could see the flames licking treacherously.  It was spreading faster than rumors in high school. Suddenly we were both alarmed.  

Russell said, "If it makes it over the next ridge we're leaving.  Start packing."  Ten minutes later we were packed and watching the flames in awe.  We'd seen signs posted all over the valley about bush fire preparedness, never thinking they would have any relevance to us.  Now a bush fire was hungrily eating its way over to us.  It was incredible how fast it was hoovering towards us.  

Russell had called the owner who had called the fire department.  So far we hadn't seen any fire trucks, although the wind had changed direction and seemed to be goading the fire to the left instead of directly at us.  The fire department told us to stay in our pavilion, but if we had to leave to go into the center of town.  That would be the safest place.  Russell was contemplating Adelaide.  

The fire was just on the verge of the final ridge closest to us when we heard the fire trucks.  There was about five of them.  They had to pick their way carefully because most of the roads that led to the infected area were not paved.   Russell's grip on the car keys loosened ever so softly.  We had a front row seat to the fire fighting.  It was mesmerizing watching them work.  Clearly they had done this before.  

First they cut the fire in half.  Then they concentrated on the fire closest to a house it was near consuming.  While they tackled that, they let the right side of the fire go unchecked.  All that was out there was grazing land.  I worried about the animals.  When they had the left side of the fire under control they surrounded the other fire from each side until they met in the middle and squelched it.  

The owner of the pavilions showed up right around the middle of the episode assuring us the fire department had everything under control and we were safe.  By this time is was 5am and we were exhausted.  The adrenaline from the fire had burnt out and we were ready to sleep.  We got back into bed and didn't wake up until lunch time.

We decided to drive around and survey the damage.  The house had been saved but there was a rather gigantic singed area.  The animals were all OK.

This picture does NOT do it justice.

This fire was threatening to eat us!

Acres singed; animals and homes saved.

We decided to go back to the Vintners Bar and Grill for some comfort food before taking on Kaesler and Penfolds wineries.  

By dinner we were gourmet'ed out.  We opted for a take-out pizza instead.  It wasn't worth commenting about, other than it's amazing how red wine makes shitty pizza taste better.  Perhaps Dominoes should offer wine with theirs.

The next day was our last in Barossa.  We started with the Barossa Farmer's Market.  The weather had changed over night.  It was blustery and almost cool.  Farmer's tents threatened to fly away in the deluge. 

The farmer's market wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be.  I was hoping to find some heirloom tomatoes, or other farm grown goodies.  We had planned to eat at the pavilion that night.

I was inspired by a Maggie Beers recipe in the local travel guide.  A chicken dish made with honey and a melange of root vegetables.  I was hoping to find some root vegetables but all I found was static cling.

My hair looked like Medusa.  Nice.

The locals assured us the farmers market is usually better.

But the wind was keeping people away.

By this time we were pretty much wined out.  But we had heard the restaurant at Jacobs Creek, originally called "Jacobs" was good so we decided to go there for lunch.  Jacobs Creek is sort of the "Frass Canyon (Sideways)" of the Barossa Valley.  They produce a lot of mass wines most educated palates graduate from after college.  Today was no different.  Since the restaurant didn't open for half an hour, we bellied up for a taste, not expecting much.  We weren't surprised.  

Like Frass Canyon the place is a marketing machine.  This Summer they were touting their new line of wines called "Cool Harvest. " Basically the shtick is, they "harvest" the grapes at night when it's cooler, thus retaining the flavor of the grape.  The wines are meant to be served cool, during the Summer, for maximum refreshment. Uh huh.  They tasted like over chilled wines to me.  Over chilled wines don't have much flavor.  Postcards that looked like party invitations invited you to sample the wines along with their spokeswoman, actress Naomi Watts.  The invitation was compelling, just Naomi and a couple of super models, enjoying a bottle of Cool Harvest in an ideal setting.  

Basically it was the ice beer concept, only the label on the bottle doesn't turn blue when you submerge it in ice.  I had to admit, it was kind of clever for what it was.  I would have drank it happily before I became educated. I'd probably drink it if that's all there was.  I guess the moral of the story, for me at least, is it tastes better than beer.  I don't like beer.

Jacob's was a well lit, sophisticated restaurant, but the food was over-rated.  It was just OK.  After ten days of awesome, OK was disappointing. The rest of Jacob's cellar door, more like mega showroom, was very high tech and thoughtfully administered.  There was an educational hallway in the lobby.  They played outdoor movies on Friday nights while you drink Cool Harvest under the stars.  They even have an effort to bring indigenous plants and animals back to the region. I guess jug wine counts for something.

Sophisticated tasting room.

 

No more wine.

Can I have a beer?

Put Your Dukkah Up

By the third day in Barossa the wine was starting to show on my face and my stomach.  I had to go for a run to sweat it out and make myself feel like I was doing something about it so I could keep drinking.  It was a beautiful morning and I was forced to stop a couple of times to observe kangaroos, bickering parrots, a couple of baby cows and take a few pictures.

A field of rolled hay balls.

Nice.

This tree has some stories I bet

Pine cones in the dead of Summer

It was Cindy and John's last day with us in Barossa before they headed back to Sydney.   We made the most of it. 

After a perfunctory stop at the oldest winery in Barossa, Seppeltsfield, we got serious and tried to get into Greenock Creek.  Apparently this would be Cindy and John's third attempt to taste at this exalted winery.  The winery had been closed on each of their previous trips to the Barossa.  "Not this time!" I predicted, "you have the luck of the us," I explained.  We'd already seen lots of kangaroos and foxes, when Cindy and John had never seen any roos here before.  And besides three is always the charm.  It was, because to their delight, the cellar door was open, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

The screen door was unlocked and we ducked our heads, well John and Russell did, as we cautiously navigated the stairs down into an actual cellar.  Behind the counter was a slightly put-off looking attractive older woman who looked a little dismayed she had company.  That's not very proprietary I thought but we soon learned the reason for her irritation.  

As we ogled the first luscious pour of Alice's Shiraz, we heard an echo.  It came from the other side of the counter and it was around three.  A precocious three year old boy.  He insisted upon his grandmother's attention no matter how many people were present.  No wonder grandma was irritated.  A wine counter was no place for a little kid, no matter how cute he is.  Another group showed up who apparently knew the wine maker.  Soon the three by six foot cellar was overwhelmed by drinkers, and the boy's mother came and fetched him from a thankful grandmother.  The boy didn't want to go, but the good thing about three year olds is, they can be picked up and moved to the desired location.  Too bad husbands aren't as easy. 

Now this actually looks like a cellar door.

Pretty vines on the wall

Hmmm, suddenly I'm thirsty.

After Greenock Creek, we passed by a couple of RVs parked along the road, enjoying a picnic with wine.  The wine was from Two Hands Winery just down the road.  Two Hands Winery is a place we were warned off of due to a business deal gone awry with one of our friends.  We decided to check it out purely for educational purposes, see what drew him there in the first place.

Instantly we could see why our friend had considered going into business with them.  The wine, which we tried against our will, was delicious, the setting sublime.  It's too bad it didn't work out, we confessed guiltily, but it just reinforced our appreciation for our friend's taste.  We didn't buy any in his honor, raising our tasting glasses to him in reverence.  He does know his wine and thanks to him, we get to live vicariously through his excellent palate.

Good wine but we're not buying it.

Nice tasting environment.

We all headed back to our pavilions for a pre-dinner nap.  I decided today's nap would be on the porch swing.  Ah, such choices.  When I woke up an hour later the cows were just making their way down to the lower pasture the way they did every afternoon. All except one.  He looked as surprised to see me as I did seeing him.  "And you are?" he seemed to inquire.  He was on the wrong side of the fence and standing no more than a foot away from the porch.  There must be a breech in the fence.  I ran to get my camera, he ran to get back to the herd. Soon he was eyeing me warily from the right side of the fence, telling his buddies about how he narrowly escaped the two-legger.

Get on your own side.

Afternoon feed

That night we went to the Vintner's Bar and Grill for dinner. The dukkah with the housemade bread was to die for.  What is dukkah you ask?  I did.  I'd never heard of it.  I thought it was an Australian malady.  But apparently it's an Egyptian hors' doeuvre.  It's a mixture of herbs and crushed nuts served as an accompaniment to bread.  You dip your bread in olive oil, then you dip it in the dukkah.  I could have had just my dukkahed bread and wine and been happy.   The restaurant reminded me of Napa; charming, enlightened, delicious.  A place you plan to come back to.   We had a bottle of Torbreck to seal the deal.  They decanted the bottle in a large laboratory beaker.  I always excelled at chemistry.

After dinner we bid our friends farewell.  They were returning to Sydney the next day.  We still had a few days left in the Barossa and my birthday to celebrate.

Charming.

Just imagine sipping a fine shiraz next to this fireplace in the Fall.

Oh yeah, my kind of chemistry

You're Not Gay; I'm just Drunk

We woke up that morning to the sound of the jungle.  Jungle?  But we're in Australia, the Barossa Valley in fact, which looks a lot like the Central Coast of California.  There's no jungle here, no monkeys, or large cats, just wine.  But down the hill from our Pavilion was a stream, guarded by stands of eucalyptus trees.  And in those trees was a Kookaburra bird.  Aptly named these guys sound like maniacal jungle animals.  Their call is crazy and every time I heard it, I started belting out, Ethel Merman style, that song, "In the jungle, the mighty jungle the lion sleeps tonight."  Ugh, once you get that song in your head, you can't get it out.  Well, not without wine.

We hit four wineries that day but it felt like ten.  Ten is a good number.

After a lovely breakfast in our pavilion we joined John and Cindy and headed to our first cellar door of the day.  It was called the Artisans of Barossa, and truth be told it was really like hitting six cellar doors at once.  Because this place represents six different wine producers including Hobbs, John Duval, Spinifex, Sons of Eden, Massena and Teusner.  We opted for just two tastings between the four of us and embarked on a odyssey of delectable, well orchestrated wines.  Thank you sir, I'll try another.

Cindy and I have similar taste in wine and pretty much fell in love with Grenache that day.  In America, Grenache is a bad word.  It  means "jug wine."  But not in the Barossa.  In the Barossa it means, luscious, fruity, velvety, taste explosion.  Kind of like a Jolly Ranger candy, they get stuck to your teeth and you can't stop sucking on it.

Russell and I had to take a few moments to haggle over how many and which bottles we would buy.  After yesterday's Turkey Flat, Charles Melton and Rockford, the one case we designated was filling up fast.  We chose a couple Grenache, assuring ourselves we'd drink a few bottles before we left, which would free up some more room.

First stop X 6

John, wondering how he's going to get it all home.
Oh yeah, he lives here.  He can ship it.

Cindy, well equipped for the day.
How much for the camera?

Next we hit Torbreck and well, I was done for.  Every wine we tasted there was incredible. At this point I was regretting buying any wine from Hunter Valley when I could have bought an entire case of Torbreck.  Russell started rocking and speaking in tongues, "Maybe we should bring a third case back.  Yeah, that's it - a third case.  Screw the extra luggage fee.  I'm sure we have room in our suit case.  Who needs clothes?  I need this wine. Got to have this wine.  A third case. A third case."

I found myself beginning to chant too, my eyes glazing over into pools of shimmering shiraz, "yes, three cases, three cases...."  WTF am I thinking!  We already have too much wine!

Tobrek sign encouraging visitors to come inside

and become addicted.

I pulled him outside.  "Breathe."  I said, handing him a sprig of lavender from their garden.  The sun beamed down sharply.  It was about 100 degrees outside and the heat permeated to the bone.  It had the sobbering affect I required and after a couple deep, cleansing breathes, we decided to come back later in the week after the wine coma had cleared and see if we still wanted to buy a case.  It was like shoe shopping.  Do I really need a pair of Manolos?  Walk away, just walk away.

Too bad he's wearing sunglasses.

If he wasn't you could see the wine zombie more clearly.

Lavender saved the day.

We walked back into the cellar door to fetch John and Cindy.  It was clear they were under the spell as well.  The stuff was, well, intoxicating.  Our addiction started back in Sydney with a bottle of the acclaimed Runrig.  At the cellar door it was even easier to succumb, especially with Pete the dangerously funny, bald Aussie wine pourer, or should I say "pusher".  After five minutes this guy could get you to do pretty much anything, he was that pleasingly infectious.  

We tried to busy ourselves by looking at the paraphernalia scattered around the room.  There was a book called, "Australian Wine Dogs."  We own the American version.  We started skimming through it looking for dogs like Ranger the Wonder Dog.  There were a lot, which made sense since he is an Australian Cattle Dog and a wine dog, at least at our house.  He does love a good chardonnay.

We asked Pete if Torbreck had a dog in the book.  They did. We mused on why the author didn't do a book on cats, when Pete said,  "I like cats; I just can't eat a whole one."  We all dissolved into raucous laughter.  This guy is too funny.  We vowed to come back later in the week.

The next winery, Thorne Clark, was a bit of a lark.  It was on the edge of the valley and their claim to fame is a wine called Shotfire which has won great acclaim, especially considering it only cost about $20 a bottle.  Unfortunately they weren't pouring that and after Torbreck their wines seemed underwhelming and provincial.  I felt bad for the wine pourer, the place was empty and felt more like an accounting office than a cellar door, she was earnest but lacked the luster of Pete.

We began our trek back to the Pavilions but not before stopping at just one more place, Kellermeister. It was the only one still open at 4:30 and its sign gloated five James Halliday stars.  Not Black ones, Red ones, which John explained meant they had received the highest Halliday winery rating.  Well, what are we waiting for, I want five red stars too!

Note the five "red" stars.

After the glowing group of happily looped Italians walked out we pretty much had the place, and the wine pourer to ourselves.  It was that time in the day they dread the most, just before closing when the inebriated come in to drink, not just taste.  

Since we'd been drinking half the day, we were all exceedingly charming by this time.  Or so we thought.  I don't know about you but I get funnier and better looking the more I drink.  So we struck up a playful conversation with the young and expressive wine pourer.  He was cute in an altruistic way, ambitious and earnest and full of ideas.  He and a friend were starting a wine label of their own but were having problems agreeing on a name.  He said they were really having a hard time and were currently in a heated debate.  "That's it! You should name your winery, Heated Debate!  It's perfect" I exclaimed, thoroughly convinced of my own brilliance.  John enthusiastically seconded the idea and gave me a hearty high five.  The ambitious would-be winemaker gave us a look I think meant, "Oh God, why did I bring that up ?"  

We asked if we were keeping him, perhaps beginning to recognize we may not be as charming as we thought.  He said no, in fact, our presence was helping him avoid having to empty the spittoon.  A chore he abhorred since last week when he accidently dropped the spittoon, catapulting a bucketful of back wash into his face.  "It was disgusting," he gushed, "I was covered from head to toe in red, slimy back wash."

"GROSS!" we all bellowed, shuttering.  "Yeah," he said, "my partner Mitch was nice enough to run me a hot bath when I got home."  "Well, that was nice of him, " I said encouragingly, concluding he was gay.

But apparently Mitch wasn't a guy.  He spent the next ten minutes making sure we knew he wasn't gay, enunciating each "she" and "my girlfriend", managing to work them as frequently as possible into his explanations of the next wine pour.  Ooops, my bad.  But how did I know?  He was clean cut.  He was good looking.  He said his "partner Mitch", he takes baths....

After, when we were walking back to the car, Cindy explained that in Australia, people call their "significant other" their "partner".  Who knew?  Course they all assumed he was gay too.

Not gay.

That night we decided to go forego another rich meal out and instead, BBQ at the Pavilion.  It was a great choice.  There was a beautiful sunset and Russell and I needed to drink a couple of bottles to make room for more wine, possibly Torbreck.  John and Cindy made dinner at their place and we brought the wine.

Cindy and I went for a walk after dinner, looking for roos.  Instead we found great light and some affectionate cows.  I like to think I'm like Snow White.  For some reason,  animals are drawn to me and I end up seeing all kinds of wildlife where ever we go.  It probably has to do with being more observant than my singing however. Usually wildlife means, deer, roos, foxes... not bovine.  But this one cow had a crush on me. 

Dinner on the deck overlooking the wine

Sun setting on another day of wine and lavender

Pick a color, any color

Anyone in need of a cow poster?

This one is good.

My bovine boyfriend.

I'm sorry Beefcake, it will never work.

I'm a carnivore.

Pretty

Pretty

Wow

Hmm, I wonder if the boys have cleaned up yet?

Let's wait a little longer before going back up.