Wine Tasting in the Hunter Valley Part 2
A brief roll call would seem to be in order before continuing just to give appropriate recognition to those who used Tony's birthday as a convenient excuse to go wine tasting in the Hunter. To avoid confusion with some gender non specific names identification has been helpfully provided.
Tony (M)
Natali (F)
Jason (M)
Idette (F)
Justin (M)
Jo (F)
Paul (M)
Lou (F)
Stuart (M)
Kate (F)
LeRon (M)
Gemma (F)
Neil (on balance of probabilities most likely M)
The next day was crisp and clear and we rolled out of bed early in the morning, clutched our collective heads and swore. Fortunately along with enough wine to make the trip to the Hunter superfluous Tony and Natali had brought enough berocca to equip a pharmacist.
Some of the girls (and Justin) changed into exercise gear and proceeded to do exercise. Justin boxes (not professionally, he just gets hit on an amateur basis) but I don't know why the rest of them were exercising. I wandered out into the middle of this vigorous activity resplendent in fluffy dressing gown and dragon slippers to have an early morning cigarette while the others simultaneously sweated and froze which is an interesting trick if you can pull it off.
After a hearty breakfast and a brief interlude where I was engaged in rubbing cream into a middle aged Frenchman's back (not nearly as much fun as I've made it sound) a minibus arrived to take us to the wineries. The country we passed through was dotted with lovingly tended stumps except for those parts that appeared to be natural bush and were fenced off with warning signs informing us that it was an army live fire area. Apparently grape picking in this area might be subject to some unusual hazards. Soon we were trundling along to the first winery.
Alpacas! As we headed up to the first winery I saw alpacas, to be fair everybody else saw them too but this is my blog so I'm claiming them. They were a rich chocolate brown colour and were generally alpacaish. There wasn't time to stop and chat as the first winery was upon us. It was a small place that raised beef cattle on the side. The convivial gentleman who greeted us told us a little about their wines and gave us some insight into the risks and tribulations attached to grape growing. Apparently if you sneeze near a vine in Summer time you can change a batch of chardonnay into semillon or something. If you pluck them left handed you may accidentally wind up with cider. In short wine producing is fraught with risk. I won't say he told us this to enhance the likelihood of us buying some and thus saving his wife and daughters from a life of degradation on the streets but it probably didn't hurt. We did buy some wine, or at least others did. I didn't, I was looking for shiraz but I wasn't crazy about the one they had on offer (as if I could tell) so I let it pass. I did however raise a question that went right to the point.
"Do you own the alpacas?"
Unfortunately he didn't, that was a neighbour.
With the possibilities at this winery exhausted we headed on to the next. Here they presented us with a sparkling verdelho (say what?) which I bought out of sheer curiosity and what seemed like an acceptable shiraz. I hope Amanda agrees. Besides how can you not buy wine from a winery called Stomp! More wine tasted, more bottles purchased. The minibus was taking on a decided glassy clatter as it went over bumps. Next stop was lunch and a brief shopping sojourn in what looked like somebodies attempt to produce a knock off of a medieval European village in the middle of some of widest open spaces you can find this side of the Simpson Desert. Lou took the opportunity to have an impromptu massage while I ransacked the British sweet shop and drank a cup of really quite dreadful coffee. To Natali's and my chagrin the alpaca store wasn't open.
My sweet buying turned out to be utterly superfluous as our next stop was not a wine tasting but a chocolate tasting. Having glued my mouth shut with marshmallows dipped in warm chocolate I indicated my desire for choc mint fudge and chocolate covered honeycomb through a series of rather sticky grunts. I might be the only person to come back from the Hunter Valley with diabetes rather than cirrhosis. After that it was the third and last winery of the day. They had a good selection of wines but I had what I wanted so I spent my time assisting the others in abusing Tony and chatting to a cat. Finally, loaded up with enough wine to ensure the continued economic development of the Hunter region for the next few years we trundled back to the house where we had enough time to take a brisk constitutional or read an improving book before dinner. Most of us had a nap. I read a history of the campaign in Bulgaria (yes there was one) in World War 1 but whether that can be considered improving or not is open to doubt. I certainly don't feel particularly improved.
Dinner was amazing, it was home catered so nobody had to cook, clean or drive home afterwards (except the caterers but I presume they were paid). Thirteen may not seem like an ideal number for a dinner party (and my suggestions of a black mass afterwards weren't taken seriously) but it was just enough for two or three conversations to be comfortably maintained without people breaking up into obvious groups. Tony opened his presents; he got whisky, whiskey, whisky accessories and whisky. Oh yes and a bottle of wine. The prize was a book prepared by Natali to which all his friends (including me) had contributed. Things were going so well that I was prepared to forgive Tony when, in an attempt to be hospitable, he refilled my half empty glass with chardonnay apparently unaware that I was drinking the sparkling verdelho. After dinner there were cigars, scotch (funny that) and more conversation hampered only by the fact that we had to smoke outside and we could actually see the frost forming on the cigars.
The next day was a final breakfast, rubbing more cream into LeRon's back (I can't believe I didn't get his number) and a quick chat with him about the battle of Waterloo. Since he's French I did my best to keep the triumphalism out of my voice. I told him about the mistakes I felt Napoleon had made and we agreed that it was silly for anyone to attack the British where the only thing they had to do in order to win was simply stay put. Then there were farewells, a brief but rather classy speech from Tony and the journey home. I can't remember when I've enjoyed a weekend so much and I didn't have to sleep in a tent once. Much thanks to Natali who arranged much of it and happy birthday to Tony and Natali (who celebrated her birthday just a few days previously). Finally an honourable mention goes to Stuart, Tony's brother, who introduced me to Wild Turkey American Honey liqueur. I'm not a fan of bourbon or bourbon based drinks as a rule but that was quite remarkable.
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