April 7, 2010

Another successful bout in the kitchen, the big TZ on the pans and Adam on the plonk, both academics in the art of cuisine, and me soaking up the excellence. It’s good to know lads such as these.

We each started with a wee dram of Campari to fuel the motors and soothe the days ails. Round one consisting of Spanish prawns in the red corner and a bottle of sherry in the blue; round two was, in the red corner, roast duck cooked so true it was a priest’s confession with fennel gratin and cannelini beans that could be an every meal for this little black duck and, in the blue corner, this unbelievable cool climate Victorian pinot; round three and the final was a feijoa, papaya and mint salad with the rest of the Campari.

Every last detail was pitch-perfect, the company, the music and the ingeniously matched food and wine. A meeting of minds and bellies solving big problems and crushing mediocrity, and then there was me shoveling grub and swilling booze.


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