The road to Bungendore took us straight past Lark Hill, which is perched right on the top of that particular portion of the Lake George escarpment, and we were on the ground there in time to claim a vacant table at the Woodworks Cafe, where Madam's bowl of Seafood Chowder and my Chicken and Mushroom Fettuccine went down very well, filling the void that had developed since the morning's demolition of most of a loaf of Turkish bread.
Back in the car and back up the escarpment, we reached the biodynamic Lark Hill vineyard in search of Gruner Veltliner, which had been my main motivation for putting the place on the itinerary. Stock levels were such that there was none available to taste, though we escaped with (allegedly) the last available bottle and (hopefully) a spot on the mailing list for the next release.
A sample of the range was enough to ensure a mixed dozen will be ordered when we're back at home, with, as previously indicated, further detailed discussion in the appropriate sections of the website.
Al those factors, including the final post-lunch ascent and descent of the escarpment were, however, starting to take their toll, and although we were going to back in Canberra with a good ninety minutes to spare before places started to close down for the day, discretion and the thought that rush hour traffic was no place for weary drivers suggested a return to base for a rest rather than venturing into the Parliamentary Triangle, which was pencilled in as the focus for Tuesday's wanderings. By five-thirty the spell had started to take effect, and thoughts turned to dinner, with particular reference to the eateries over in Kennedy Street, Kingston (rather than the familiar Kennedy Street, Bowen, which remains steadfastly devoid of commercial dining options).
There were a number of options covering Italian and familiar Asian cuisines, with the odd maverick (Portuguese at Vasco's) thrown in for good measure, so the best idea seemed to be to head over and conduct a reconnaissance on the ground rather than pondering over the possibilities in a glossy book or musing over reviews on the Internet. Given the fact that the area boasts a substantial restaurant strip, a seemingly popular gym and is surrounded by medium density housing it should come as no surprise to learn that parking in the street itself was at a premium, though we managed to find a spot in a nearby side street. Once we'd managed that it was a case of deciding where to eat, though preliminary research had suggested Il Rustico, which was where we ended up. There were, we were told, three unreservedly tables for two, with the remainder being claimed rather rapidly between the time we were seated and the arrival of the meals, which suggests that you either need to book ahead or get there early, even on a Monday night, which we'd expected would be reasonably safe.
Having had a late and fairly substantial lunch, neither of us were inclined towards major gastronomic excess, and Madam's entree-sized Zuppa di cozze, an attractive display of reasonably plump mussels served in a bowl with a tomato-based sugo worked well for her. My Pizza Calabrese, on the other hand, probably wasn't the best option on that side of the menu, but worked well enough with an accompanying glass of West End Aglianico, a red variety I hadn't run across before, but proved to be another savoury food-friendly style that is worth looking out for. The Calabria family won't be the last to plant the variety.
On the way back to the chariot, a glance at the other establishment along the strip revealed, for what such observations are worth, that most were marginally less crowded than Il Rustico had been, though that's not necessarily, as the following evening's experience suggested, any reflection on the quality of what's on offer. We were, in any case, back in the hotel room just after seven, in time to start filling out the detail surrounding the demise of Osama Bin Laden, news that had broken while we were having lunch, delivered by way of the iPad.