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Berowra Waters Inn

April 7, 2018 by Fran Leave a Comment

I was trying to remember whether I had heard of this place. I have eaten at a lot of great restaurants in Sydney, but somehow, I found it hard to recall any memory of Berowra Waters Inn. If I am totally honest, which I like to think is my default position, I don’t think I had heard of Berowra, or, as it turns out, its very pretty cousin, Berowra Waters. I feel I should have read of it, being so close to home, and housing a restaurant that gets glowing reviews all over the world in various travel and food publications. I do have a vague recollection of being passed a magazine article, whilst on holiday in the UK. Somewhere I was told I would enjoy. Of a restaurant in Sydney that you get to by seaplane.

Now, there can’t be many restaurants in Sydney, fitting this description, even though I do know that the seaplane, based out of Rose Bay, does serve several restaurants up in the Northern Beaches area. At over $600 a trip, it is somewhat of a luxury. As we were staying on the water for the weekend, our arrival was a little less dramatic, yet still highly memorable. At 1.30pm, a full hour after we were initially told to be ready (river time, apparently), we spotted Andy, our water taxi, in his little boat, coasting towards our mooring.

At least we guessed it was Andy. With each house having its own private mooring, if somebody was heading in your direction, there was only one place they could park. Outside our house.

A bit of a character, sporting a bedraggled pony tail, and a shaggy, somewhat out of control beard, Andy had the air of a man who has never had to don a suit for a work interview. Quite a romantic notion for me, who has spent all his adult working life in this manner, toiling at various large, faceless corporate organisations, to earn the funds that feed my insatiable travel appetite. A kind of modern troubadour, signing for my supper, to anybody kind enough to listen.

Transferring to the Berowra Waters Inn took us all of 5 minutes, quite an improvement on the 20 or so minutes it had been taking us to pass it when out, bobbing on the water, in our own little tinnie. For the uninitiated, as I was before this weekend, a tinnie is a small boat that you can drive without a boat licence. That turned out to be an adventure in itself. Today’s journey, in a much faster boat, consisted of Andy regaling us of tales of life on the river, and the various occupants, which include no other than Cate Blanchett and Paul Keating. In different houses. Obviously.

Other than the 3 private moorings the restaurant has, one of which was currently housing a boat that would set you back a cool $2m, and cost up to $20k to fill up with fuel, the Berowra Waters Inn is a very unprepossessing place. No signage giving any hint to what is behind the floor to ceiling windows that stretch the length of the restaurant. It is the smartly dressed guests sat at smartly laid tables, drinking flutes of champagne, that hint of the wonders inside.

We were greeted on the pontoon of the restaurant by the manager, and whisked through a very large brown wooden door, up the 12 or so stone steps, and into the restaurant. With today’s lunch service only doing 16 covers there felt a kind of serenity that you don’t usually associate with restaurants that have a very open plan kitchen, as the Inn has. The chefs appeared almost graceful, perfecting their works of art, before sending them out to hungry diners.

Our menu, as was everyone else’s, was a set 7 course degustation menu, and was presented like a little origami puzzle, so perfect that it felt wrong to open it. As we were perusing the food we were about to experience, and that is the right word, experience, we reflected on degustation menus. Different to the a la carte type of dining, the degustation menu forces you, if force is the right word when discussing world class food, it forces you to try things you probably wouldn’t ordinarily order. I know for a fact, one of our party of two, and it wasn’t me, wouldn’t have ordered oysters, even though it was an amuse bouche, and definitely would not have ordered the “hapuka, mussels & herbs”, not being much of a fan of mussels. What she wouldn’t have known beforehand, was that this would be her favourite course of the whole afternoon, and the “mussels” were dehydrated, if you can get your head around what that is.

Even before we had a morsel of food, we had our first drinks. And it might possibly have changed my life. The restaurant sells a selection of 3, custom made signature cocktails, in little inviting bottles that are hard to resist. It was even harder to resist, nay, it was futile, once I discovered that one of the 3 cocktails was made on a base of single malt whisky, aged in Pinot casks. Adding some lemon, and paperbark, (I still don’t know if this is an actual thing. I would appreciate your input), a drink was produced that I will remember for a very long time. The whisky was subtle, yet distinctive. And whether it was the lemon, or the paperbark, or the combination of the two, I need to know how to make this drink. My afternoon was made, and we hadn’t yet started on the food.

Over the course of the next few hours we had spanner crab, the afore mentioned hapuka and mussels, pork with apple and bacon, wagyu beef, goats cheese, and a frangipani sponge that took my breath away. A 2015 Walsh & Sons Cabernet Sauvignon from the Margaret River in Western Australia was an excellent accompaniment.

Whilst time had been passing blissfully, the sudden arrival of the seaplane, coasting down the river, to the restaurant’s pontoon, brought into sharp relief that it must now be past 4pm, and almost the end of lunch service. A lunch service that I was very lucky, and very grateful to have experienced. Sadly, it was time for us to leave

As Andy whisked us home we were left reflecting on an experience that will live long in the memory, and long on the waistline.

Byron Bay

March 8, 2018 by Fran Leave a Comment

It is no secret that I like to step off the hamster wheel of city life now and again, even if only just a few days. My trips to Mudgee will attest to this. The 3 and half hour drive leaves enough distance between me, and the madness that is the Sydney CBD. As we come up through the mountains, pausing in Bilpin for a slice of home made apple pie, then drop down into Lithgow, and onto the final stretch into central New South Wales, I feel an immediate sense of zen. Something not even daily sessions of meditation with “Calm” can replicate.

The latest decompression trip was a return to beautiful Byron Bay, last visited in 2015 at the back end of our East Coast road trip. Memories of that last visit, those that I still have – post the marathon Sunday session we had, remain stuck in the mind as “that time in Byron we woke up amongst the detritus of the previous night’s kebab takeaway.”

This trip was to be much more civilised. I had promised myself. In January 2015 we had just finished a long road trip, with long stretches of driving each day. We couldn’t allow ourselves to over indulge on the evenings before. For what I would hope are obvious reasons, we moderated our alcohol intake. This was, until we dropped off the campervan on the outskirts of Brisbane, on New Years Eve, and proceeded to spend the next couple of weeks rampaging through Brisbane, Surfers Paradise, and then Byron Bay, like teenagers on spring break.

To reinforce the fact that this trip was to be more sedate, we booked Airbnb accommodation in the village of Suffolk Park, some 6kms south of central Byron, and a short 25 minute mini bus transit from Ballina airport with Easy Bus Byron. The selling points were the proximity to a wide stretch of beach, Tallows, the fact the village had a pub, a cafe with great coffee, and a couple of push bikes giving us easy access into Byron.

We were dropped off along Broken Head Road, and being a little early to check in, we crossed the road with our hand luggage, to the pub, the Park Hotel. Being in this part of the world, a lot of the pubs are similar, in that they are mainly outdoors. Fully covered, as it does rain a lot, not just here, but in the whole of Australia, but the rest of the pub is open. Byron Bay is only about 70 kilometres from Queensland, and this tells in the humidity. Byron feels tropical. The day we arrived felt particularly humid, and the best solution for this is always an ice cold Stone & Wood Pacific Ale. I was now definitely on “Byron time”, and ready to kick back.

Our accommodation was just what I had pictured, a small, self contained cabin, up a short drive way off the main road. The only clue we were in the right place was the number 244, stencilled into the white, metal post box by the side of the road. Up a steep incline, seemingly into the wilderness, we came across Quambi, our home for the next 2 nights. We were met by Subi, a very friendly Staffordshire Bull Terrier, who often popped in to see us through our stay.

Byron is almost at the most northern part of New South Wales, and Cape Byron, hosting a wonderful lighthouse, is the most easterly point of Australia. And over the years it has become a haven for visitors. It started off as a place the attracted those seeking an “alternative” lifestyle. What you might call hippies. People who chose to drop out of conventional life and live differently. Nearby Nimbin has been described as lots of things, including “an escapist sub culture”, and has always been closely associated with cannabis, which is openly traded, despite being illegal. If Nimbim is the young upstart, Byron is the big sister. Slightly more grown up, but still rebellious.

My impressions are that, reassuringly, not too much has changed on the surface of Byron since my first ever visit in 1994. Cheeky Monkeys still regularly entertains drunken backpackers late into the evening. The Beach Hotel still holds its piece of prime real estate, over looking, yes, you guessed it, the beach. And walking down Johnson Street, you can still get your cold beers from the Northern, and the Friendly Railway Hotel, pubs which don’t seem to have changed with the years. Byron still feels like Byron. People care about each other. Hitchhiking is still a thing. I saw a few by the side of the road, thumb stuck out, successfully getting rides. And I was given a guilt trip in the pub when I had the temerity to ask for a plastic bottle of water. Byron has been waging a war on plastic well before the current global push to minimise our use of it. And rightfully so.

But what is obvious, is that there is now a lot more money in Byron. It no longer caters just to hippies. With local residents such as the actor Chris Hemsworth, his reported new neighbour Matt Damon, and Aussie singer Natalie Imbruglia, all calling Byron home, the bars and restaurants have had to up their game. Porsches and Audis share the streets with decades old campervans. Boutique hotels rub shoulders with the many backpacker hostels. And the Balcony Bar does a “Bottomless Bellini Breakfast”. A far cry from the vegemite on toast of my backpacking days.

Beautiful Byron is a place where you can’t fail to immediately relax. You sense the slower pace of life as soon as you disembark the plane. The three days we had there felt like much longer. We packed our days with long bikes rides, along the many, flat, bike lanes in and around Byron. We had some great food out at The Three Blue Ducks, on The Farm. Cycling the 13kms back we called into the excellent Stone & Wood brewery, sharing a paddle of their finest beers. To walk off the excellent lunch we had at Mez Club, the margaritas, mai tais, and mango pina coladas, we took longs walks on the amazing, wide expanses of beaches that line the northern, and eastern coast of the town.

Waking on the third day, to the sound of tropical rain pattering on the roof of cabin, we looked at each other and said, “shall we just stay”.

When it comes to travel, it’s the business

June 21, 2017 by Fran 1 Comment

Whilst not quite having the romance of train travel, getting to the UK any way other that jet propulsion would be quite an undertaking. As much as I love riding the rails, the distance between Sydney and Manchester might be too much even for me.

So, an airplane it is, and all the associated rigmarole this brings. Checking in online. Getting to the airport hours before you are due to fly. The pain that is airport security. Not that I think we should reduce this security, not for a moment, but, you have to admit, it is a bloody painful process.

Working your way through lines that snake around those mobile barriers. All the while, some little kid is lifting up the spring loaded barrier and unclipping it, throwing the queuing system into disarray.

Once you have negotiated this, you then have the screening. Ensuring you have no liquids in your bag. Scratching your head and wondering of this is one of the airports that make you remove your iPad from your carry on, remove your shoes, belt, or even your watch. You then go through the scanner yourself, only to beep and suddenly remember the erroneous 10 cent coins rattling around deep in your pocket.

Survive all this, and you still have to negotiate the retail hell that has become all but the tiniest airports. You are deposited into the duty free stores, which are harder to navigate than IKEA on a Sunday morning. With thirteen after shave samples, on those little cardboard strips, in your pocket, all you want is a cold beer. Where has the pub gone? It has been given a facelift, a very modern name, and is now a gastro-wine-artisanal-microbrew-resto-eating establishment.

By the time you eventually get your beer, you have to down it rapidly, as the announcements start that your gate is open, and plane ready for boarding. So you skull your beer, and run to the other side of the airport, where your gate is located, only to find that your plane isn’t in fact boarding. Yet every passenger has decided to start queuing in anticipation, even though everybody has a seat booking, and a boarding card that proves it, and will all get on the plane. Eventually.

You know you are going nowhere fast. You would have had time for a few more ice cold pints, a burger with hand cut chips, and a bag of pork scratchings. Now you are going to have to settle for a dry bread roll, and a little aluminium tray with a scrawny chicken sausage and a cheese omelette with a splash of brown water in a plastic cup, masquerading as coffee, whilst having yourself elbowed from both sides, and trying to drown out the screaming child in row 44. Oh the joys.

Unless. You accept the airlines very generous email offer to upgrade to business class. And so this is what we did. I have never before been offered a reduced rate upgrade. Having had the opportunity to experience the delights of business class previously, with Singapore Airlines, I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. No sir.

Whilst the above describes the Sydney to Doha flight (15 plus hours), what followed, for the Doha to Manchester flight (approx 8 hours) could not have been more different. Champagne upon boarding. An a la carte menu. From which food is served on demand. On a crisp white table cloth. With wines expertly matched. And a seat that fully reclines into a flat bed for your post lunch nap, with a real pillow, and thin duvet. Not that I did much sleeping. I was far too excited to sleep.

As I finished off the last of the cheese board, I totally forgot that I had flown around the world, over the last 24 hours, as we slowly descended into Manchester. Going home, in economy, just won’t be the same. All suggestions of best way to snag an upgrade are most welcome.

Top 9 things to learn before coming to Australia…(from the archives)

August 27, 2016 by Fran 1 Comment

This is an old post, but a good one to revisit.

About living in Sydney…

Having just passed my 4 year anniversary of living in Australia, I thought it very timely to write about the things they don’t tell you in the glossy brochures. Or at the fancy work expos for working down under. Or that you don’t find out from other friends living here.

Australia is a fantastic place to live. I love Sydney. Every day I am reminded of how lucky I am to be here, passing the glorious Opera House on my daily commute, the sun reflecting off the harbour, with the famous green and gold ferries bringing in commuters to the city. But you know me well enough now to realise I can also find something to gripe about. Find the cloud in the silver lining. And here are my top gripes. At least for this month.

1. Having to do your personal tax return every year. By law. And for the last couple of years, still getting a hefty tax bill. Despite paying (what you think is the right levels of tax) each month direct from your employer. How do you work that one out? Medicare levies. Surcharges. Blah blah blah. Stop. It is not going to change anything. But I can still complain about it.

2. Despite a country renowned for its weather, and love of the outdoors, there a surprisingly few (very few) beer gardens. How disappointing is that? Mr Sunshine comes out on another glorious summers day, and you want to have a refreshing cold pint of beer, al fresco. I still look back very fondly on such sunny days, sat out the back of Dicey’s bar in Dublin, having a few ice cold Magners. Instead, you are stuck indoors, the sounds of pokies ringing in your ear, and being blasted by sub zero temperature air conditioner units. Or so it feels.

3. Football. Oh god. Now you have got me started. You have to either give up your love of the beautiful game, or resign yourself to very late nights, And/or very early mornings. And going to work bleary eyed after a mid week feature, yet again putting the scousers to the sword. Ok, ok, less so in recent years. But now we have the Special One, teamed up again with the Special Juan. And the good times are coming back. I can just feel it.

4. They call “rugby” football. And also, some other game, played by men in vests and shorts that were fashionable in the 1980s, in Melbourne, gets called football. It is very confusing. The world game is football. The one actually played with your feet. The one with the egg, the niche sport, is played with the hands. And is rugby. Or Aussie Rules. Or League. Strewth. I can’t keep up.

5. It rains. It rains a lot. More than London. Here is an actual fact. Well, if you can believe what you read on Wikipedia. I didn’t get time to get to the State Library to check the official records from the Bureau of Meteorology. The annual rainfall in Sydney through 2015 was 1337mm. This compared to London of 594mm. There should be a salary supplement just to buy umbrellas as they seem to blow inside out so often in the gales that whip through Sydney CBD. And woe betide if you don’t wear the right footwear to work, or you will be sitting with wet feet all day.

6. People are always “looking after you”. Despite making it to adulthood in one piece, it seems you can’t be trusted to look after yourself in Sydney. So people are employed to do it for you. Take a trip to the football as an example. You and your mates want a beer? Let’s hope there are not more than four of you. Otherwise you will need a chaperone to go and actually buy the drinks. The thing is, you can only buy four drinks at once. So no buying in rounds. This is to protect you from getting drunk. Yes, just like when you were back in school, and the teachers were looking out for you. Sydney is so kind to continue this service well into adulthood. Even if the bar person can see your 5, or 6, or 7 other mates. Right besides you. Oh no no no. Far too dangerous. You have to get one of your other mates to stand at the side of you, get their own money out, and buy any beers that exceed your quota. I kid you not. This has actually happened.

7. Whilst I am on drink, as it’s a good subject, Sydney seems to be regressing in to a nanny state. Lots has been written about Sydney lock out laws, and how they are having a negative affect on the city’s nighttime vibrancy, so I won’t touch on that. But, just try and order a whisky past a certain time. Neat you say? You want your whisky neat? Oh no. We can’t be having you behaving like a lout. You are likely to get drunk and punch the nearest person if you do that. A much better idea would be to spoil your 16 year old Lagavulin single malt with a dash of cola. And not just any old cola, but roller cola. Surely. There’s a good boy.

8. Bouncers. All of this is if you can even get past the bouncers, who are a different breed in Sydney. On a night out, you will be stopped and asked, “have you been drinking tonight?”. How do you answer that ludicrous question? With a straight face? “Oh no, we have all just come out tonight, round all these busy, noisy pubs, drinking water. It seemed the most fun thing to do.” What you actually do is quickly, mentally make a decision on what is the “right” number of drinks to have had by 10pm. Apparently “four” is the wrong answer. As I have found out to my detriment. Things reached the nadir when one pal was asked to leave 3 pubs in one night, for being inebriated. Funny thing was, he looked markedly sober compared to some of the other people in the pub. But, we were in an Irish bar I suppose. Imagine the ignominy of being asked to leave an Irish bar for being drunk.

9. This last one is not a gripe. It’s a labor of love. Burgers, and the analysis of. Yes. There really is a spreadsheet. It all started as a Burger Off, with colleagues. A bit of fun, with fellow burger loving friends. Until Sydney took over, and burger loving became very hip and fashionable. So typical of Sydney. Now, there are probably as many places selling all varieties of burgers, as there are Facebook groups extolling the virtues of each. Something I saw last week just captured the zeitgeist perfectly. Ladies and gentlemen, I leave you with the Pokeman burger. I am out of words.

The changing face of travel

March 18, 2016 by Fran Leave a Comment

Reading an article recently got me reminiscing about the first real trip I did. Not the week I had in Tunisia riding camels. Not the week in Ibiza, avoiding San Antonio. An actual backpacking trip. Years before flash packing was a glint in an entrepreneurs eye. There was no “flash” in the travel we were to embark on. Not even on the camera we had. No, seriously, it had NO flash. There are probably people reading this who don’t understand that statement. Does this help?

Example of 110 camera, introduced by Kodak in 1972

My, oh my. Taking pics on that old thing. And wandering to the chemist on Pitt St Mall in Sydney, paying extra to get the 1 hour processing. The height of excitement. Then, when the pics came, nervously flicking through to see what of the night out in Kings Cross actually got captured. I lost count of the times we either exclaimed, who IS that? Why is that girl sitting on your knee? Who are those lads drinking schooners with us? Those halcyon days.

The intention is not to rehash the original article I read, but to give me chance to reflect on times past, and the changes that seem to have happened over the years without me really noticing. I still feel like that excited 23 year old. Knowing there is a whole world out there to explore. I am a little older, and wiser now, but I still have that excitement about the world.

Traveling in 1994 was very different to traveling now. No email. Internet? What was that? All we had was our trusty guide book of choice. Mine being then, and still, Lonely Planet. But what hefty tomes they were.

Booking your next hostel over the actual telephone. The big ones in the street, that you put coins into. Not the one in your pocket the size of a small caramel slice. No kids, those weren’t invented at this point. Mobile phones, not caramel slices.

Passing on your contact details by getting out a pen, and ripping a piece of paper from your travel journal. Knowing that you were never going to see, nor contact 99% of the people. But it felt good to do it anyway. With your new lifelong “friends”. That is something that never changes, whatever the technology we use as enablers. Friendships don’t need social media.

And as for writing to let people know what you were up to. Well. You had to actually write. With a real pen.

Poste Restante. What a quaint idea. If you wanted a letter to reach you on the road, you told people which city, or town you would be in, and added c/o Poste Restante. And miraculously, it arrived. You went and queued up with all the other travellers, and vagabonds, with your identification. And collected your mail. I still have a box full of letters from that time, collected from post offices around Australia.

A few years after that seminal trip, I found myself back down under, travelling around New Zealand, tying in a quick visit to the sister, who at this time was living it large in Bondi. Sans children.

What was this strange phenomenon whereby fellow travellers were jumping straight off the bus upon arrival in Christchurch, and running into the nearest café? All lined up, clearly visible through the front window of the cafe, each sat at a computer terminal. Were they taking some kind of online exam? Playing computer games? No, the age of the Internet cafe had arrived. With pay as you go access to email, and allowing you to upload (if you had the time and money for the incredibly frustrating upload and download speeds) photos. At lot had seemingly changed since 1994. A brave new world indeed.

I had to join this brave new world, and so, far my next major trip, a round the world (RTW in travel parlance) I found myself travelling all the way to Leeds to hunt down an elusive Internet cafe. I say ALL the way to Leeds, and those readers from home will know this is not far at all. But in those days, it just highlights how few and far between these mythical Internet cafes were.

Not that I knew what one of these places of magic and mystery were, but I had read that I could go there and get an email address. Whatever that was. A legacy of this remains to this day, the reason I have “99” appending fcormack on my hotmail account. This was the year I set it up. A poignant, and constant reminder of a marvellous year.

Having an email address was only half the story. Finding a place down a dusty side street in Delhi that somebody had told you had a computer so you could email…who exactly? I think I was an early adopter in this email malarkey, which meant the options of who I could write to (electronically) were very limited.

And boy, were these internet connections slow! You paid by the 5, or 10 mins usually. And before you had written “wish you were here” you had spent next week’s beer and bed budget. Imagine my relief some years later when Stelios finally got into the game, creating his big orange “EasyInternet” cafes. Game changers at the time, that I have used in places from Berlin to Barcelona.

Traveling now is unrecognisable from my early days. My last real trip was at the end of 2010/start of 2011, all around South America. Most people I met were carrying expensive bits of kit such as MacBooks, and large expensive SLR cameras. Not to mention the mini computers, masquerading as phones, in their pockets. Or it’s the ubiquitous tablet, used to capture and share every waking moment of their trip. Be it the food. The amazing sunset. The “undiscovered” beach they have just discovered. The one first mentioned by Tony and Maureen Wheeler in the very Lonely Planet guide to South East Asia, Across Asia on the Cheap, from 1973.

I have a wry smile to myself, seeing some of the content in today’s travel blogs. From the “digital nomads” currently traveling all four corners of the earth. They sometimes really believe they are exploring uncharted waters. Seeing things with human eyes for the very first time. The reality is that they probably aren’t even the first person in their hostel to see it. But you know what, that is part of the beauty of travelling. Thinking you are Phileas Fogg. Educating the masses to the big wide world out there.

What is true is that the act of travel is no longer a luxury. Or even a rite of passage as it once was. It’s just something you do. Because you can. Because life is short, and it sure beats working. And because the world has shrunk to the point that any of us can be anywhere we want to be.

You just need to decide where that is, and make it happen.

Hunter Valley wine tour with Kangarrific Tours

January 19, 2013 by Fran Leave a Comment

Like wine? Then come with me on a Hunter Valley wine tour with Kangarrific Tours.

Australia is a country blessed with good wine growing regions, a fact probably borne out by the amount of wine that gets exported, ending up in the supermarkets of the UK. From the Margaret River in Western Australia, Barossa Valley in Adelaide, South Australia and the Hunter Valley, outside Sydney.

The Hunter was where we were visiting, and after a search on the internet we found Kangarrific Tours. A relative newcomer to the tour scene, Sam of Kangarrific had already started to build up a solid reputation as somebody who provided an excellent day out. We would see.

We got picked up in the Central Business District (CBD) of Sydney at around 8.00am, ready for the drive north, across the famous Harbour Bridge and up to the Hunter Valley region.

First stop was at just after 9am, for morning coffee at the Australian Walkabout Wildlife Park, in Calga on the outskirts of the Central Coast. Entrance fee being included in the very reasonable $99 full day trip price, we were able to get up very close and personal with some of our favourite Aussie wildlife. Stroking the Koalas, petting the Kangaroos, and keeping a wary distance from the Emus. This is the sort of place you could spend much longer at be we had somewhere to be and at around 11.15 we got to Lovedale, home of the Hunter Valley Chocolate factory. A chocolate lovers dream. Yet still not the highlight of my day. My reason for coming today was just around the corner, the grapes. Or more specifically, the stuff that comes from fermenting them.

Meaning “hillside”, Warraroong winery was the first we visited. A boutique winery giving us the opportunity to sample wines that you wouldn’t find in either the bottle shops, or the big supermarkets, in Australia or overseas. However, for $10 they do ship to Sydney. Hmm, hold that thought.

Whilst here we got to try some very good Semillon Sauvignon Blanc (2010 on the Tin Soldier label), Long Lunch white, a 2009 sparkling Moscato, a 2010 Merlot and a Shiraz, finishing with an exquisite Sticky Semillon dessert wine. The day had officially started for me.

And so we were off to winery number 2. Much more mainstream, Tempus Two is the sort of winery that does supply the places you are more likely to pick up a bottle of wine on the way home to have with the evening BBQ. A very corporate affair, the winery incorporates the excellent “Smelly Cheese Shop”, where we had the opportunity to taste some delicious, locally made cheeses. We were then set free in the deli/shop and I succumbed all too easily to the lure of parting with my dollars. That said, the cheeses I had picked up would no doubt be perfectly complemented by the Tin Soldier Shiraz I had purchased earlier.

In the afternoon we had winery number three, Wynwood Estate. Another boutique winery it was here that I tasted, and thoroughly enjoyed, a wine I hadn’t had before. Originally grown to blend into Shiraz, Chambourcin was now being made and sold as a wine in its own right. And a bloody good wine it is too, evidenced by my immediate purchase of a bottle. We also sampled a 2012 Verdelho, a white wine that sits somewhere between a Semillon and a Sauvignon Blanc. Another purchase was in the form of a Plum Blossom Shiraz, lighter in style than a usual full-bodied Shiraz, so much so that it can be lightly chilled. Finishing at Wynwood with a dessert wine, an Old Jack Muscat, I was starting to feel the effects of lunch and the amount of wine we had imbibed. Had there been a hammock knocking about, I could have happily had a snooze in the early afternoon sunshine.

However, we had somewhere else to be and off to the only brewery in the Hunter we went.

The Hunter Beer Company, located at Potters Hotel Brewery resort is open to the public between 10am and 5pm, seven days a week for tastings. Sam, the amiable and very knowledgeable owner of Kangarrific Tours had arranged a special deal for us and we were able to get two tastings of the various beers for only $3. I don’t think the lime and coriander infused beer is something that I will be drinking many schooners of. After a final sour cherry beer it was time to call “last orders” on a very enjoyable day and jump in the bus for the ride back to Sydney.

So my verdict? An excellent, reasonably priced day out, visiting the Hunter Valley in air conditioned comfort, with a friendly tour guide who obviously knows his beans when it comes to wines.

What are you waiting for? Salud!