Skillogalee Winery and Restaurant
I have returned to Adelaide. It is spring and the temperatures have fluctuated from 12 degree days and 5 degree nights to highs of 28 degrees, all in the one week. Fortunately my small suitcase of clothes has been expanded by clothes left in our Hill's house wardrobe and I have had great fun pulling out items that I haven't worn for months, they almost seem like new.
I was in the City only four months ago but somehow this time I am seeing it anew and appreciating all it has to offer. Wandering around Central Market it still has the same hustle and bustle of people that I remember, the international flavour generated by the array of multicultural foods available, the enormous expanse or fresh fruit and vegetables, chocolatiers, cheeses from France, herbs and vegetables grown by local Chinese and Vietnamese, local fish and superbly fresh oysters from Coffin Bay. Duck eggs, quail eggs and chicken eggs so fresh there are wisps of feathers attached to the shells. Shoppers converge here for coffee at Lucia's (an Italian institution) or for a Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Thai, Italian lunch, the choice is endless.
We motored up to the Clare Valley for the weekend, the cold front had really settled in by then. We piled on layers of jumpers and reconnected our feet with wool socks and gazed hopefully out of the car window looking for an inkling of blue sky amongst the heavy dark clouds that scurried across the sky seeming to follow us on our way to our destination. It is an enjoyable drive passing through quintessential Australian towns with locally hewn stone buildings which had once been important, 'Post Office' or 'School' or somesuch carved into the stone above the front entrance. Its previous reputation now subsumed into the mediocre of life and its existence continuing as a family home or shop surrounded by lesser constructions of timber frame, galvanised iron or hardiplank.
The vines straddled the majority of the landscape, escaliered across wires and just beginning to show a return to life, the fresh lime green of the leaves a touch of colour on the otherwise sombre stem. Copses of ancient gum trees, their huge white trunks magnificent on the landscape. At the small town of Springton we passed the Herbig Family Tree, a red gum with a diameter of seven metres and boasting a history that goes back from 300 - 500 years. It can remember the family of the German tailor and his wife, who, in the mid 1800s, started their married life living in its roots and the cries of their first two babies.
The countryside had acquired a richness and brilliance fed by the cold wet winter, the dams were full and the grass emerald in its extravagance.
We arrived at the Sevenhills Hotel for lunch, hunger growling in our bellies after the two hour drive. A log fire was burning in the hearth as we walked through the entrance into the austere dining room. It was already 1.15 pm and most diners were finishing their meal as we sat overlooking a concreted courtyard where a brave family were huddled on trestle tables awaiting their meal. The word 'await' was one equally applicable to us as an hour ticked by with no sign of our Wagyu steaks arriving. Hunger making us grow tetchy and with not even a bread roll in sight to alleviate it. At last our meals were borne triumphantly towards us, our tummies quivering with excitement at the thought of food. "That isn't what we ordered", my husband announced as the plates were lowered in front of us. One Wagyu steak and one something else. The plates were borne away and I flounced out of the restaurant in desperation to return with an apple which I proceeded to carve up on the bread plate in front of the log fire previously mentioned. After ten minutes the manager bustled out of the kitchen with a small basket of garlic bread and a small mouthfull of apologies. But I was not to be appeased until I had eaten my lunch. Our Wagyu steaks arrived, mine was succulent and tender,cooked to perfection with accompaniments of two small slices of roasted beetroot and three slivers of crispy roasted potato. Tasty but I could have eaten more. My husband's steak was overcooked and rubbery, a consequence of, we surmised, of being reheated after being bought out half an hour earlier with the wrong meal.
Our lunch the following day at Skillogalee was a wonderful contrast. This small restaurant/winery has managed to keep the ambience of yesteryear. It still evokes the atmosphere of the last century, the small stone cottage has original slate floors from Mintaro and the rooms are still much as they would have been except now furnished with small tables for diners. The verandah, overlooking the garden, vineyard and hill beyond , is the first choice for diners and it is easy to sit over a few glasses of their delicious wine while watching the world go by. The day we visited was a perfect spring day and everything was alight with sun and fresh from winter rains. The staff were friendly and attentive and, in fact, our jolly mature age waitress, was singing as she wandered around with bottles of spring water for the tables and delicious pappadams to nibble on while waiting. She reeled off the specials of the day describing them with artistry and imagination. Later while we waited for our selected wine to arrive we were provided with warm home- made rolls and butter, which disappeared extremely fast. My husband and I both had the beef bourguignon, a perfect choice to counter the nip in the air outside. The menu overall offered a good range of choices, catering for the vegetarian as well. Our meal was an unqualified success, tender beef cooked in the delicious, tasty red wine sauce and small round onions served with potatoes mashed to a whirl of perfection. Desserts also offered a special of the ubiquitous pavlova, and my husband who is an aficionado of said sweet claimed it was one of the best he had ever had, being light and crunchy with the best of the summer fruits.
I was in the City only four months ago but somehow this time I am seeing it anew and appreciating all it has to offer. Wandering around Central Market it still has the same hustle and bustle of people that I remember, the international flavour generated by the array of multicultural foods available, the enormous expanse or fresh fruit and vegetables, chocolatiers, cheeses from France, herbs and vegetables grown by local Chinese and Vietnamese, local fish and superbly fresh oysters from Coffin Bay. Duck eggs, quail eggs and chicken eggs so fresh there are wisps of feathers attached to the shells. Shoppers converge here for coffee at Lucia's (an Italian institution) or for a Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Thai, Italian lunch, the choice is endless.
We motored up to the Clare Valley for the weekend, the cold front had really settled in by then. We piled on layers of jumpers and reconnected our feet with wool socks and gazed hopefully out of the car window looking for an inkling of blue sky amongst the heavy dark clouds that scurried across the sky seeming to follow us on our way to our destination. It is an enjoyable drive passing through quintessential Australian towns with locally hewn stone buildings which had once been important, 'Post Office' or 'School' or somesuch carved into the stone above the front entrance. Its previous reputation now subsumed into the mediocre of life and its existence continuing as a family home or shop surrounded by lesser constructions of timber frame, galvanised iron or hardiplank.
The vines straddled the majority of the landscape, escaliered across wires and just beginning to show a return to life, the fresh lime green of the leaves a touch of colour on the otherwise sombre stem. Copses of ancient gum trees, their huge white trunks magnificent on the landscape. At the small town of Springton we passed the Herbig Family Tree, a red gum with a diameter of seven metres and boasting a history that goes back from 300 - 500 years. It can remember the family of the German tailor and his wife, who, in the mid 1800s, started their married life living in its roots and the cries of their first two babies.
The countryside had acquired a richness and brilliance fed by the cold wet winter, the dams were full and the grass emerald in its extravagance.
We arrived at the Sevenhills Hotel for lunch, hunger growling in our bellies after the two hour drive. A log fire was burning in the hearth as we walked through the entrance into the austere dining room. It was already 1.15 pm and most diners were finishing their meal as we sat overlooking a concreted courtyard where a brave family were huddled on trestle tables awaiting their meal. The word 'await' was one equally applicable to us as an hour ticked by with no sign of our Wagyu steaks arriving. Hunger making us grow tetchy and with not even a bread roll in sight to alleviate it. At last our meals were borne triumphantly towards us, our tummies quivering with excitement at the thought of food. "That isn't what we ordered", my husband announced as the plates were lowered in front of us. One Wagyu steak and one something else. The plates were borne away and I flounced out of the restaurant in desperation to return with an apple which I proceeded to carve up on the bread plate in front of the log fire previously mentioned. After ten minutes the manager bustled out of the kitchen with a small basket of garlic bread and a small mouthfull of apologies. But I was not to be appeased until I had eaten my lunch. Our Wagyu steaks arrived, mine was succulent and tender,cooked to perfection with accompaniments of two small slices of roasted beetroot and three slivers of crispy roasted potato. Tasty but I could have eaten more. My husband's steak was overcooked and rubbery, a consequence of, we surmised, of being reheated after being bought out half an hour earlier with the wrong meal.
Our lunch the following day at Skillogalee was a wonderful contrast. This small restaurant/winery has managed to keep the ambience of yesteryear. It still evokes the atmosphere of the last century, the small stone cottage has original slate floors from Mintaro and the rooms are still much as they would have been except now furnished with small tables for diners. The verandah, overlooking the garden, vineyard and hill beyond , is the first choice for diners and it is easy to sit over a few glasses of their delicious wine while watching the world go by. The day we visited was a perfect spring day and everything was alight with sun and fresh from winter rains. The staff were friendly and attentive and, in fact, our jolly mature age waitress, was singing as she wandered around with bottles of spring water for the tables and delicious pappadams to nibble on while waiting. She reeled off the specials of the day describing them with artistry and imagination. Later while we waited for our selected wine to arrive we were provided with warm home- made rolls and butter, which disappeared extremely fast. My husband and I both had the beef bourguignon, a perfect choice to counter the nip in the air outside. The menu overall offered a good range of choices, catering for the vegetarian as well. Our meal was an unqualified success, tender beef cooked in the delicious, tasty red wine sauce and small round onions served with potatoes mashed to a whirl of perfection. Desserts also offered a special of the ubiquitous pavlova, and my husband who is an aficionado of said sweet claimed it was one of the best he had ever had, being light and crunchy with the best of the summer fruits.