Day 17: Canberra
Had we not been on the road for several days with an accumulated pile of laundry we might well have got away much earlier and may possibly have managed a bit more sightseeing, but the process of putting what we had through the washer and drier, both of which were free when I looked just after seven-thirty, meant it was close to ten before we headed off towards Murrumbateman for a three stop lap around the wine circuit.
As pointed out elsewhere, I've got a lengthy list of wineries I buy from, and it's going to be difficult to fit more into the schedule, but Helm is, by all accounts, the prime Riesling producer in an emerging Riesling district, and as a devoted fan of the variety I wasn't going to be going past, was I?
Getting there, however, wasn't quite as straightforward as it might have been, with a realisation that the fuel gauge was hovering uncomfortably close to Empty, a refuelling stop in Murrumbateman, and a missed turn just on the northern side of the township, but we eventually reached the converted school house that houses the Helm Cellar door and found, as expected, a very classy Riesling, a Premium version of the same that didn't impress as much as the first, as well as Sauvignon Blanc, a trio of Cabernets and a Cabernet Shiraz that impressed enough to have Hughesy ordering a box, though why they work in boxes of ten rather than a dozen wasn't obvious and I forgot to ask.
That box I ordered will, no doubt, provide the basis for a lengthier piece over on The Wine Pages along with Tasting Notes as the contents are sampled.
Those considerations will come into play with what turns up from Lerida and Lark Hill as well, but for the moment we're looking at the travel narrative rather than an oenological perspective.
We could, had we left Canberra much earlier, have deviated from Murrumbateman Road into Gundaroo, but given the fact that it was Monday, with no apparent source of lunch to provide an excuse and little apart from the village's status as the home of the long gone Prickle Farm to justify a diversion we kept going towards Lake George, while I gave serious thought to giving Lerida Estate the flick pass and heading straight to Lark Hill.
That would have been a mistake, since once we'd made our way into the Cellar Door without meeting with any of the three deadly species of poisonous snakes found nearby, there was a small but very impressive range to sample, a mailing list to be added to and an interesting view out across Lake George from the Lerida Estate Facilities on the western escarpment.
We could probably have taken our time there, but with the time now well after one, and lunch venues in Bungendore presumably shutting down as far as new orders were concerned at two, it was a case of straight back on the road in search of lunch once we'd paid for a Botrytised bottle from Lerida, with plans to make up a mixed dozen order once we were back in the north.
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 that 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 the 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 there and conduct a reconnaissance on the ground rather than pondering over the possibilities in the glossy book we found in the hotel room 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.