Off The Rock: Yarra Valley

From Party Pooper to Yarra de Puta...

Despite having tied the knot more than thirty years ago, my parents' marriage is a rather young one. After subtracting sleep and his weekly business trips from the equation, Mr. Flog estimates he has actually spent a total of four or five years with Mrs. Broken Record. If he had had a regular office job that required no travel, he assures us the marriage would have rushed down the gutter faster than confetti in a monsoon. My father proudly attributes his relationship's success to his frequent absences. What's also assured given the matrimony's youth is a vivacious back-and-forth banter, which admittedly sometimes skids across what would be considered a liberal outtake on marital life to land as confidently as a clumsy trapeze artist on the safety net of the dysfunctional. As my little brother likes to regurgitate every time the now eight of us meet: "If the outside world actually heard us, it'd think we're crazy." This makes for fascinating holidays and provides the family's cultural anthropologist with the unique opportunity to study lunacy at its infancy.

Once I managed to detach my parents from their Australian-Ecuadorian grandson, I suggested a day trip to the Yarra Valley, only an hour or so east of Melbourne and home to several excellent Pinot Noir and Chardonnay producers. The fine chap at King & Godfree, who I had engaged on the virtues of Tasmanian reds, also suggested a good itinerary for a short tour of the valley, chock-full of art perusal (Tarrawarra Estate and the Tarrawarra Museum of Art), wine tasting (Oakridge Winery) and fancy lunching (Giant Steps/Innocent Bystander). We loaded our rented (atrocious) pastel green Mitsubishi Lancer and sped eastbound on the Maroondah Highway towards Healesville, the Yarra Valley's capital of sorts.

My Stairway to Heaven, Oakridge Winery

For the first forty minutes, the drive was not what one would expect of wine country. All we saw were housing developments, strip malls, warehouses, department stores and gas stations. Suburban America at its worst. Only once did I catch a glimpse of a brown panel signalling left for a winery, a road that led into a residential neighborhood safely guarded by traffic lights. However, after a short uphill and downhill turn, the concrete disappeared to be replaced by tracts of rolling green pastures and the trunks of bare grapevines lined up and extending beyond our eyesight. The gloomy scenery was evocative of several regiments marching towards battle under a winter drizzle. A few minutes later, we reached the Yarra Glen-Healesville Y and turned right towards Oakridge Winery, first stop in our magical winery tour.

2010 Oakridge Chard

Oakridge's grounds are stunning. Hills covered in grapevines run throughout, while monumental trees and a small lake interrupt the beautiful monotony of the place. The winery is equipped with a large tasting room and restaurant that overlooks their plantings of Cabernet Sauvignon. I sampled six wines and was amazed at the presence of earth and minerals in all of them, maybe a clear reflection of their respect for terroir. My one caveat was that the servings were tiny—hardly a sip considering The Wife, Ph.D., stubbornly wanted to taste from my own glass—so it was challenging to judge each wine. I must say, though, that I loved the 2010 Oakridge Chardonnay and brought back a bottle for a special occasion involving me, myself and not Irene.

Applejack Vineyard Pinot

We then drove up to Innocent Bystander/Giant Steps for lunch at their highly recommended bistro. Unfortunately, that fickle saboteur known as inclement weather knocked down an old tree onto the power lines and ruined our carefully laid-out plans. No lights, no cooked foods. When Mrs. Broken Record, cradling a French baguette in her arms, asked whether she could at least buy some regional cheese, the woman behind the counter informed her she had strict orders to dispose of it all. Here's hoping a few kangaroos out in the fields got treated to lukewarm gourmet dairy. In any case, I tasted a few wines and this time The Wife, Ph.D., asked for her own glass. It's surprising how past noon, she metamorphoses into a drinkaholic.

Tarrawarra Museum

Given the mishap in Healesville, we headed to Tarrawarra Estate for the artsy-fartsy cultural component of the tour and a well-deserved (replacement) lunch, highlighted by my vegetarian eggplant in chickpea batter with cardamom honey, quinoa and cauliflower salad, and almond skordalia. However, the museum alone is worth a visit. Here we enjoyed Sandra Levesson's Paintings of Poise and Passion, abstract color-packed canvasses that jump out at you and flow like ocean waves, and James Morrison's The Great Tasmanian Wars, fifty-five panels depicting, in my opinion, a surreal and exotic meeting between man and nature.

Of course, all of this brought us to back to the banter. My father—I don't know if it's a sign of aging or a symptom of repeated cabin depressurization syndrome (yes, I made that up) caught from all his takeoffs and landings—is partially deaf in one ear. Compounded to this, prior to our Australian vacation, my mother suffered from an unidentified ear infection that had reduced hearing in one ear by a little more than seventy-five percent. Given such elevated level of auditory impairment, messages during our  journey were often misconstrued. At some point over lunch, my guess is my hungover father refused to have a glass of wine or my health-obsessed mother enjoy the pleasures of fried food, one called the other a "party pooper." Obviously, the injured party heard differently and fumed. It's still a mystery to both The Wife, Ph.D., and me how the exchange went from "party pooper" to "cara de puta." You heard right—bitch-face.

And then, in the Zen-like moment of the trip, Mr. Flog, who employs an outdated version of English (with a healthy tinge of Hispanic heat) that includes "shucks" and "golly" as favorite idioms, lectured us on finance, relationships and health. Concerning my mother's constant threat to leave him, he said: "Before we were married, I could run away with all of my money. After we got married, I could still run away but empty-handed. Soon enough, however, I won't even be able to run." God knows what will happen once Mr. Flog and Mrs. Broken Record hit the dreaded "Seven Year Itch" come 2023. One thing's for sure: I will be running as far away as possible.

0==(yarRA vaLLeY)

2006 Oakridge Shiraz - Dark fruit, leather, brown sugar and cinnamon, black pepper on the nose. Sour cherries on the finish. Tons of finesse in this well-made cool-climate Shiraz. 89/100.

2009 Tarrawarra Estate J-Block Shiraz - Dark forest fruits, black pepper, dark chocolate on the finish. Not impressed. Had it with my vegetarian dish at Tarrawarra Estate. 85/100.

2009 Mule Shiraz Gateway Vineyard - Very spicy, plummy, some coffee on this wine by Innocent Bystander. Not as refined as the Oakridge. 88/100.

2010 Innocent Bystander Cordon Cut Viognier - Peach, quince, banana, dried apricots and white chocolate on the nose. Full bodied, luscious, too heavy and syrupy for my taste. Shared one night with The Wife, Ph.D., and My Zolpidem Supplier upon returning to The Rock. 86/100.

Flowers! Flores! Fleurieu Peninsula!

Let me tell you a story about my mother, Mrs. Broken Record, and flowers. As a toddler, she split her time between Quito, perched nearly three thousand meters above sea level in a narrow valley surrounded by active volcanoes, and Manta, a lazy coastal city known for supplying the world with tuna fish and Panama hats. Back then, every so often, my grandfather commandeered a rickety Jeep through the potholed country roads and, family in tow, zigzagged his way up into the paramo's nippy heavens or headfirst towards the Pacific Ocean's savory humidity. Poor infrastructure made the drive brutally long and potty breaks, specially for the children, were of utmost importance. My mother, already exhibiting signs of her now magnified intolerance of filth and foul smells, refused to go to the bathroom wherever her father or older siblings mandated, be it on a patch of dried grass, against a mossy rock or behind a tree. The girl would only pee on color-laden flowers. So when nature called for Mrs. Broken Record, the family was put on high alert. The Jeep would stop and they'd jump out to comb the land for signs of polychromatic plant life. I am not sure what this says about my mother but, given her penchant for cleanliness, fragrance and luxury, it's not entirely surprising.

Flower #1

So on her birthday, celebrated in Melbourne, we took her to St. Jude's Cellars in Fitzroy where this blog honored her by ordering a couple wines from Southern Australia's Fleurieu Peninsula. Mrs. Broken Record, whose relationship to wine is as close as my own affair with sobriety, dismissed the two with a slight upturn of her chin followed by a healthy sip of her White Rabbit Dark Ale.

2009 Tapanappa Pinot Noir, Foggy Hill Vineyard, Fleurieu Peninsula, South Australia - Raspberries, strawberries, top soil, coffee and parsley on the nose. Red fruit dominates on the palate. Light and well balanced but ultimately not very complex. 87/100.

Flower #2

2009 Salomon Estate Syrah Viognier, Fleurieu Peninsula, South Australia - Aromas of dark fruit (blackberries, blueberries and dark cherries) with hints of caramel, white pepper, licorice and violets. Very lively. Wine has a delicious factor, supple and jammy with great length. 89/100.

Oh You (Tasmanian) Devil!

Pinot No..w...ir!

Who steals a bottle of Tasmanian Pinot Noir from a hotel room? Take an iPad or a MacBook Air or a Cannon digital SLR or diamond bracelets or an elegant pair of Jimmy Choo's. Hell, if your bed feels empty on weekends and you come across the room of a kinky duo on their honeymoon, snatch their dildo, feathered handcuffs and candy g-strings. You know, really make it worth the risk of possibly getting caught red-handed rummaging through your guests' closet and luggage like a desperate raccoon scavenging through a garbage dump being engorged by flames. The bottle wasn't worth more than €25 so, unless you need a healthy serving of alcohol while on duty or breed Pinot-guzzling Tasmanian devils in your backyard, you were better off leaving with The Wife, Ph.D.'s woven grey Uggs and my parents' cherished organic muesli. Next time, though, at least have the courtesy of properly vacuuming the suite.

And I was so ecstatic walking back from East Brunswick to Fitzroy lugging the bottles of 2010 Sharmans Riesling and 2009 Josef Chromy Pinot Noir recommended to me by the fine chaps at Blackhearts & Sparrows on Lygon Street. One night, I hoped to show my parents, Mrs. Broken Record and Mr. Flog, how my career has unraveled and become a mockery of proper wine journalism. Share a glass or two with my brother, a role model of sorts, and his family. Slobber all over The Wife, Ph.D., as I recite my tasting notes for the last bottle of the night and mistakenly sense a hint of lentil puree, leek-infused olive oil and lip-numbing chorizo in a dessert wine. Wake up the next morning after a difficult night at work with a headache the size of Kim Kardashian's bikini bottom. Alas, I had to make up for the stolen bottle by visiting more wine shops and digging abysmally deep into our savings account just to bankroll this devil of a post.

First stop, King & Godfree on Lygon Street where I asked another fine chap about Tasmanian Pinots. "To be honest with you," he said, "I am not all that impressed by Tasmanian Pinot Noirs. They still have a lot of work to do. If you want a Tasmanian wine, I personally prefer their Rieslings, Pinot Gris and sparkling wines." Given his reticence, I purchased a lauded bottle of Hunter Valley Semillon, which, granted, is irrelevant to Tasmania but who's keeping score, right?

You see the resemblance, don't you?

Next stop, Sydney. What a beautiful city, specially as seen from the roof of the Overseas Passenger Terminal in The Rocks. Pictures don't do it justice. The wondrous beast that is Harbour Bridge, a ridged metallic star rising from the bay on one side, and the Sydney Opera House with its asymmetrical roof like a regal albino iguana's scales before you. After the infinity of bays you stumble upon in Rio de Janeiro, Port Jackson is probably the most magnificent one I have ever laid my eyes on. So with Whine On The Rocks at The Rocks and both The Wife, Ph.D., and yours truly in high spirits, we set off on our mission to end our Tasmanian nightmare. First evening, one of the best pork chops I've ever tasted (Esk River pork cutlet, toulouse sausage, pencil leeks, kipfler potato, tapenade) and a glass of a Tasmanian Botrytis Riesling for dessert at Pony Lounge and Dining. Second evening, 300 grams of the Slow Roast Sher F1 Wagyu Standing Rib at The Cut Bar & Grill with a side of onion rings and brussel sprouts tossed with pancetta and roasted hazelnuts, which that night in bed felt like a Sumo wrestler doing the cannonball off a trampoline straight into my stomach. We poorly matched our meal with the (finally!) Tasmanian Pinot Noir I was encouraged forced to order for the sake of my readership. Yep, guys, feel free to twist my arm but don't you dare steal my vino.

0==(tasMANIA)

2010 Sharmans Riesling, Glenbothy Vineyard, Relbia, Tasmania, Australia - On the nose, pineapple, peach and citrus with a hint of honey and warm bread. Starts off rather empty but ends with sweet, fruity flavors. Off-dry and could have benefited from greater acidity. 87/100.

2005 Tyrrell's Wines Semillon, Single Vineyard HVD, Hunter Valley, Australia - Wonderful bouquet of honey, cantaloupe, citrus and white flowers. Pears, banana on the mid-palate and an enticing nutty finish. Easily, the best wine of the trip. 90/100.

2010 Stoney Rise Pinot Noir, Tamar Valley, Tasmania, Australia - Dark berries, mulch, coffee and an intriguing spicy beef on the bouquet. Red fruit and a meaty characteristic through the mid-palate with some hints of dark chocolate and mocha. Dies down towards the end. 88/100.

2009 Josef Chromy Botrytis Riesling, Relbia, Tasmania, Australia - Rubber, mango, pears and dried dates with a touch of brown spice. On the mouth, tropical fruits and a wonderful bitter orange finish. Medium body, good acidity, delicious. I could have consumed a bottle alone. 89/100.

Off The Rock: Houston Puts The H In Whine

Day 1 - Christmas Eve

Jet-lagged and sporting a gelled coiffure and tucked-in button-front that only make an appearance on grandiose occasions, I stumbled into my parents' best friends' home in some Houston suburb called Jennifer or Emily or Ashley. On the kitchen counter, Brazilian salpicon, one-hundred Euros worth of Norwegian cod smuggled into the country by my wee brother, Shawarma Leg Lover, and probably the luscious-est chocolate mousse I have ever set my tongue on. Also, several bottles of mediocre Argentine Malbec (the 2009 Gascon Malbec was the better of the lot), some Portuguese vinho verde to accompany the cod, and a jug of 2010 Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais Nouveau that swirled down the kitchen sink faster than Speedy Gonzales on an HGH-infused re-fried bean diet. Mr. Flog made a fool of himself with his gimpy jig, lowering his right knee and pretending his fists were maracas, while The Wife, Ph.D., led the Brazilian crowd in a clumsy rendition of syrtaki, the dance immortalized in the 1964 film classic, Zorba The Greek. No wonder after eleven-plus bottles of wine and shots upon shots of cachaca and zivania.

Wine Highlight(s): 2007 Veramonte Primus (65% Cabernet Sauvignon, 20% Syrah, 8% Merlot and 7% Carmenere)

Day 2 - Among Celebrity Chefs in Nawlins

It's time to stop watching the Food Network; damn channel has been clouding my already limited culinary judgment. I never really trusted celebrity chefs until I started seeing them churn out wonders on television. So one night during our two-day visit to New Orleans I made the executive decision of visiting Emeril's after reading a positive review in the New York Times. Let's just say that there was nothing remarkable to the meal; I had a rib-eye steak with blue cheese and an arugula salad, something I could have easily replicated at a half of the cost on The Rock. My brother, though, guns a-blazin' as usual, called his quail crap. To my family, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. At least, I seek comfort in the fact that we weren't being served Rachel Ray's sketchy concoctions and that the Wife, Ph.D., enjoyed her shrimp dish.

Wine Highlight(s): 2007 Alexana Revana Vineyard Pinot Noir (Willamette Valley, Oregon)

Day 3 - Mano a Mano at a Mano Restaurant in NOLA

One of the best meals we've had in a long time accompanied by a complex Aglianico del Vulture that left in its trail a seductive caramel, butterscotch finish. My brother wasn't complaining after downing handmade Macherroni alla Chitarra with tomato-braised goat ragu and thyme, a seared duck breast with satsuma, saba and rosemary-pistachio gremolata, and the flour-less chocolate and walnut cake with "cooked wine" sauce. Happiest of times.

Wine Highlight(s): 2005 Elena Fucci Titolo Aglianico del Vulture (Basilicata, Italy)

Day 4 - H-Town

This will be forever known as the night H-Town put the H in whine. All credit goes to my parents' friend, Dos Leches, a six-foot tall redhead Scot who suggested there was room for an H in this blog's title. Who knows why inspiration struck then and there for Dos Leches. Maybe it happened thanks to the three bottles of wine and five hundred ml of rockin' Texan vodka (Tito's Handmade Vodka) we consumed. Or she felt a spark as she harked back to her youth and friendship with creative pop geniuses Robert Smith and Nick Cave. Or perhaps it was Shawarma Leg Lover's girlfriend's made-for-American-Idol angelical soprano singing of old Mexican dirges. In any case, the new title works since fifty-seven-point-eight percent of what I write is awfully whiny.

Wine Highlight(s): 2008 Bethel Heights Estate Grown Pinot Noir (Eola Amity Hills, Willamette Valley, Oregon) and 2007 Avalon Cabernet Sauvignon (Napa Valley, California)

Day 5 - Wine on Sale!

I love supermarkets. So when I found out that Central Market was offering its customers a twenty-five percent discount for purchasing thirteen or more bottles of wine, I shrewdly convinced my parents that it would be wise for them to stock up for Two-Oh-Eleven. Of course, they gave me carte blanche to select most of them. Mr. Flog and his friends are obsessed with Malbec so he opted for two bottles of Argentina's sort-of-finest along with a bottle of the 2007 Veramonte Primus we had enjoyed earlier. Like a teenie bopper with too much Christmas money at Forever 21, I ended up cross-eyed trying to figure things out. Somehow, I managed to pick an Australian Shiraz, a California Petit Syrah, a Portuguese Douro, a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, a Rioja Tempranillo, an Oregon Pinot Noir, a Rueda Verdejo, an Argentine Torrontes, a California Cabernet Sauvignon and a California Zinfandel. Goes without saying that the following night I cracked open two of the more promising bottles to share with friends and family.

Wine Highlight(s): 2008 Elk Cove Vineyards Pinot Noir (Willamette Valley, Oregon) and 2004 Leeuwin Estate Siblings Shiraz (Margaret River, Australia)