Alain Ducasse, macarons and a little French miracle

Carolyn's Lorgues salone, painted by J Lacapiére 1995

Vive le croissant, Pastis 51, foie gras, Roquefort Société and national pride. Memories of my life in Lorgues (Provence) come flooding back every 14th Juillet.  My favourite home was a 12th century village house, on the top floor, in what would have originally been servants’ quarters. Crammed with doll-sized features, blue shuttered windows, 400 year old terracotta tiles, low beamed ceilings and doors, it was the macaron of apartments.

Lorgues

I’ve loved everything French since the age of 13, although never imagined it would lead to anything because I was seriously BAD at speaking French. Even after six years studying the language… still BAD. Enthusiasm apparently isn’t enough….as proven by a letter from Waikato University (NZ) strongly encouraging me to stop international marketing and focus solely on brand marketing. One Degree, eight year at Unilever and Kraft and 15 brands later, I was over in France for work … and never left. (oh and finally became fluent in French!)

Mother and Father couldn’t understand what made France so special or why on earth I'd put my career on hold for a Provencal sabbatical, so eventually came to see for themselves. I was determined to make sure everything was picture perfect.

So excited about their arrival, I forgot to tell Father to double duck his head upon entering the macaron-scaled house with its 5foot high doors. BANG! Servants of yesteryear must have all been shorties.  Being 6’4 tall, Father looked like a giant extra on the Hobbit set. Walk to the bedroom… BANG! Back into the lounge…BANG! Father was not loving France and this just after 3 hours on French soil.

Tourtour

To distract the parents from this head banging dilemma, we set off for the soaring heights of perched village, Tourtour (village dans le ciel). Considered one of the most beautiful (and highest) villages in France.  At this point, I should mention that it’s spring (April) and Mother had packed clothes accordingly. Spring in Provence is the gentle precursor to summer; endless sunny blue skies, average temperatures 18°C - 25°C, and wild poppies gently waving a final farewell to winter. Or so it has been for the last 50 years. Until today in Tourtour. It snowed! Bitterly cold wind gusts practically tripping up anyone brave enough to walk outside. Mother was wearing light linen trousers and shirt… not exactly what you want to be wearing in a snow storm.  Looking at her soaked to the skin, shivering and shaking from the cold, I wonder how best to mention that my heating back at the house is broken. Now both parents not loving France.

Domaine St Donat, Lorgues

A desperate phone call to dear friend Belinda Goldschmidt, and before long we’re relocated to her magnificent  (high ceiling) villa, Domaine St Donat.  Normally booked a year in advance for seasonal lets, this one week Belinda had an empty house and graciously handed over the keys and a pile of extra blankets.  You’d think that three reception rooms, five en-suite bedrooms, and two outdoor dining areas would be too big and rambling for just the three of us, but Mother and I were as cosy as cats in cashmere, rugged up in front of a roaring wood fire with a glass of local Rosé. Father headed off to take a bath to try and warm up.  As if the day hadn’t been traumatizing enough, Father then slipped in the bath.

Fast forward three hours and we’re all lined up before the doctor. Cracked ribs and concussion (Father), laryngitis (Mother) and migraine (me).  Now seemed as good a time as any to mention the French-Guadeloupian boyfriend. As Napoléon said, “It's just one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.”

Moustiers Ste Marie

For the next few days we sat safely in the lap of luxury at Domaine St Donat; nursed back to life with the help of pain chocolate, baguettes and rillette. There are few things in life more deliciously therapeutic than French food. Incredulously, it had an almost amnesic effort on Father, who near jumped for joy at the mere mention of macarons.

Once spirits were back in normal range, we bundled up and headed to Moustiers-Sainte-Marie for lunch at Alain Ducasse’s fabled La Bastide de Moustiers. Aside from being famous for Sisteron Lamb (hand reared and prepared by Ducasse himself), this 17th century village has been featured in countless magazines for its pretty streets, fine faïence and dear I say… miracles.  Since the Middle Ages, pilgrimages have been climbing the long, steep, stone-paved path up to the Notre-Dame de Beauvoir chapel perched high in the mountainous peaks above Moustiers. The chapel walls covered with plaques by thankful recipients of miracles, big and small. We set off on the path to redemption with slightly lower expectations and full happy tummies. So much huffing and puffing, but that was just Mother and me.  As incredulous as it may seem, Father ran up the last 500 metres. Not a man to run anywhere, let alone with six cracked ribs up a 45° incline. Mother still hadn’t regained her voice but maybe it’s just one miracle per family.

At Nice airport six days later, Father said “vive le almond croissant.” That was good enough for me.

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In-House Couturière on … CURTAINS

As Dorothy said at the final curtain call of The Wizard of Oz, "There's no place like home." I hear you, Sister! After the must traumatising or tiring of days, home wraps me in a huge heartwarming cuddle, even before the first glass of wine is poured. I love my fortified castle of kaleidoscopic cosiness with furnishing treasures from a mish mash of eras, collected from a life zigzagging across borders and continents. World of Interiors feature-spread it is not!

Tweed Tea & Wellies meets Cirque du Soleil

In the  living room alone, there’s a George Kovacs Arc Floor Lamp c1970, French slat armchair c1800 (its twin in the dining room), oversized crewelwork upholstered armchair, hot pink velvet upholstered Queen Anne armchair (its twin in my bedroom), Téo Jasmin tea ceremony cushion, hand-painted faïence lamp from the Provencal perched village, Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, antique brown leather sofa, original tiled fireplace c1890, and an oversized patterned hot pink velvet ottoman, only marginally smaller than the average London apartment. Each piece beautiful in its own right... but collectively just a rotating stage and some high-wire acrobats away from being the latest set for Cirque du Soleil. And I love it!

The curtains however are my bête noire. Like the hopeful young things rejected on Britain's Next Top Model for being 10cm too short, unfashionably thin and just plain dull… my curtains are seriously lacking Star Quality!  If that wasn’t bad enough, they worse heat retention qualities than Emilio Pucci pajamas (although nowhere near as stylish). I can almost hear you shouting at the computer, “Get NEW curtains then!!” Believe me, I would... but potential post-cognitive nervousness prevails. Next to the sofa, curtains are a room’s centre of gravity. Make the wrong decision and that’s one big elephant sitting in your room. Much easier to be a cowardly lion and live with a donkey.

Then winter arrived and now my horse's derriere is freezing. Enough's enough. I have to open the window and kick that short, thin donkey out once and for all. After a quick mental flip through my Rolodex of Style, I realised there were only two people who could help me through this milestone. Interior designer and textile specialist, Melinda Ross and the entire European race. Quick credentials check.

Melinda has been working in the textile industry for almost 30 years, and as such clicks her ruby slippers three times a year, landing in Europe to attend design exhibitions; Maison et Objet (Paris), Decorex (London) and Milan Furniture Fair. Like the main international fashion shows, these are the high profile catwalks for furniture, fabric and homewares to showcase their latest and greatest. Travel envy to one side, Melinda's quintessentially elegant style, close relationships with Europe's best textile mills and encyclopedic knowledge of interiors history make her the Queen of Curtains.

Naming Europeans as curtain aficionados is hardly "Quelle surprise!" With vast, drafty castles on every hilltop, European silk mills and ateliers interwoven with history and centuries of Royal Courts swagged in voluptuous fabric....suffice to say, ther’ is couture in them thar’ curtains.

With field trips to castles now a 15,000 flight away, Melinda was appointed my In-House couturier.  "Get some couture curtains up now!!" I yelled (in my head). But wait. First a road trip to Melinda's Ballarat home to decide between French pleats, Pencil Pleats or Eyelets. I always thought eyelet finished curtains were the antithesis of  luxuriousness, but Melinda's curtains tell a different story. Grand billowy fabric falling from over-sized metal eyelets into sumptuous fabric puddles are the epitome of how the classics are traversing modernity. Okay that decision made. Oh and puddles please!!  Next stop, Melinda's Daylesford showroom, Topham Traders, to view her stunning range of pre-made curtain (who has the time to wait 4 weeks to get curtains made?!). This must be what Anna Wintour feels like sitting on the front row of Fashion Week; torn with indecision over which moment of fabuousness to put on the next front cover of Vogue. Sensing we were in for the long haul, Melinda popped on the kettle, pulled up a cushion and walked me through details of the latest curtain trends coming out of Europe.

Romanticism (1712 - 1864)
Romance is back! Well thank goodness… my love life has been seriously dull over the last few years and is desperately in need of some poetic justice. It does seem ambitious to expect one’s curtains to act as the fabric equivalent of Match.com, but if the Style Aficionados of France, the world’s most romantic nation, say so… I’m there.

Topham Traders, Valentino, Van Gogh

The return to the Romanticism Era for inspiration in interiors (and fashion) is a natural response to the uncertainty and unpredictability of the world we live in. A reaction not dissimilar to Europeans subconscious quest for reprieve from the over-intellectualised, scientific vernacular of the Enlightenment era (1633 – 1792), the greed of the First Industrial Revolution (1750 – 1850) and political intensity of the French Revolution. With seemingly simplistic insight, the Romanticism movement reminded the world of the importance of emotion and beautiful aesthetics, using the symbolism of Nature as its heroine. It’s interesting how life goes full circle, and the reminders that were needed two-three hundred years ago are just as relevant today.

Flayosc, Provence

As new centuries and eras came and went, the French held on to their Romantic side. To my delight, I discovered this first hand within weeks of moving to Provence. Back then international bank transfers were positively archaic, my money got lost somewhere between NZ and France. There I was at Christmas time in the little village of Flayosc, with no furniture, bare cupboards and snow barricading my front door. So I stood on the Juliette balcony overlooking the village square and shouted “Au secour! Au secour!” Not great for first impressions, but desperate times, desperate measures. Finally the local baker and his wife came to my rescue.  An hour, two hot chocolats and a mountain of butter-crisp croissants later, in the local café, I shared my dire financial situation with Monsieur and Madame Baker. Their subsequent advice was priceless, “If you’re down to your last 10 Francs, spend it on flowers, not baguettes. Flowers will give you more hope.”  Two days later the Bakers arrived at my doorstep with six dining chairs and a Van Gogh Poppies & Butterflies print. Their heartwarming generosity and kindness is forever embroidered in my memory.

So it's not surprising that with Romanticism causing a revolutionary hubbub in the interiors world, French fabric houses are leading the charge. Even Valentino is turning his couture gowns into a tribute to the Great Love In. As if introducing me to a date with destiny, Melinda opened the antique armoire full of French Romanticism-inspired curtains, with an arm waving flourish. There tucked inside  all with warm intimate colour palettes, embroidered detailing and floral accents. Its like Van Gogh himself had a  hand in weaving together these romantic settings. I do love a little Romance. Also in the back of my head is Mother saying, "Hurry up with the Romance. We're not getting any younger!"

Renaissance (1453-1650)
If there’s one period throughout time that deserves a curtain call, encore and flowers, it’s Renaissance. The blockbuster era of over-achievement; let’s see…Christopher Columbus discovered America, Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel and William Shakespeare wrote his way into history. With all these Type A personalities dominating the limelight, it would be easy to overlook one of the fashion and fabric world’s most influential icons; Anne Boleyn (1501-1536). Forget her snippy and controlling ways; this girl was one seriously fashion-forward A List Celebrity. Her most gutsy move; mixing classic Tudor heavy baroque brocade and beading with delicate metallic silks… in one garment! The Royal Court must have been aghast at such audacity, but Milanese silk mills saw the vision. Prago. Prago. Prago. Et Voilà! Metallic threaded silks are immortalized as a symbol of Renaissance style.

Topham Traders, Anne Boleyn, Dolce & Gabbana AW 2012

Now history is repeating itself with elaborate Renaissance–inspired fabrics inheriting this year’s diamond tiara of glamour.  On international catwalks across Milan, Paris and London, models donned richly embroidered black capes, metallic silk brocade, jeweled headbands and tapestry shoes.  The crowning glory being Dolce & Gabbana’s sumptuous autumn 2012 collection. A medieval affair filled with art inspired tapestry, elaborately embellished brocade, heavy jewels, thick gold embroidery and all the lavishness of the Renaissance infused with D&G’s signature sleek and sexy aesthetic.

Equally as noble, Alice Temperley and Caravan AW 2012 collections were just a Tudor castle away from Renaissance decadence at London Fashion Week. Models wrapped in Renaissance paintings transformed the catwalk into an elaborate meandering museum. I’m not sure about wearing a modern museum piece, but having one framing my windows sounds wonderful. Renaissance curtains might not be Romantic, but they certainly have sex appeal.

So which curtain style will turn my home into a castle? Am I a Renaissance girl or deeply Romantic? Such a difficult choice, but I've finally decided to channel my inner royal and go all Renaissance. New curtain rods go up next week then the Coronation. So that's curtains pulled on romance then.

Theresa... will you EVER be bridesmaid?

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Cinderella in Prada Tea Dress

If someone said to you, “Your life is the theme for a formal Ball. What outfit most defines you?” would you know how to answer? When asked this last week, my instinctive response was Prada! But apparently that was about as helpful as the suggestion in the book, "If I'm so wonderful, why am I still single?" to sit in café  windows, and every time a man walks in, look up and smile.

This fashion exposé  in E! True Hollywood style was revealed over afternoon tea at Al & Cathy’s. Even before the Mariage Frères tea was fully infused, Cathy had launched into an indepth précis of Australia's version of Cannes Film Festival; the Daylesford Book Ball. Each year, ten books get the Red Carpet treatment, with guests dressing up as their favourite characters.  Then she paused (for dramatic effect), before announcing that Tweed Tea and Wellies has been chosen to star in Daylesford’s Book Ball 2012. So this is what Fame feels like!

Audrey Tautou, Cannes Film Festival 2012

So the Cinderella question posed by my loyal Tweedettes, “What should we wear to the Ball?” Obviously the answer is head-to-toe Prada… but looking at Cathy’s confused face, I sensed more specific guidance was needed. Two days later after seeing photos of quintessentially chic Audrey Tautou in the most beautiful Prada Tea Dress with full pleated skirt and embroidered bodice, at Cannes Film Festival 2012… inspiration struck. Tea Dresses!

Ulyana Sergeenko, Russian fashion designer ,

I've been a Tea Dress fanista since my 20’s; even wore one in Liberty of London fabric as bridesmaid at former Jospehite nun, Sister Sonia’s heavenly garden wedding. For me, the vintage inspired, curve-flattering tea dress with fitted bodice, cinched-in waist and hourglass silhouette conjure up beautiful images of simpler times, afternoon tea parties, Tea Dances and Doris Day swirling around the dance floor singing Tea for Two. Tea Dances back in the 1950’s were the later day equivalent of match.com; even Mother and Father first met and fell truly madly deeply in love whilst waltzing at a Tea Dance in the Thames Memorial Hall. I still have the Tea Dress that Mother wore that day; it’s my favourite outfit for Prêt-à-Portea at The Berkeley.

Thank goodness 1950’s culture is coming back in style (thanks largely to Mad Men, Ulyana Sergeenko and Dior). Cause with hips the width of a classic Buick Cadillac, I rock the Tea Dress.  So maybe Tea Dresses represent a modern day Cinderella moment.  With a Pulitzer Prize, handsome Prince or Press conference not too far, far away. One can hope.

Now if Prada also made glass slippers... I'd be married before midnight.

 Is that helpful Cathy?

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Couture in a Teacup

Ulyana Sergeenko

Life would be so much more glamorous if women wore more day dresses.  Thanks to the impeccable style of glamorous Russian designer Ulyana Sergeenko (wife of Russian insurance billionaire Danil Khachaturox, No. 634 Forbes Billionaire List), the vintage inspired, curve-flattering 1940’s tea dress is having a fashion revival.  Tea Dresses are the Keep Calm and Carry On antidote to comfortable trousers and corporate suits. What I’m particularly excited about is that cinched-in waists and hourglass silhouettes are back in style. About time! It seems Ulyana, Nigella Lawson and Myself are not the only fans of butter (oops sorry, I meant curves). Vera Wang, one of fashion’s most spectacular advocates of Dresses over Trousers and huge fan of a good strong cuppa, has put Tea Dresses with vintage Wedgwood teacup patterns on the catwalk for her 2012 collection. Short of sewing warm scones in the sleeves, Vera Wang’s dresses are just a Petit Four and cucumber sandwich away from being Wearable High Tea.

Rather disappointingly, my teacup collection has yet to hit the catwalk. One can dream. Nonetheless, going teacup shopping (in Tea Dress of course) is almost as endorphic as placing a shiny new pair of Pradas into my shoe cupboard.

Living in the country and 17,000km away from Selfridges hasn’t remotely curbed my endorphin-inducing  teacup foraging ways. Mainly because there’s a world of vintage teacup treasures to be found in Daylesford's under cover version of Portobello Market in Notting Hill, namely Mill Market.

Many leisurely Sunday afternoons have been spent perusing through the Mill’s 120 antique stalls; almost every second one crammed with Queen Anne, Royal Albert, Villeroy & Boch, Wedgwood, Rosenthal, Royal Doulton and the fabulous chintz of Royal Winton. Teacups are best purchased with side plate, of course. Where will you put the homemade scones otherwise? The most expensive teacup 3-piece at Mill Market is around $40 - $70. This could be for a 1920’s Foley. Or an even rarer 1885 Majolica Lily of the Valley by German manufacturer, Villeroy & Boch.  However the majority of authentic fine china 3-piece sets range between $15 -$30. Incredible value when you think that a new Rosenthal Versace Les Reves Byzantins Tea Cup and Saucer sell for £145.

I've never given much thought as to why the Tea is in Tweed, Tea & Wellies, beyond knowing that I love collecting beautiful teacups. Until the other day, when I had an inspired (possibly Mensa worthy) revelation about why I’m so teacup obsessed. The worlds of bone china cups and fashion are intertwined. Genius. Could I possibly have just discovered the Butterfly Effect of Fashion?

The genius continues. Butterflies are notably the hottest design motif of 2012; in fashion and in fine bone china! Not exactly new inspiration given that the Butterfly has been ping-ponging between fashion and teacups for over 100 years.

It all started back in Edwardian days when Downtown Abbey could have been a reality TV show. Young designer, Daisy Makeig-Jones designed a metallic glazed porcelain (lusterware) range for Wedgwood based on illustrated children’s’ books of the 1890’s. Wedgwood called the collection “Fairyland Lustre.” Heavily detailed, brightly hued, two handled teacups with names like "Fairy Gondola", "Butterfly Women" and "Leap-frogging Elves" appealed to the public, starved of whimsy from the difficult post-war years. Wedgwood stopped producing "Fairyland" in 1929. Today Makeig-Jones' work, in particular “Butterfly Woman” is a rare collector’s item, spending more time in and out of Sotheby’s and prestigious museums (including the London V&A) than in service at morning tea.

Archive Butterfly, Jasper Conran Blue Butterfly, Harlequin Butterfly

Wedgwood clearly loves their famous 1920’s Fairyland butterfly because they recently revived it in fine style across three new collections. In the heritage Archive collection, with an art nouveau Butterfly design that pays tribute to the era of its celebrity predecessor. Whereas Harlequin Butterfly is a more modern interpretation, with gold and pink floral design, gold banding and an ornate butterfly handle. 

And the piece de resistance, Blue Butterfly; a Wedgwood collaboration with fashion designer Jasper Conran (son of design icon, Terence Conran). This simple, yet beautiful cup appears to be the Tipping Point that shifted fashion's attention back to porcelain cup patterns. The Butterfly pattern in particular.

Anna Sui was the first to be mesmorised by The  Butterfly Effect; threading her iconic butterfly motif across collections for the last few years. Her latest tribute are Butterfly Tights, a hot favourite with New York fashionistas. 

The rest of the fashion industry are now seeing the writing in the tea leaves and racing around with large butterfly nets.

Over one quarter of the catwalk collections in 2012 have included butterfly motifs in one way or another. The king of couture, Valentino made beautifully delicate neck detailing out of butterflies. Helen Mirren attended the Dolce & Gabbana Fall 2012 catwalk show during Milan Fashion Week wearing a stunning floral and butterfly printed dress with long sleeves by Dolce & Gabbana. Burberry is creating butterfly accessories. Even Gucci put the butterfly centre stage in their Autumn/Winter 2012 Menswear Collection.

All this to say...Its a beautiful world we live in when Butterflies can influence fairytales, teacups, history, fashion, design and Valentino. Time for a cuppa (and some online shopping for tea dresses by Ulyana Sergeenko.)

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Sleeping with The Golden Fleece

My Woolrest Golden Fleece wool underlay arrived in the post yesterday. Not a moment too soon. Living in a 1850’s cottage built with the insulation qualities of a Collette Dinnigan silk gown, is taking its toll on my beauty sleep. The house is so cold at night that I’ve taken to sleeping in neoprene skiwear (circa 1980’s). Genius solution except I’ve chunked up a bit since the last time ski-ing 18 years ago, so the neoprene one-piece is a smidgeon too tight. In fact, I can barely breathe, which is perfectly fine because it takes my mind off the cold. If this sheepishly warm bed fleece hadn't arrived today, I was considering moving into the former nuns' bedrooms at The Convent Gallery. Technically heritage preserved rooms but they do look mighty cosy.

Kiwi woolen bed-wear rocks! I don’t know whether it’s year-round luscious grazing in stunning Lord of the Rings landscapes that makes Kiwi sheepsters just a little more star-studded than sheep from other countries. Maybe it’s living on the doorstep of Antarctica in some of the freshest, unpolluted air in the world, that gives their wool extra weight, shine and fluffiness. Or possibly it’s because New Zealand is the 8th Happiest Country in the World (United Nations World Happiness Report 2012) that somehow translates to Kiwi sheep having such healthy and voluptuous fleeces loved the world over. 

Even the sheep are besotted with their own wool. One particular South Island Merino, Shrek, loved his fleece so much, he hid in a cave for six years to elude shearing. When finally found in 2004, Shrek was carrying an enormous fleece weighing 25 kilograms (now in the Guinness Book of Records); about three times the average fleece. After having 22 kilograms of fine merino wool shorn from his body, Shrek looked anorexic and a little chilly. Thankfully iconic NZ merino clothing brand, Icebreaker, came to Shrek’s rescue, with a custom-made fleece jacket. People often ask me what exactly it is that makes the New Zealand lifestyle so special… well if this much attention is given to the health and happiness of sheep (and there’s 31 million of them), imagine how the population of 4.3 million is living! 


I’m not saying that other countries don’t have great sheep… just that Kiwi sheep and the nation's weavers of woollen magic are Legendary. 


Woolrest created the world’s first wool fleece underlay, back in the days when John Travolta’s hair was almost as fluffy as woolly slippers. Today, Woolrest underlay is the Festival de Cannes' Palme d’Or of bedding (if there was such an award). Imagine the shorn virgin wool from eight A-List Merino and Down sheep, tightly huddled together to create a thick-piled mattress pad. Naturally cushioning your body and reducing the load on pressure points such as hips and shoulders. Then there’s the thermal warmth factor! Woollen fibres are scientifically proven to keep pockets of air close to your body, in a tiny micro-environment. The fibres subsequently disperse heat and moisture from your body; maintaining even body temperature throughout the night. Warm in winter, cool in summer (I can’t quite get my head around how this works but its true nonetheless).


Would love to stay and chat more.. but time for Afternoon Tea in bed. Then maybe a little nap.

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Italian Aperitivo, Hush Puppies and Eight Sheep

Living in Daylesford is every bit the fairytale and more. Winter being one of the most magical times; with roaring fires in restaurants and cafes, hot mineral baths warming weary and stressed bodies back to life, over-sized spa pools in all the self-catered accommodation and mulled wine served as frequently as espresso. There’s even mention that snow is just around the corner.  Such an enchanted time, except my 1850’s cottage was built with the insulation of a Gingerbread House. Nights have been hijacked by Jack Frost blowing gale force winds under doors and through non-insulated windows. I’m awake shivering half the night; desperately trying to convince the pussy cats to lay across my feet like a fluffy puffa jacket. Where are menopausal hot flashes when you need them? Clearly two duvets are not going to be enough to keep me warm through Daylesford winter. What I really need is a sheepie underblanket from Woolrest NZ. Imagine the virgin wool from eight merino and down sheep laid out on your mattress underneath the base sheet. Sheepskin slippers for your mattress. Now that's cosy.

Like writers throughout time, purchases are now measured in number of books. Time to head to The Larder to find out if “To Daylesford, with Love” has been flying off the shelves. Flight or Flop will determine whether I'll be ordering the super duper Deluxe Gold Fleece Mattress Slippers with 900grams of wool per square metre and favoured by the Queen. Or the slightly less fluffy, but still toasty warm Double Fleece Mattress slippers.

The Larder has recently gone through a seismic relaunch of their menu, branding (including dropping "Gourmet" from their name) and outdoor seating. I popped into their launch party a few weeks ago and instead of chatting to anyone, stood in the corner with winemaker extraordinaire, Giovanni Fontanella eating Hush Puppies. Giovanni and I instinctively knew that gratuitous talking would take attention away these lightly battered, crispy balls of gooey Gouda cheese. Damn you Hush Puppies for being so delicious.

Deli Delicacie

Book sales check-in coincided perfectly with Larder’s Aperitivo (5-7pm). Larder has always had a chilled out Verona vibe and excellent Italian delicatessen under the ownership of young couple, Luke & Sarah; now they’ve gone one step further. Returning the menu and dining style to local and familial Italian roots. Did I mention that Giovanni is Sarah’s Papa? Sitting down with my Aperitivo tasting board and glass of Fontanella Pinot Grigio, I quietly reminisced about the glorious simplicity of European life; where it’s considered civilised (not frivolous) to stop work at five and enjoy time with loved ones. Mid musings, in walked semi-locals Darren & Sharon, also here for Aperitivo. They haven’t tried Hush Puppies so without further ado, a bowl was ordered even before winter coats and scarves were shed. Once they'd settled into the banquette seats, taken their first few sips of wine and devoured  cheesy balls.. the verdict came back. Hush Puppies deserve a Michelin Star all of their own.

A lively debated ensued over whether Aperitivo is all about time after work to socialize, unwind, and nibble as dinner approaches, with a glass of wine accompanied by a plate of maybe thinly sliced Mortadella, chunks of salami and some crumbled seasoned Parmigiano or Grana Padano. Often (for Italians) Aperitivo acts as a light meal replacing the bigger dining moment. Well that was my theory. Darren was adamant that Aperitivo is a palate opener, gently easing you into the evening meal and pacifying rumbling tummies. (Sharon was Switzerland for the evening). To test both theories, I went all Italian and stayed with my Aperitivo Grazing board ($20 including glass of wine), while my fine dining companions ordered Pasta Fiesta (Aperitivo tasting board, fresh pasta and glass of wine $30). Then the Games began.

No, I didn't eat half a salami! For photographic purposes only.

For me, Larder’s Aperitivo is the Romeo to Fontanellas Pinot Grigio’s Juliet. A match made in heaven; where you fall in love with every mouthful. Certainly the Italians know how to woe the tastebuds. Often all it takes is the simplest of gestures.  For here is a plate that simply comprises traditionally cured Vercchieti salami, Provolene Dolce (semi-hard yet creamy cow’s milk cheese originating from Northern Italy) and locally sourced roasted Red Capsicums. Accompanied by freshly baked, warm Italian bread (Pane Casareccia); crusty on the outside and spongy soft on the inside (Casareccio means homemade). Following with Italian tradition, neither olive oil nor butter is served. Such a perfect combination of flavours and textures. Munching, sipping and chatting with dear friends, reminds me that the Good Life doesn’t always need to be so complicated.

In a lovely relaxed pace, the Pasta dishes arrived. Damn you, Roasted Pumpkin and Goats Cheese Agnolotti (super-sized ravioli) with burnt butter sauce for being so delectably delicate and moorish. Just one whiff of the rich buttery aroma had me casting aside all thoughts of winning the aforementioned debate over Italian dining rituals. Who cares with pasta like this gracing the table? To which Sharon politely pointed out that in fact, this was HER plate and could I please stop eating her Agnolotti! If only I’d ordered Pasta Fiesta!

In a bid to distract myself from thinking too much about Sharon’s Agnolotti, I checked in with Luke to see how many “To Daylesford, with Love” books have sold this week. I might not be on the New York Best Seller list yet, but I can afford a Woolrest Double Fleece underblanket. Yay! With the change, might even splash out on some NZ merino mittens. Finally I can stop wearing my possum jumper to bed.

Who would have thought that my simple quest for eight fluffy sheep would turn into a QI evening with  friends, sharing a bowl of delectissimo cheesy Hush Puppies, falling in love with Aperitivo all over again, and discovering the best Agnolotti this side of Naples. Mission accomplished and just in time for MasterChef.

P.S. Was still bit peckish, so clearly I'm not an Aperitivo-only type person. Took home some of Larder's signature Chicken Liver & Sherry Parfait with a loaf of Ciabatta bread to munch on watching Gary, George and the utterly gorgeous Matt Moran. Good times.

Buona note

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Two Grandmas sow Wild Oats & Apple Strudel

The humble oat is underestimated. Most people wouldn’t give this a second thought. Not me. I’m out there investigating the hard-hitting issues, no matter how small. This particular oat-sized exposé came to light a few weeks ago with The Oat Challenge (aka Budgetary Readjustments for Writer Living the Dream).

After twelve days of eating supermarket purchased Oats in various guises, my taste buds went into meltdown. To the point that the mushroom village in my back yard was starting to look particularly appetising.  Hearing that mushroom poisoning was just a few mouthfuls away, the lovely Klika arrived at my front porch with a basket full of her delicious Farmhouse Muesli.

Over a few bowls of Farmhouse Muesli, Klika poured out a lifetime of stories about growing up on a farm at the foothills of Slovenia. Similar to the childhood of Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie, just without palaces, a milkman or central heating. Every morning, Klika rose at 5am to cut wood so that the house and stove could be heated. Meanwhile, Grandma Katarina (or Kata) would be milking cows for fresh creamy milk to pour over oats for breakfast. To make the oats tastier, Kata stirred in leftover apple strudel, poppy seed cake or apricot jam. Not all at once! Forget Princesses, this is breakfeast fit for a King .

Croats love their oats. Not just because they are one of the largest agriculture crop of this little Central European country (which interestingly has almost identical population and geographical landmass to New Zealand). Oats are the unassuming noblesse of breakfast; equally at home in muddy wellies one day and ball gown the next. Croatians have long been mixing Viennese pastries or French pâtes de fruits with Oats;  transforming breakfast from ordinary to bourgeois. Fast forward a few generations, and Klika's oat-based muesli's are making mouths water from one end of Australia to the other.  I've never really understood what the MasterChef judges mean when they talk about, "Cook with Love and you'll create something special." Now I do. It’s impossible not to taste the love, or feel the presence of Kata in Klika’s Farmhouse Muesli. This is a rare treat.

I'm sitting at feet of Grandma Managh on right hand side

All this nostalgic talk of love and Grandmothers has momentarily made me take a step back and contemplate the matriarchal influence on my life. Like Klika’s Kata, my Grandma Managh lived her life (all 97 years) by the values of resilience, strength of character and tenacity. Grandma didn’t consider it a hardship to live in a tent for two years while Grandad built a home for the family. I’ve inherited this same gene, never hesitating to put dreams before hardship. We grew up hearing how Grandma insisted Father not leave the table until he finished all his porridge (even after it went cold). Father won’t be seen within a mile of oats ever since, but nevertheless he’s passed onto my brothers, sister and I, the same tenacity to finish what we start… no matter how difficult. Then there’s the competitive side to our family. Having a Grandma who represented New Zealand Croquet for many years, instilled in subsequent Managh generations, a determination to take on the world. Now if only I could bake pinwheel scones half as well!

Back in the early morning Daylesford sun, Klika has morphed into James May (Top Gear); delivering a complex explanation of how Oats are graded. A fleeting reprieve came when she popped inside to get a box of supermarket rolled oats from the pantry.  Breakfast then turned into an interactive challenge; spot the difference between generic oats and Klika Oats?  Amazingly a) this was more interesting than it sounds and b) there was a dramatic difference. Being highly processed, generic oats are almost translucent, crumbling in your fingers (goes mushy when heated), compared to Klika’s “rolled once” organic oats with soft grain texture and hard centre, retaining their shape when heated.

Now I’m craving Apple Strudel. Klika has given us her Kata’s recipe, apples are from next door and Gerry has the apron on.  Perfect Sunday

To Grandma Managh, with Love. (1918 – 2012)