Morning Tea, McLaren Vale style

After a marathon brain storming session on the flight en route to Adelaide, Emma and I came to the conclusion that being good friends has hindered the evolution of the Independent Wine Monthly.

We are both so hopelessly addicted to discussing every last detail of each wine we taste and wine tasting we attend, by the time we have minutely dissected each event, we are exhausted and almost incapable of actually putting pen to paper.  And this is before we have turned our attention to the salacious titbits of gossip gleaned along the way.

So we returned from South Australia determined (again) to post more frequently.  We still have to write up our visit to Greywacke, Mahi, Jackson Estate and Framingham, the Dry River and Misha's Vineyard tastings, the launch of Montana's new Tom Chardonnay etc. etc.

And that is before mentioning the 10 days at the Australian MW seminar: the myriad fabulous wines, Andrew Jefford's excellent Terroir presentation, the Evolution of Australian Chardonnay tasting from Michael Hill Smith . . .

 

Back in Auckland, my thoughts keep returning to our last day in McLaren Vale. We had been invited to the home of Vicky Vasarelli, who together with her husband Pat, owns Vasarelli Vineyards. Arriving at 10.00am sharp for we thought, morning tea, we were presented with a table laden with just-made bruschetta, garlic infused wild mushrooms, freshly-cut prosciutto, slices of rock melon, preserved artichokes, rustic bread and home-made chilli, aubergine and green tomato pickle. Our initial refusal of a glass of wine was met with raised eyebrows so we sipped at chilled semillon/sauvignon followed by a taste of sun-ripened chardonnay.

Thinking we had done our dash, we thanked Vicky profusely (the food was easily the best we had experienced on our trip) and made to leave. But our way was barred by Vicky carrying a huge dish of tiramisu, which seemed to be 50% whipped cream, 45% Tia Maria and cocoa powder and 5% sponge holding the whole thing together. It would have been unthinkable to have said no but the size of the serving proffered by Vicky would have felled even the most voracious.

Finally an espresso. Emma, who doesn't usually drink coffee, agreed to have a small cup (hopeful perhaps of its reputed digestive qualities) and was asked if she took milk. When she said that she did, Vicky produced a huge bottle of malt whisky and proceeded to fill the cups to the brim. As Emma commented in the car on the way home, she probably drinks both coffee and whisky once a year, but rarely at the same meal and never in the same cup.

 

I left wondering whether the editorial team at the IWM should introduce a new set of guidelines regarding the serving of morning tea and replace the usual hot drinks and biscuits with more substantial fare. 

 

But I am not sure that either of us could summon up the sheer joy, especially at 10.00am, that Vicky infused into each dish. A tiny powerhouse of a woman she embodied all that should be celebrated about food and wine.  She delighted at being able to share her food with us and her wonderful comments, (particularly her contempt for degustation dinners and anyone who serves soup at a celebration), were marvellous. She was an inspiration.