1. These Hammamas towels… They fold up tiny. They’re cotton. They’re awesome. Get some.
2. This cool little pate knife. It’s made by a lady in Tassie, and you should have seen the packaging. I.can’t.even. Modelled on a Sycamore seedpod. It’s a beautiful little thing. A perfect gift. Check her out here
3. These little thingys by Marion. Just the thing when you can’t be bothered cooking. Ahhhh Marion, you may make tasty food, but on the table in 20 minutes? Marion, you are an amateur. Get a cooked chook and it’s on the table in under 10. Sunday night? Sorted.
4. Watching Coco practice on her new violin. She’s so tiny and it’s so tiny and she’s sooo cute.
5. I remembered about THIS ad last night. You can trawl through all the other ones if you like, but I dunno why, I just love this one.
And I do have just one “shit”: Mike Brady singing the new Foxtel Footy ad. Messing up the quintessential footy song of my childhood: Not cool.
One day, not so long ago my friends and I decided we needed a “Work Christmas Party Function”. They seemed to be all the rage at the time- everyone was having them. Probably because it was Christmas. So we booked ourselves into The Long Apron up at Montville, because, we is well fancy.
Fancy Chick Selfie
If you’ve bothered to read this far, I’m guessing you haven’t been to the Longy, as I like to call it, or you would have flicked on by, knowing how glowing and flowing this little essay would be. So click onto the linky if you like, or take it from me: It’s in Montville, and it’s worth the trip. It’s bloody beautiful.
Now make no mistake, I am no food reviewer, and if we are to be completely honest here, and I think we usually are, I must state from the outset that I don’t know my Guinea Fowl from my Guiness, but I do know a bloody good deal when I see one, and “McWilliams Mount Pleasant Wine Lunch” for one hundred and twenty five smackers sounded like a beauty.
****
Rose and I arrived unfashionably early (and I mean really unfashionably- they were still clearing out the wedding from the night before) because: Queensland and no daylight saving, and also, the evil geniuses both had parties to attend, and there was not a snowballs chance that we were driving ourselves to a WINE LUNCH. I think Nath shoved us out whilst MissXtralia2013 was still moving, such was his haste to: 1.Get Unit One to the first party 2.Get Unit Two to the second party 3.Get off the range and back to the coast before he changed his mind and sold his kids for kindling and joined our lunch. Such was the magnificence of the setting.
A fancy front-of-house lady showed us to the library, and brought us tea to get us out of her way help us settle in. Bonus.
So we lounged on the lounges, as was befitting for ladies of our standing.
The Long Table at the Longy
After a time, the other guests started to arrive, and we were invited to join them on the lawn, with some NV Champagne Taittinger Brut Reserve. I said, “That champi has my name on it”, and then wrote it with spit on the fog on the side of my cold glass to prove it. See: fancy.
The Taitti
It was a bit of a wait, so there was more champi, and then we were seated and there was something yummy to eat. I don’t know what it was, but some of it was butter, but not just any butter. Some kind of crazy butter that was so delicious that I surreptitiously ate it like cheese when no-one was looking.
Then there was a speech by the very cute winemaker who I suspect might be named Phil, and the chef, who’s name may or may not have been Cameron (sorry maybe-Cameron) and the chef’s helper, and did I mention there was champi? They talked us through the wines and the food, and it was all very lovely and civilised and very interesting and then guess what? More wine. This time, TWO: Mount Pleasant Lovedale Semillon and Leontine Chardonnay. The Lovedale was awesome, but frankly the Chardy was bit shit. It was a bit nicer with the trout, but still, they can keep that one for the proper wine peeps. “Gimme the Goodlovin’ “, I said, so they did, and all was well.
Lightly cured king trout, dill, pickled potato and cucumber, rye
I was sad to say goodbye to the crispy stuff, but it was onto the Guinea Fowl, and Lord knows I’d never match that with a white, so we had a Mount Henry Shiraz Pinot and then…. I must say here, I do love a good story, and there was a good story behind the Old Hill, which eludes me now, but suffice to say it was about a Paddock and a Hill and old vines. I think. And the old vines were apparently good ole vines. Amazingly, the wine was then called Mount Pleasant Old Paddock and Old Hill Shiraz.
Butter poached Guinea fowl, mushroom, artichoke, fried brown rice… Not as arty on the plate, but YUMMO
Finally, the edges got a little blurry and everything was a little loose, and we had a CRACKING McWilliams Morning Light Botrytis Semillon, matched with some ice-cream made with lemon leaf that they picked just up the road. Or off the road. One of those. I definitely heard something about the road.
I suspect I impressed and astounded the punters across the table from me with my excellent knowledge of the Botrytis fungus (I did Microbiology in second year you know), before we retired to the lawn to play croquet.
Mandarin, botrytis, rosemary and oat crumble, lemon leaf ice cream
I took a shitload of photos, made best friends for life (or the end of the day, whichever came first) with the Winemaker’s wife Sylvia, promised the National Sales Manager Greg I’d write an astounding blog about the day, threw the croquet ball (? puck? anyway, the round thingy) to show my “good arm from softball (circa 1985)” and at some point, someone brought out a dog, which I may or may not have promised to buy.
So, there you have it, Mc William’s Mount Pleasant: the blog post, as promised. You were sensational hosts, your people are affable, and even more than quaffable, your wine is the nectar of the angels. And I shall never buy Noble One again.
…Nor shall I ever have so much plonk on a hot Queensland Summer afternoon.
The End
PS If you would like your establishment reviewed, send me your deets. I shall consider it carefully (should you promise to pay in wine). As you can tell, I am nothing if not professional and precise.
Have you been to The Longy? Do you want to? (I’m free that weekend, BTW)
Did you ever meet someone so amazing, and such a good fit for your friend-finger that you knew right away you could slip them on, and then you’d be friends forever?
Did you ever have a person in your life who made you laugh so much that your face would get paralysed into a reverse Bell’s Palsy smile, and you would snort your drink out through your nose, again and then again?
Did you ever have a friend who knew all of the things about you so completely that they could predict what you should do, and they would know how to tell you so your soul could suck up the words better than a ShamWow?
Did you ever have a mate who sparkled so hard that she lit up every room she walked past, and you could just follow around in her afterglow, smiling?
Did you ever have a person who knew on a breath how to untangle your knots and smooth you out like Glad Wrap?
Did you ever have a friend who knew when you needed her to be funnyseriousrudesarcasticteasingsad?
Did you ever have your friend call you and tell you she was scared, so scared of the thing that the doctors were going to do to her, and that you knew you should fly, fly, fly to her and hold her and shield her with your wings and stop them from touching her with all of their stuff, but you didn’t?
Generally speaking I don’t like nature to touch me. I don’t go on long bushwalks. I don’t like birds, insects or wildflowers. I don’t care for ‘fresh air’. Plants are okay I guess, but I don’t understand the crazy rules you all have about what constitutes a plant or a weed. To me they are all plants, however many of you seem to have decided some of them are good and some are evil. I have no idea why.
The only exception to my nature indifference is the beach. I love the beach. I love the feeling of crunchy white sand. I love the smell-taste of salt and how it scratches my skin when it dries. I even like the water, as long as it has been heated to the appropriate temperature. However if I’m to be completely honest, my love for the beach could be tempered by a Pavlovian-type response that goes: Beach+Coconut Oil=Tan. So perhaps I only like the beach because I’m vain.
Now back to the nature thing: I don’t like it much. I’m happy for plants and trees and stuff to be over there, looking after themselves, but I don’t need them to get all close to me.
This weekend, nature could be avoided no longer. Even my untrained eyes could see our joint looked a bit crap, so gardening had to be done. So we made a plan with our neighbours, and we gardened the shit out of our plot. We grabbed nature and we showed it who was boss. Mostly. Other than all the times that it showed us me who was boss. Stabbing, scratching and hurting me in ways inhumane. Here is the proof:
Exhibit One: hand maiming
Exhibit Two: Leg scratch
I know, I know, it’s terrible isn’t it?
No wonder certain politicians are against all nature and want to kill it with fire. Nature is terrible and dangerous and it must be stopped. Sharks and their bitey teeth and their cold, dead, untrustworthy eyes. Coral reefs and their sharpey, prickly, stabby bits that scratch your feet when you walk on them. And of course you’ve just seen what damage inert plants can inflict, left unrestrained. Pfft, out with dangerous nature and in with air-conditioned comfort.
See for yourself how sane it looks in this picture (that I stole off the internet, but didn’t write down the source…Sorry clever cartoon maker, possibly Allie Brosh) :
The evil geniuses copped it a bit today… I might have been up singing Sing Star until around 1am. And I might have been a little bit tired today. So I might have been a little bit hasty in imposing a house-wide technology ban, given that a free-for-all-technology-a-rama would have been like having a virtual aspirin.
Anyway, we reap what we sow, and once a thing is banned in this joint there can be no going back. I know what you’re thinking: just ‘unban’ it. No. Consistent follow-through is what is needed people. Even at the expense of my brain cells clanging against each other with every small head movement.
So after the banning, they had to play. Together. Which, of course can go either way.
During Witching Hour (aka Wine Hour) I was preparing dinner and they decided to play some newly invented game: Mousey Jumpy or something. Basically it involved them jumping over cushions in the lounge room, which is tiled. Unit One set up the cushions and Unit Two (the least co-ordinated of the two) had to jump over them. Onto tiles. From the vantage point of my advanced age, wisdom and clingclangcrashing head, I just knew what was going to transpire, and I was faced with the parent dilemma: Let ’em do it and sort out the broken teeth later, or stop them for the sake of peace, and stifle their learning just a little bit.
I left them to it. (Cringe)
Can you guess what happened? Something extraordinary, that’s what.
As Unit Two was saying she couldn’t make one of the jumps, her big brother, who is mostly snide and often bossy toward her, said, “It’s okay Mousey, it doesn’t matter if you don’t make it the first time, just keep on trying. Don’t say you can’t do it, you have to believe in yourself Mousey. Come on, give it a go, and visualise your success.”
What?
Who said that?
Did a commentator from The Superbowl sneak in, and broadcast through my son’s mouth? Did aliens abduct my children and place themselves here in their place, waiting to suck out my dehydrated corpus callousum as I sleep this evening? What just happened?
Dear Aliens,
I want my children back. Now please. This is freaking me out.
1. This stuff. Mmmmm. I don’t think I need to say any more, other than thanks Sam and Ben and thanks Mum for some supplies. Also thanks Me (and Uncle Dan) for having the good sense to get a bottle to farewell my beautiful Sue*. We didn’t have the ‘correct’ glasses for my taste, but, Mmmmm.
2. Evans Head. We had the opportunity to spend a few nights there over the long weekend, and that joint was awesome. We emerged from the time-warp of a coastal town of thirty-seven years ago, three days later, rejuvenated. Go there if you can. But not if you want fancy shiz. (Gulpers of green smoothies in Mason jars or Salted Caramel Macaron Munchers need not apply. The RSL does NOT have Himalayan Sea Salt, nor is the beef Wagyu.)
3. A fun little idea that might become something with this here blog… It might not, but it IS fun to dream a little dream sometimes doncha think? Stay tuned on that one… You KNOW I’ll be sharing the news if it’s peachy.
4. Michael Franti. I’ve said it before, but I’ve gotta say it again. How good is this song?
5. Great teachers. Our kids have hit the jackpot this year, with awesome teachers that suit them perfectly. I know it’s only the first week, but we are pumped…. Or maybe that’s just me and the euphoria of a house that says tidy, and air that stays whinge free for five whole hours a day.
What are your hits of the week?
*OOPS, that sounds weird, like she’s dead- she’s not, just DEAD TO ME for leaving me without a coffee buddy for the next year whilst she gallivants around from girt to girt.
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Alison Asher on Something Delicious: “Thank you! That’s such a nice thing to say… Happy writing!” Aug 31, 07:30
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