She Gathers No Moss

Stephanie’s Space @ Atelier 317

Posted on 19 July 2013 by sheg4184

I first introduced Atelier 317 back in March. Since then, this quirky little restuarant in the back streets of Barangay Poblacion has gone from strength to strength.

Owner, Stephanie Zubiri-Crespi, designed the restaurant herself, and it feels like a small French café, with its black and white tiled floor and French provincial chairs. The décor is an eclectic collection of furniture and furnishings she found in a local flea market, including an old sewing machine table and a small, wrought iron garden setting. A series of her mother’s paintings of fruit and vegetables adorn the walls, while the upstairs gallery houses an exhibition of abstract photographs by local artist Risa Recio. Stephanie has collected crockery and coffee cups from all over the city. “I find stuff” she says.

The name ‘Atelier’ is French for an artist’s studio or creative space. The number 317 belongs to the house where she first set up her catering business in Palm Village. When the priest blessed the new venture in Brgy Poblacion, he apparently drew other references from the numbers: three in one equals the Holy Trinity; Atelier is Stephanie’s first restaurant; it is open seven days a week, and God created the world in seven days, and so on…

Stephanie talks with ease about her life and her work and is happy to share her inspiration. She enjoys collaborating with fellow chefs and her theory of food is one word: simplicity. “I believe in the simplicity of things. Overly complicated is not my style.” She loves slow cooking and makes her own stocks and sauces from scratch. “It’s important not to take short cuts” she tells me, “and the ingredients must be fresh.”

She tells me she has always been interested in food. “While some parents have to force their kids to eat, Mum had to drag me away from the table!” she laughs. So when she finished school (she is an ISM alumnus), she flew to Paris to do a Cordon Bleu cooking course. She tells me that while the training was excellent, she couldn’t appreciate the inflexibility of French cooking. “It was really tough and rigid… the opposite of who I am.” She also took wine courses, and travelled and tasted her way around Europe. She would backpack with a group of friends, who saved their pennies for gourmet dinners by staying in the cheapest accommodation they could find. Stephanie went on to study history and geography at the Sorbonne, aiming for a career in the diplomatic corps or journalism, and continued to travel and eat whenever she could.

After six years in Paris, Stephanie came home to the Philippines, still undecided about her future. Her mother suggested she continue to cook while she was figuring it out. Stephanie started by teaching cooking classes and moved into catering. She was so successful, a hobby became a business. Three years passed in a blur of hard work, stress and constant activity. When she stopped to draw breath, she decided to move out of catering to create her own restaurant.

Now, polished and stylishly dressed, with never a hair out of place, she sits in her eerie above the restaurant, gloating at having the time to do so, after three years on the run. Yet she won’t sit still for long. Stephanie is a diminutive power house who is forever rushing onwards and investing in her experiences. And she continues to enjoy experimenting with food. Lately her Mediterranean/Filipino fusion menu has seen a change, as she gradually adds in some Asian flavours. “I cook food that I like to eat,” she states, “if it sells, it stays, if it doesn’t, it goes.”

Two of her own favourites on the current menu are Vietnamese Cha Ca La Vong (dory fillet sautéed in turmeric and lemongrass) and a Sri Lankan Black Chicken Curry. I have been back several times for the Limoncetta: a derivation of Spaghetti Carbonara optionally served with smoked salmon. Stephanie also shares the creations of other local chefs, such as Alexandra Rocha’s White Chocolate Black Truffle ice cream.

Not content with just opening a restaurant, she added to the challenge by staying out of the mainstream locations. I have no argument with this, gratefully escaping from Manila’s ubiquitous shopping malls, but it is a brave choice that doesn’t allow for passing trade. The customers come anyway, and Stephanie is buzzing with new ideas and plans. In February, she opened Le Galerie, a new space above the restaurant, with a fully operational kitchen and a cozy dining area for up to sixteen people. This versatile space has already been used for private dinners, photo shoots, art exhibitions and cooking demos. The restaurant serves brunch, lunch and dinner, and Stephanie has recently added a set menu for business lunches from Monday to Friday, and a happy hour with tapas from 4pm – 8pm daily. The latest idea is to have afternoon teas based on her favourite tea selection from Harney & Son.

In her spare time, Stephanie writes a foodie column for the Philippine Star and contributes to the magazine Travel & Leisure SE Asia… and she is still trying to decide what she will do when she grows up!

Atelier 317 is located on the ground floor of the Palm Rock Building, 6060 Palma cor Osias Street, Poblacion, Makati

For further information or reservations call 02-358-0987 or text 0917-830-8393 or look on the website: www.epicurusinc.ph/atelier-317.aspx

*First published in ANZA News, July/August 2013 issue.

Posted in Food & Wine, Philippines | Tagged Atelier 317, Filipino fusion, Stephanie Zubiri-Crespi | Comments Off

Fine Dining at Fino

Posted on 12 July 2013 by sheg4184

A long, dark drive through Friday night traffic on a mid-winter evening found us forty minutes from the Adelaide CBD in the small Fleurieu Peninsula town of Willunga, renowned for its weekend farmer’s market, and home to a diminutive, unassuming, but acclaimed restaurant called Fino.

Fino has graced the stage as Best Regional Restaurant in South Australia in 2009, 2010, 2012 and 2013. It has won Gourmet Traveller’s award for Best Small Wine List three years in a row, and another for outstanding use of regional produce. Our Friend in the Know (FK) claims it is his favourite restaurant in South Australia, so we were very keen to see if it lived up to his expectations.

While our FK advised that a lazy Sunday lunch at Fino is the finest way to appreciate this much touted restaurant, we thoroughly enjoyed the quiet, almost private meal we had there last week, tucked into a cosy corner of dining room, with a view in one direction through the arched window into the kitchen and another out through the French doors to the garden and what seemed to be a large rosemary hedge. Furniture is plain and functional, and the décor is equally simple and unpretentious. Our welcome was warm and enthusiastic and we were offered a table for six, although we were only four, for extra elbow room. Fino provides two menus: a shorter one on which all the dishes are designed to be shared, and a longer a la carte menu.

The meals themselves are as quietly unassuming as the restaurant: with a minimum of fuss and flummery, each dish was elegantly and simply presented with abundant seasonal vegetables. To get us started a platter of sour dough bread and olive oil was prepared at the serving table beside us, and kept us happy dipping and chewing until the first entrée arrived: poached veal from neighbouring Mount Compass, served with anchovy mayonnaise and green beans. I hate to start on a flat note, but the One & Only agreed with me later that this dish was our least favourite. The veal, only lightly flavoured and cold, was overwhelmed by the anchovy mayo (admittedly never my favourite flavour) so the veal ended up tasting like fish.

The following course, however, won greater acclaim, to the point that I even attempted to reproduce it at a family barbecue the following day. As a huge fan of Brussels sprouts, these were served, steamed and al dente, with melted chèvre, shallots and preserved lemon stirred through them: absolutely delicious winter fare.

A lightly fried Coorong mullet appeared next, with cavalo nero, (a dark green Italian kale or cabbage) fennel and amaranth (a delicate seasonal herb), and this also went down a treat. The mullet skin was satisfyingly crispy, the flesh of the mullet light but flavourful, the accompanying greens adding texture and substance without drowning the flavour of the fish.

The Inman Valley Chicken with a rémoulade of celeriac and horseradish was a little lacking in exuberance for my tastes, but the slow cooked Berkshire pork shoulder served with cannellini beans and glazed chestnuts was a fitting finale of full, earthy flavours and mouth-filling, satisfying textures.

I have noticed several restaurants lately remarking on the fact that they were specifically serving ‘Berkshire Pork’. Unfamiliar with this breed, I went looking for more information. Apparently the Berkshire pig is a rare, but highly regarded English breed of heritage pig, prized for its juiciness, flavour and tenderness. Pink-hued and heavily marbled, ‘the wagyu of pork’ has a fat content that makes it highly suitable for slow cooking. In fact the breed has been at home in Australia since the First Fleet arrived, its dark skin more effective in the hot Australian climate than its pale-skinned cousins which are prone to sunburn. In recent years, partly thanks to the Japanese market, it has revived its earlier popularity in Australia. While it is not as large as some more popular varieties of pig, and also produces smaller litters, the taste is exceptional.

Although we were close to bursting at the seams by now, we decided that between the three of us we could manage to squeeze in a little dessert. Perhaps we should share one? But, then which ones to leave out? Should we skip the sheep’s milk and lime parfait, served with crushed pistachios (and a most unnecessary cube of roast quince)? Perhaps we could neglect the Crema Catalana, with its lightly caramelized top layer? Or we might forget about the apple tarte tartin and ice cream, with its beautifully light and crispy filo pastry? Of course we ordered them all, and needless to say we virtually licked the plates clean.

The non-designated drivers rounded this off with a bottle of 2010 d’Arenberg “Noble Wrinkled” Riesling – I think they just liked the name – while I sipped contentedly on a perfectly acceptable coffee. While I may not be prepared to give Fino a perfect score this time, I would love to go back for that long lunch, and the chance to savour tastes and textures in their sunny court yard through the soporific hours of a warm Sunday afternoon.

Posted in Australia, Food & Wine | Tagged Berkshire Pork, Finos, regional, Willunga | Comments Off

Woodside Wine & Food

Posted on 7 July 2013 by sheg4184

I have always loved the melodic sound of the Onkaparinga Valley Road and its string of small country towns with their syllabic names: Verdun and Balhannah; Oakbank and Woodside. These pearls shimmer amongst the hills and huge gum trees, especially in winter when everything is washed in a coat of lime green. My One & Only and I headed up there recently, a day out sans enfants, where we ended up entangled in the charms of Woodside.

The Adelaide Hills has been developing quite a reputation for boutique wineries and gourmet food experiences. Dropping in to the Lobethal Bierhaus to visit owner Alistair Turnbull, we discovered the Bierhaus is only open for meals on weekends. Bother. So after distracting him from his brewing for a while, we scooted back to Woodside, hedging our bets at the late hour for lunch, and cuddled up at the Woodside Providore for a generously delicious tapas platter and a glass of wine.

This is not a large café, dwelling in an old stone cottage on the main street, but there was room at the inn for us, and we found a cosy nook on a banquette by the window. An old wood stove graced one back wall, above which hung a large blackboard advertising the daily fare. Outdoor seating was available on the pavement, tall gas heaters standing like sentries beside the tables and ceiling fans strung from the overhanging veranda roof, making allowances for any weather. Inside, the ubiquitous coffee machine crouched on a corner of the counter, and a bookshelf was stacked with jars of local jams and honeys, chutneys and olive oils.

Our lunch was a feast of local deliciousness: we slathered Woodside goat’s cheese, black with ash, onto crisp Lavosh from the local Baker, Baylies, and topped it with a fig paste, made by the chef, who had also whipped up a sweet tomato relish and some moreish venison meatballs and a serve of South Australian honey soy grilled prawns with aioli, firm, fresh and o-how-I-wish there had been a bowlful. We greedily dunked bread into a vividly magenta beetroot dip and filled our mouths with pendulous purple olives from Gumeracha.

The town of Woodside was born in 1850, when local landowners subdivided their acreage to lay out the town and build the first public house, the Woodside Inn. Today it is a thriving Hills town full of attractive old homes, pubs, parks and cafes, and an interesting selection of local food and wine manufacturers. We plunged in eagerly, keen for more foodie adventures.

Beyond the High Street we found Woodside Cheese Wrights and Melba’s Chocolate and Confectionary, housed side-by-side in adjacent red brick buildings, once the Woodside Cheese, Butter and Produce Factory, now the Woodside Heritage Village.

At Melba’s you enter through old iron turnstiles from the Adelaide Showgrounds onto a vast factory floor choc-a-block with every imaginable chocolate, boiled lolly, sweet or confection, a veritable Willie Wonka’s, or Scrumptious Sweet Factory. We found old favourites like chocolate frogs and chocolate honey comb, lollypops and licorice, beside unique novelties like the series of ‘cowpats’ (chocolate coated fruit and nuts in cowpat form) and ‘sheep nuts’ which leave little to the imagination. Traffic lights are bags of red, orange and green boiled sweets and there are a range of giants: chocolate frogs, numbers, hearts, animals and racing cars. On a large work bench at the far end we found an employee hand-carving slabs of the signature rocky road. A broken but warm and sticky endpiece came our way, the fresh marshmallow and double coating of chocolate melting all over my hands, so I was licking it off my fingers and trying to pay for our basket of goodies at the same time!

Melba’s Chocolates began in a small wash house behind Adelaide Restaurant, ‘Melba’s’ in 1981, eventually spreading into a small garage behind the Oakbank home of owners Graeme and Joy Foristal. In 1990, with the incentive of increasing popularity to expand still further, Melba’s transferred to the Woodside Farmers Union Factory which had been abandoned in 1977. Today, they share the site with Woodside Cheese Wrights.

Woodside Cheese Wrights has been producing cheeses since 1994, with milk sourced from small local dairies. Kris Lloyd, manager and Head cheese maker of Woodside Cheese Wrights uses traditional methods and makes all the cheeses by hand, with the help of her team of cheese makers.

I have seen Woodside cheeses in the Adelaide market and in gourmet shops across Australia, but never in such abundance. The range of cheeses was positively dazzling, and we left with a bagful of Edith, a traditional French style goat’s milk cheese rolled in ash, and a scrumptiously creamy Charleston Jersey Brie made from the milk of some of a rare herd of Jersey cows in the Adelaide Hills.

Well-fed on chocolate and cheese samples, it was time to move on to the wine. Bird in Hand has long been a favourite, and my oldest friend always greets my visits to Adelaide with a bottle of their best bubbles: the Sparkling Pinot Noir.

Named for a nearby gold mine discovered in 1863, Bird in Hand’s first vines and an olive grove were planted by owner Andrew Nugent on 100 acres of rich, fertile ground in the Adelaide Hills. Now a range of luxurious wines include The Nest Egg, Bird in Hand and Two in the Bush, bearing the names of these original mines.

Tucked up in the hills behind Woodside, the winery has developed since I was last here, and now boasts a smart tasting room on the side of a huge corrugated iron shed full of wooden barrels: a quirky venue for parties and weddings.

Today we are the only customers and our hostess has time to guide us expansively through the full range of cool-climate wines available, including a couple of reserves. We try an unknown – to us – and very different Nero D’Avolo and immediately bag a bottle to take home. (New to Australia, Nero d’Avola – “The Black Grape of Avola” – is a long-term Sicilian resident and one of Italy’s most important indigenous varieties.) I also indulge in a bottle of their lightly buttered Chardonnay (I’ve always been a Chardy girl) and the One & Only chooses a luscious and luxurious Shiraz.

Later, enervated and over-indulged, we stand quietly on the broad patio and gaze across vineyards and wooded hills, and wonder anew whether there is a more beautiful spot anywhere.

Posted in Australia, Food & Wine, Travel | Tagged Adelaide Hills, Baylies, Bird in Hand, Melba's, Woodside Cheese Wrights, Woodside Providore | Comments Off

For Dignity and Humanity

Posted on 2 July 2013 by sheg4184

‘Midwifery services are [vital] to a healthy and safe pregnancy and childbirth. Worldwide, approximately 287 000 women die every year due to pregnancy and childbirth related complications. Most of these largely preventable deaths occur in low-income countries and in poor and rural areas…Many maternal and newborn deaths can be prevented if competent midwives assist women before, during and after childbirth and are able to refer them to emergency obstetric care when severe complications arise.’

~ The World Health Organization

According to 2009 United Nations statistics, the Philippines has a Maternal Mortality Rate (MMR) of 230 maternal deaths for every 100,000 live births, which ranks it 48^th in the world, well behind its neighbours Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore. The main causes of death include haemorrhaging, high blood pressure and sepsis (blood poisoning), all of which are preventable with proper diagnosis and intervention.

The United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) is an international development agency that promotes health and equal opportunity for all. It states that professionally trained and empowered community midwives offer the highest quality, most cost-effective access to maternal health care, and play ‘an essential role in achieving the Millennium Development Goals to reduce maternal and newborn mortality.’ Yet midwives are in short supply in most developing countries, and the World Health Organization estimates 350,000 more are needed urgently in the field.

Dr. Rosalie Paje, division chief of the Family Health Office under the Philippine Department of Health (DOH) claims that ‘midwives play a crucial role in providing maternal healthcare,’ and giving them access to further training in life-saving skills could prevent up to 80% of maternal deaths in the Philippines.

Despite these assessments, the training of midwives is erratic and midwives receive little support, meager incomes, and limited career opportunities. There is also a lack of global standardization of qualifications. And the Millennium Development Goal 5 (MDG 5) seems impossible for the Philippine government, as the country lags far behind the target of reducing the maternal mortality rate to 52 deaths per 100,000 live births.

Despite the odds against them, Jeri Gunderson, her daughter Deborah Gustafson and their staff at the Shiphrah Birthing Home attempt to make a difference by helping as many demographically marginalized women through pregnancy and childbirth as possible. The majority of their patients have a daily income of less than US$8 a day, but as Shiphrah is also one of the cheapest birthing home around, it provides a service for the community that almost anyone can afford.

‘Shiphrah Birthing Home is … a public centre where professional midwives help deliver babies of impoverished mothers, providing pre- and postnatal care, and family planning assistance…[and promoting] well-being for pregnant mothers and newborn babies…’

Shiphrah (pronounced Shif-ra) comes from the biblical story of Moses, in which two midwifes defy Herod by preventing the genocide of Hebrew boys. Midwifery is one of the oldest professions for women, recognized not only in the Bible, but also by the Ancient Egyptians, Greek and Romans.

In 1987, Jeri Gunderson arrived in the Philippines with her missionary husband and three young children. The family moved into a five bedroom house in Tikling, where Jeri began practicing midwifery. Before long the whole house had become a cottage hospital for local pregnant women, the family squeezed into one room, as women gave birth in every available space.

Seventeen years ago, the nursing home moved into a nearby rental property where it has been operating ever since. Last year, thanks to generous donations, they managed to buy the property and have been making gradual improvements, including a high retaining wall at the rear of the property, for safety and security.

Winding up the steep, concrete road in a rural suburb tucked away at the far end of Ortigas Avenue, we eventually locate the Birthing Home. With roosters crowing in the background, and several small children underfoot, I wander into a large room full of women and girls in all stages of pregnancy, queuing up to be weighed and have their blood pressure taken.

As I sit amongst others patiently waiting their turn, Jeri explains that regular weighing and blood pressure tests should pick up any problems before they become a real issue, while guidance about good eating habits ensure these women maintain their health and strength throughout their pregnancies. She also believes that an experienced and observant midwife can pick up signs of stress or malnutrition with a visual inspection, without the need for invasive internal examinations or expensive ultra-sounds.

Jeri is obviously passionate about the work she has been doing in the Philippines for almost thirty years. Wiry and energetic, she moves from one topic to another – words of wisdom, statistics, introductions – at a speed that makes me wish for a tape recorder rather than my plodding pen.

Shiphrah sees approximately 1,500 pregnant women a year, of whom a third will return for the birth of their child, in comforting surroundings and amongst familiar and caring faces. The rest will opt for home birth or hospitalization. Each week staff carry out 150 prenatal examinations and prenatal classes for up to 120 women.

The staff here is loyal and long-serving, and Deborah says she rarely has to interview new staff. Many graduated from the local midwifery college, but thanks to the power of the internet, a number of interns from abroad find their way to the door from as far away as New York. Most plan to come for 2-4 months, but often end up staying longer. Shiphrah also supports the development of traditional Aeta midwives.

As we talk, a young woman is being weighed. Jeri, friendly but firm, explains that the woman’s failure to gain weight is not a good sign. It is Mary’s first pregnancy (not her real name). She is only thirteen. She is treated with the same gentle respect and patience as every other woman in the room.

Deborah takes me on a tour of the facilities and shows me recently redecorated birthing rooms, whose walls – and names – are avocado, mango and tamarind respectively. She shows me a small wooden birthing stool to illustrate how much better it is for women to give birth in an upright position rather than horizontally – accompanied by a possibly apocryphal tale of a French monarch who wanted to watch his mistresses giving birth and insisted doctors make them lie down so he could see properly through a peephole in the door!

There is also a paddling pool available for water births, although somewhat hindered by the lack of hot running water. Rooms are big enough to allow family members to share the experience. There is neither stainless steel, nor bright lights, just soft chatter and female bonding over the imminent arrival of their babies; a half-way house between home and hospital. I find myself longing to go through the whole process again in this comforting, caring and innately familiar environment.

Deborah, like her mother, is a fine-boned, slender woman, whose willowy stature belies her inner strength, and both women sincerely support dignity, health and humanity for their patients. While she admits that hospitals definitely have their place, especially for difficult births, she believes that some hospital procedures are not in the women’s best interests, as they can be ‘invasive and interruptive’, while constant internal exams can lead to infection.

Deborah and her mother believe strongly in self-control and choice: empowering women, and giving them the right to choose where and how, even if they have no control over when. Together they work to ensure a healthy, happy and dignified mother, and the birth of her child to be a safe, nurturing, and affirming event in her life, a privilege that we from more developed countries take for granted.

So count your blessings, and here’s to improving conditions for all women less fortunate than us.

*First published in ANZA News, July/August issue, 2013. Photos care of Shiphrah.

Posted in Local Culture, Philippines | Tagged childbirth, maternal mortality, midwifery, pregnancy, Shiphrah birthing home, UNFPA, WHO | 1 Comment

Not-So-Jolly Boathouse

Posted on 28 June 2013 by sheg4184

Jolley’s Boathouse has been part of the scenery on the River Torrens in Adelaide since I was a child. I had not been there for years, but thought it would be fun to revisit it with my daughter, for a long reunion lunch, especially as it advertises itself as the ideal venue for a special occasion.

The weather was dire, the sky emptying itself prodigiously into the river, which was nobody’s fault, and while it stymied my plan for a post prandial stroll along the riverbank, it was actually pleasant to sit, cosy and warm within, looking out over the water, the black swans and the motor launches known as ‘Popeyes’ that cruise up and down from the Zoo to the Festival Theatre.

We arrived early, but our hostess welcomed us in (albeit grudgingly) to sit with the menu and a G&T. Jolley’s has a terrific contemporary Australian menu with a lean towards the Moroccan/Mediterranean, created by Chef Tony Carroll, who apparently selects the finest local produce to accompany a wide range of Aussie and international wines. It seemed – used as I am to Asian prices – quite costly for lunch: more Sydney prices than I was expecting, perhaps naively, but all the more reason to anticipate splendid results.

We loved the look of everything on the menu, and took our time to order. My daughter finally chose the twice cooked duck leg with cabbage, peas and hazelnut salad, while I opted for the seared scallops and meatballs on celeric purée. I think she made the better choice – there was certainly more of it – and I was decidedly taken aback at the price I paid for 2 scallops and mash: Aus $21.50! Delicious though they both were, this seemed a preposterous price to pay.

After much debate, we finally decided to share the middle-eastern lamb shoulder, described on the menu as ‘slow braised for twelve hours and served with roast pumpkin, dates and cous cous with a Fattoush side salad’. At Aus $76 I expected it to be – to quote Mary Poppins – ‘practically perfect’. It was truly disappointing. We could not peel the meat from the bone as advised. Instead, tough and undercooked, and lacking any kind of sophisticated presentation, we were forced to saw at it. The salad was, well, lame. Fattoush is a traditional Levantine bread salad made from toasted or fried pieces of pita bread (limp and uncooked in this case) combined with mixed greens and vegetables according to season and taste. No taste in winter apparently.

Despite a lengthy consultation with the manager on the state of the lamb, we were not offered an apology, exchange, a reduced cost or even a free drink, although they did pack it up so I could take it home to cook it a bit longer, after advice that such a tough piece might not be improved with further cooking! I know, I would normally argue the case, but my kids are getting sick of me speaking out, even politely, in restaurants, so I reluctantly behaved in honour of our special outing. It was sad, though, as it was supposed to be a real treat. The setting, the nostalgia and the menu were all promising, but they failed to deliver and in the end we felt no inclination to stay on for dessert or coffee. Or to return. And apologies, I didn’t take photos, as I told myself it was not worth writing about. So I won’t…

Posted in Australia, Food & Wine | Tagged Adelaide, Jolley's Boathouse, River Torrens | 2 Comments

FermentAsian: the latest trend in Tanunda

Posted on 24 June 2013 by sheg4184

FermentAsian has rapidly become the hot spot to dine in the Barossa Valley for Modern Southeast Asian Cuisine. Open for lunch from Thursday to Sunday and for dinner, Wednesday to Saturday, this unique dining destination is set back from the main road in the heart of Tanunda, just over an hour’s drive from Adelaide.

In the two and a half years since it opened, the restaurant has already won several accolades, including Gourmet Traveller’s Top Ten Regional SA restaurants and Chef of the Year at The Advertiser’s 2012 Food Awards. Bloggers and journalists alike give rave reviews, and having heard about it almost a year ago, I had been eagerly awaiting the chance to drop in.

Spending a few days in the Barossa with my mother earlier this month provided the opportunity. Being winter, it was dark by five thirty, so despite an early six o’clock sitting (we had left booking till late, and it was now or never, so popular is this relative newcomer to the restaurant scene) we had to do several laps of the main street in Tanunda before we were able to spot the restaurant. FermentAsian does not look like your average Asian city restaurant with glass front and Asian window dressing, but resides in a lovely old Victorian sandstone villa with a wide veranda.

As the name suggests, it is a blend of Asian flavours, although the primary influence is Vietnamese. FermentAsian is owned by Vietnamese Chef Tuoi Do and Grant Dickinson, who defines himself as partner, wine person, musician. Tuoi Do explains her inspiration on their website.

‘The food at FermentAsian has its roots firmly entrenched in my Vietnamese heritage… To these traditional dishes we have added dishes inspired by our favourite Australian restaurants serving Southeast Asian cuisine.’

Tuoi Do not only supports local food producers, many of the ingredients come from the family’s own kitchen garden, managed and maintained by her parents, who followed her to the Barossa in 2010.

Inside, the décor is minimalist: red feature walls and large canvases covered in news print with red Vietnamese writing don stark white high-ceilinged walls. White linen clad dining tables with black chairs are laid out in the various rooms with plenty of space and we loved the eye-catching artwork by local photographer, Serbo-Australian Dragan Radocaj, which warmed up the somewhat austere atmosphere considerably. We were greeted by a genial staff member, who showed us to our table and made sure we were comfortably settled, indulging in a little repartee and opening our bottle of wine promptly.

Apparently the wine list is extensive and aims for diversity (rumour has it that Mr. Dickinson also works at Rockford’s), but my mother had been given a special bottle as a birthday present from a wine maker buddy. Please note the only down side to FermentAsian: corkage is a steep $15 per bottle. So our gift ended up costing us quite a lot – particularly for a screw top! I will, nonetheless, look forward to exploring the wine menu on our next visit, particularly after reading Grant’s titillating introduction:

‘…Because the food ranges from dishes of great subtlety and delicacy to dishes with robust, spice-laden (though rarely fierce) flavours, I have tried to select wines which pirouette rather than stomp; I have deliberately avoided the lead–footed, the over-extracted, the over-ripe, and wines with high alcohol or obvious oak pulling focus.’

How to resist, if such lovely, poetic language is a reflection of the quality of the wine..?

As there were only two of us, we decided on the tasting menu in order to sample and appreciate as many of Tuoi Do’s highly praised dishes as possible. We had been warned not to overdo the rice, as the dégustation menu is long and filling, and this certainly proved to be good advise.

Our first dish, presented by our gregarious and enthusiastic waitress, Maddy, was a caramelized Berkshire pork in fresh betel leaves ‘with incendiary components’ (aka spicy, but again, I was impressed by the imaginative use of language).

The heart-shaped, peppery, wild betel leaves proved to be a bit of a Vietnamese favourite: the grilled wagyu beef was also wrapped up in them. A mild stimulant with medicinal properties, betel leaf has long been popular in SE Asia for wrapping around bite-sized parcels of meat. We devoured them all, trying not to eat too fast, wanting to savour every beautifully balanced mouthful.

Another Vietnamese favourite are Hanoi spring rolls, which were filled with fresh herbs (presumably from the family’s veggie patch?) and served with traditional Vietnamese dipping sauce: a light and cheeky mouthful. Maddy popped by to make sure all was well with our food, pour us more wine and amuse us with her light, happy conversation.

Dinner flowed on through a fabulous grilled Barossa Black Angas Beef salad with beansprouts and my favourite zesty tang of lime juice, and a platter of perfectly cooked and crispy Berkshire pork belly with ginger and orange sauce.

By the time we reach the red duck curry with lychees and pineapple – perhaps more Thai-with-a-twist than Vietnamese, but nonetheless delicious – we had slowed down to a crawl, despite minimizing on the rice, and ended up taking a large portion of it home with us.

Yet despite our sated stomachs, we still craved a little sweetness, and we debated over the lime brulée, a chocolate and lemongrass mousse, or black sticky rice and caramelized banana. These may not be traditional Asian desserts, but the ingredients were Asian, and the combinations sounded irresistible. We succumbed to the lime brulée with two spoons, the lime effectively cutting the usual creamy sweetness in half and providing a flawless finishing touch.

All in all, our dinner was an unmitigated success, and FermentAsian proved the perfect place for a significant birthday celebration. The décor had a cool, statuesque elegance, the staff were amazing and made us feel as special as if we were at a private dinner. And the food was fabulous. We relished every last mouthful, and I can’t wait to go back!

*Photo of FermentAsian’s dining room care of Google Images.

Posted in Australia, Food & Wine | Tagged Barossa Valley, FermentAsian, Vietnamese cuisine | 1 Comment

Mooching with Mum in the Barossa Valley

Posted on 17 June 2013 by sheg4184

Despite my family’s tendency to avoid centre stage and keep every celebration low-key, my mother’s seventieth birthday earlier this year seems to have been worthy of an unusual degree of fanfare. As I was up in Manila and missed the various lunches, drinks parties and dinners held in March, I promised belated birthday revelry when I came to Adelaide in June. And so it was.

Three nights in the Barossa Valley, just the two of us, which – I love modern technology – I had researched and arranged over the internet before I arrived in Australia. I hadn’t spent much time there since working on my thesis four years earlier, and I was looking forward to popping in again. We headed out through the Adelaide Hills on a fresh June morning. It’s a really lovely drive, especially after years of believing the only way to the Barossa was along the Main North Road and through Gawler – never the most scenic of experiences. We arrived at The Pheasant Farm on the outskirts of Tanunda in time for lunch.

The Pheasant Farm came to life in 1973. Maggie and her husband Colin Beer had moved to the Barossa Valley from Sydney and begun raising pheasants on their property near Nuriootpa. Unfortunately, no one knew what to do with a pheasant, South Australians being more familiar with lamb and beef. So Maggie taught them. A self-taught cook, restaurateur and writer, Maggie Beer has since become an iconic Australian foodie.

The restaurant is a thing of the past, one I am sorry to have missed, but the Farm Shop is now a mecca for Maggie Beer’s many fans. While it is no more than an outlet for Maggie Beer products and there is nothing here that you won’t find on supermarket shelves, it is in a beautiful rural setting.

The shop sits above a deep, glacier-blue dam. If you are there at the right time of year, you can watch the extraordinary long-necked turtles from the deck, or wander along the gravel path that circumnavigates the dam. Beware high heels, however, the gravel can be life-threatening to weak ankles. (Yes, I speak from experience, how did you guess?)

Behind the car park is an aviary full of display birds: stately, elegant peacocks and glorious varieties of pheasant that will not end up in the pâté. A golden pheasant, with a headpiece like an Egyptian prince, struts his stuff for a seemingly myopic and distinctly ‘Plain Jane’ partner not remotely impressed by his extravagant flirting. A silver pheasant glittered like a newly minted coin. Another had feathers of Thai silk that shimmered into life as he spun on his heel and presented a back like a black opal, the shimmering black feathers burnished with patches of saphire green, cobalt blue and blood red.

Lunch was advertised as ‘picnic fare’ but consisted only of a small basket containing one of Maggie’s pâtés served with a couple of small, bland white rolls, a tiny dish of kalamata olives and something called freekeh* salad, which was less than memorable, that we ate off old fashioned tin picnic plates for the princely sum of $15, accompanied by a bonus glass of Pheasant Farm Tempranillo. Feeling peckish and chilled, we ordered the day’s special too, which I have to say was an improvement on the picnic basket. This bowl of rich pheasant and hazelnut soup was perfect comfort food for a light winter lunch, and also the only sample of fresh farm cooking. One on-line reviewer asked indignantly how Maggie Beer could ‘evangelise about fresh simple food on TV, and serve mass produced, fast food in her cafe’? I am inclined to agree.

After lunch, we joined about twenty other eager visitors to watch a short cooking demonstration on how to improve your roast veggies using vina cotta and verjuice, or just gallons of butter. As Maggie warns you on the display on the way in, she has never been about fads or health, but all about taste. And you’ll get no argument from me – although it was probably lucky that we were sharing those delicious, heart-stopping mushrooms with twenty others! The cooking demonstrations are staged in the reconstruction of Maggie’s home kitchen that was used for the popular four year series, The Cook & the Chef, which Maggie co-hosted with Adelaide chef Simon Bryant. The set is nostalgically familiar for fans of the show, and when we visited three years ago, my then Maggie-obsessed son was delighted to be photographed at the kitchen bench. Yet I have to admit to a sense of disappointment. This demonstration was all too brief, and it was really only a marketing tool to advertise Maggie’s fetish for verjuice and vina cotta. And while our instructor was very sweet, there was, of course, no sign of Maggie herself.

It is, nonetheless, a great spot for those who enjoy Maggie’s products and who loved the TV show. It is fun see the set and check out all her products in such an attractive location – and with the chance to taste everything as you shop, an opportunity that isn’t offered at either Coles or Woollies! Also, the staff makes great coffee and is happy to answer all your questions. And of course, before you leave, you can stock up on bags full of verjuice, vino cotto, fruit pastes, pâtés and ice cream… and any of the Maggie cookbooks you are missing!

*Freekeh, by the way, is an ancient, high-fibre grain, related to bulgur and native to Lebanon, Jordan, Syria and Egypt. The green wheat grain is roasted, giving it a smoky aroma and a nutty, toasted taste. The name freekeh is derived from the Arabic word al-freek meaning “rubbed,” which refers to the rubbing of the grains to remove the husks.

*With thanks to Google images, apart from my own photo of the dam at the Pheasant Farm.

Posted in Australia, Food & Wine, Travel | Tagged Barossa Valley, Maggie Beer, The Pheasant Farm, verjuice, vina cotta | Comments Off

Afternoon Tea on the Quay

Posted on 10 June 2013 by sheg4184

Anyone for scones?

Yes, I do realize it is starting to look as my life is nothing but clotted cream and champagne, but there you are, that’s just the way it goes… for some! This tea was for a very special occasion, as the nine Shire Princesses I had hosted at the Shangri La, Makati last year were returning the favour, and had arranged afternoon tea at the Sir Stamford Hotel in Sydney, just above Circular Quay.

So there I was, dragging my heavy suitcase from the bus depot at Central Station around the circle line to Circular Quay, where I caught an elevator and trudged up Macquarie Street to the red carpeted entrance of the hotel. Feeling decidedly hot and bothered, I was a little put out when no one rushed to greet me or help with my case, until I realized the entire staff was distracted by the Miss Universe competitors gathering in the lounge. Sparkling dresses in a rainbow of colours and styles hugged tall, narrow frames, topped off with billowing curls and ringlets. I felt suddenly understated, despite the twinkling tiara I had donned to meet up again with the princesses.

Still lugging my case, I found my way to the bar, and sank down, exhausted, onto a heavily cushioned sofa before an open fire. The Sir Stamford Bar was a haven of old-fashioned elegance: large oil paintings and portraits hung on walls upholstered in smoky-blue and silvery-grey flock fabric. Deep tapestry sofas faced tall, narrow windows overlooking the botanic gardens. A modern take on the traditional Russian samovar stood in stately splendour beside the long, polished, dark wood bar. Lamp light gave the whole room a cozy ambience.

As I waited amongst pots of white orchids, I read the menu, which told the oft-repeated tale of the Duchess of Bedford and her social experiment to introduce merienda or afternoon tea to entertain her girlfriends and indulge in small talk at the family estate, Belvoir Castle, during the long gap between luncheon and dinner.

Just like the Duchess and her friends, the Princesses and I happily followed the request to ‘indulge in a timeless tradition,’ as we took our places at the table for an hour or two of girly chit chat. I was somewhat bemused by a midday ‘high tea,’ but as I had come off a three hour bus trip from Canberra and hauled a heavy suitcase across Sydney, I was not about to complain when the three-tiered tea tray that arrived in time for lunch. Our waiter was full of old-fashioned courtesy, like the family butler, and suggested in polite and unhurried fashion that we might like a glass of champagne while we waited for the tea to arrive. The idea was greeted with alacrity.

There were various options for tea listed on the menu: Traditional High Tea; a Deluxe Devonshire, and even a special high tea for children with ‘a fluffy homemade scone… mini desserts and traditional finger sandwiches served with a glass of juice or hot chocolate’, but the princesses had already ordered the ‘Elegance High Tea, with all the usual delicacies, as well as a flute (or two) of Moet & Chandon. I simply sat back and prepared to be gastronomically pampered.

Too often I find the savoury options are overshadowed by the sweeter offerings, but much to my delight this was not the case today: fresh ham and Dijon mustard sandwiches; a delicate slice of smoked salmon rolled in caviar and horseradish on a baguette slice; a roast chicken and tomato roulade; the deliciously famous Stamford curry puff; minced pastrami with tomato salsa in a pastry cup, and Mediterranean roast vegetables served on an oatcake spread with goat’s cheese that I saved to the end. It was undoubtedly my favourite and left me utterly satiated (that’s a polite term for ‘stuffed!’). I would have been perfectly happy to finish there, but of course, one feels obliged to taste the cakes, too.

The macaron – no “double-o” apparently – is a melt-in-the-mouth French confection of eggs, ground almonds and icing sugar, in a wide range of flavours and filled with ganache or buttercream. The name comes from the Italian word for meringue, macaroni, and is often mistakenly spelled macaroon, which is, in fact, a small snowball of egg whites, almonds and coconut my mother used to make on baking paper that would add a certain gluey chewiness to the finished product. Our macarons were much more élégante and there was fortunately no sign of baking paper .

A chocolate mousse slice filled with caramel on ginger bread was far too rich for me, but the royal ladies loved it. I found a little room for the strawberry and vanilla financier (a rich almond cake, traditionally baked in the shape of a gold bar), and the ‘blue velvet’: a white chocolate mound with a jammy, blueberry centre, but as always I preferred the light, fluffy scones served with whipped King Island double cream and jam. and these were the best I have tasted in a long time. To complete the banquet there was, of course, a choice of teas or coffee.

I will refrain from complaining yet again about the difference between high tea and afternoon tea, as ‘High Tea’ appears to have crept indelibly into the vernacular. So be it. I admit defeat, albeit ungraciously. Anyway, whatever you want to call it, Afternoon or High, it creates the perfect excuse for An Occasion or A Girly Gathering, complete with the sort of treats few of us would bother to prepare at home…not to mention the sheer indulgence of Moet in the early afternoon. And my sincerest thanks to the Princesses for a deeply decadent afternoon…

Photo borrowed from http://www.stamford.com.au/ with thanks.

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Posted in Australia, Food & Wine | Tagged afternoon tea, Circular Quay, financier tart, high tea, macaron, Sir Stamford Hotel, Sydney | Comments Off

Massages and Mayhem

Posted on 3 June 2013 by sheg4184

Somewhere on Mindoro…

I am lying naked as a chicken fillet on a butcher’s block, on top of a large black plastic garbag, peering through a hole in the bed to a pile of pebbles artistically arranged on the floor for our entertainment. There is a strong whiff of those banana lollies we used to love as kids. Apparently I am about to be scrubbed down with lotions and potions scented with this rather sickly perfume. I have never before succumbed to a body scrub, but I have been told to relax and enjoy…

An hour later I am wrapped like a corpse in a body bag, still reeking of banana lollies, and steaming like a baking chook. Beside me is my new best friend – it’s amazing the secrets you’ll share with an almost-stranger lying naked on a slab – who is equally well encased in lotions, potions and black plastic. I am starting to feel overheated and claustrophobic. At last we are unraveled and told we can take a shower to wash off all the goo. We stumble groggily into the next room to be greeted by a large, bubbling spa bath. A little dazed, I find myself standing knee deep in the bath before reality hits: I am expected to sit in the spa, stark naked and face to face with my new Bestie, rinsing off sixteen layers of banana paste. Call me a prude but this is a little too much stark naked reality for me.

“I thought there was a shower,” I croak.

“Yes, ma’am,” nods the masseuse, reaching for a hand-held shower attachment on the wall.

“No way!” I babble, frantically. “I need a proper shower. Have you got a separate shower?”

“Yes ma’am,” says my poor masseuse, slightly confused by my reaction. I stagger out of the spa bath and down the steps to the tiled floor, where the inevitable happens. Slick, creamy feet collide with shiny, wet tiles and my body disappears suddenly from under me. Gripping desperately onto a tiny corner of my towel, I find myself spread-eagled on the floor, trying to slide my ankles together, my elbow and left bosom throbbing from their respective collisions with the steps.

The masseuse is incoherent with apologies; I am incoherent with shock and embarrassment. Somehow she drags me to my feet and propels me next door to the shower room, as I shake like a leaf, still uncertain whether I am going to laugh or cry. Instead, I sigh with relief, as she turns the tap on a proper shower and leaves me to it… and the water trickles brownly from another of those small shower attachments. I drop my towel and fiddle helplessly with various nuts and bolts, trying to transfer the water to the larger, overhead shower, but there isn’t an obvious answer. In despair I lean around the door.

“Excuse me, can someone show me how to make the shower work?”

And before I can say ‘abracadabra’ the room is full of three fully clothed masseuses and a young male workman. In slow motion I look down and realize I am in one of those popular nightmares where everyone is dressed but me. I begin to squeak like a frantic guinea pig. They all look at me in surprise, as I try to grab for the itsy-bitsy towel scrunched on the floor by their feet. Attempting to restore some dignity – pointlessly – with this tiny scrap of fabric, I gesture at the workman.

“There’s a man in here,” I squeak, stating the bleedin’ obvious. The girls look bewildered and I watch as the penny drops. They all start to giggle helplessly, including the workman.

“Is OK ma’am,” they all try to reassure me, “he’s gay!”

I find this not a jot reassuring, but the shower is running properly and my rescuers traipse out, still giggling. I emerge five minutes later, clean and shiny and still a bit shaky.

“Relaxing? Hell!” I chirp at my new Bestie, ensconced in an armchair awaiting a foot massage. “I need a Margarita!” You ladies are most welcome to your spa days, massages and body scrubs. Enjoy, indulge, relax to your heart’s content, but they are not for me, I will not succumb to such suggestions again. I’m off to the bar, where I can relax and enjoy in fully clad peace…

* Photo care of Aninuan Beach Resort, Mindoro

Posted in Lifestyle, Philippines | Tagged massage, spa | 1 Comment

“The Grounds” in Rural Alexandria

Posted on 30 May 2013 by sheg4184

I hit ‘The Grounds’ running, straight off the plane from Manila, and was astounded, in my jet-lagged stupour, to discover this rustic café located in semi-industrial Alexandria, only minutes from the airport, the site startlingly at odds with its surroundings.

The Grounds began life as a pie factory in Sydney’s inner west in the early 20^th century. A hundred years on, it has been transformed into a smart café, a coffee research facility, a kitchen garden and an attractive courtyard dining area, maintaining a sense of its industrial heritage with black, steel frames, rustic woodwork and open brickwork. The attention to detail is mesmerizing.

‘The Grounds’ has been a family project, created by food industry entrepreneur Ramzey Stoker, his sister, interior designer Caroline Stoker and co-Director and coffee expert Jack Hanna. Executive Chef, Lilly Fasan, works hand-in-hand with horticulturalist Erin Martin to grow quality, seasonal produce, her menu emphasizing healthy home-style cooking and fresh ingredients. Heirloom vegetables, edible flowers, fragrant herbs and fresh fruit are grown in planter boxes made from recycled railway sleepers.

This miniature mid-city pastoral landscape is a little twee, but who can argue with an attempt to prettify a dreary old red brick factory with pergolas, vines and a painted pig sty? One review described ‘The Grounds’ as a theme park, and I see their point, but to me it recalls the glories of a walled kitchen garden in an old English Manor house. What would you call that? Rustic whimsy?

Parking isn’t easy, even on a Friday, but we walk up an appetite over three or four blocks. Apparently the weekend queues are horrendous, so I am grateful for a peaceful Friday morning. It’s still thrumming with life, but we waited only a few minutes to get an indoor table – luckily an earlier cloudburst had cleared and we sat beneath a chilly but clear blue sky. Ensconced at a table near the kitchen, we watched the hustle and bustle of the kitchen staff through a wide hatch. As I wandered past in search of “The Chooks,”(aka the Ladies) I paused to chat with a woman creating tamarillo tarts.

Mistaking them for a tomato variety, I was told it is actually a temperate South American fruit now cultivated in New Zealand – and apparently in the Philippines. How did I miss that? According to Wikipedia, it is actually known as the tree tomato to most, but the New Zealanders wanted a more exotic sales pitch and invented tamarillo by blending the word “tomato”, the Spanish word “amarillo”, meaning yellow, and a variation on the Maori word “tama”, for “leadership”. Whatever its name, it made a very pretty tart on a bed of soft cheese, and I was only sorry they weren’t prepared to let me test it. I did manage to snitch a small piece of discarded tamarillo, though, that was unexpectedly tart. Serve me right, I guess!

Breakfast arrived promptly: poached eggs and toast with feta cheese, heirloom tomatoes, ham, pesto and avocado served up on a wooden platter. Nervous of undercooked eggs, I ordered them well done. They took me at their word and presented me with two of the hard-boiled variety. Never mind, I mixed them up with the cheese, avocado and pesto, and created a delectable spread for the crispy sourdough toast. And oh! The joy of a flavoursome, creamy avocado instead of the rubbery, tasteless Filipino variety.

After our filling brekkie-on-a-chopping-board and a couple of good coffees, we wandered out to explore the grounds of ‘The Grounds,’ passing the coffee roasting room where classes are held to take you through the coffee making process.

An expensive, but irresistible grocery store lords it over another corner of this expansive site. Salt, Meats, Cheese houses all sorts of imported luxuries, including a delicatessen whose counter is crowded with large wheels of hard cheeses, the ceiling draped in cured sausages and salami like meaty chandeliers. There are fresh pastas and fresh peanut butter – we watched a young woman using a press like one I have seen in the Philippines for crushing coco beans into chocolate paste – while huge rocks of pinkish salt litter the counter space. Apparently they offer the highest quality products from the best international suppliers at wholesale prices. Mmmm… it still seemed pretty pricey to me.

Back near the café, beside the kitchen garden, we find a handful of shy chooks and a piglet called Kevin Bacon – memories of Wilbur that Radiant pig – who gets a good scratch and lounges in Roman splendour for a photo. Little does he know…

We meandered on, beneath a pergola dripping with vines and strung with lamps made from old jam jars, the courtyard scattered with an eclectic collection of outdoor furniture. For small kids, there is a ditsy playground complete with Wendy house secured by a painted picket fence. A row of blue pots on a shed roof sprout fresh herbs, and a French provincial-style fountain mutes the noise of passing traffic. It truly felt like a secret garden concealed withinan industrial landscape.

The Grounds is open seven days a week: weekdays 7am-4pm, weekends 7:30am-4pm. If you visit on the weekend, be prepared to queue.

Posted in Australia, Food & Wine | Tagged Alexandria, Salt Meats Cheese, Sydney, tamarillo, The Grounds | Comments Off