We were back in the car heading past the Ballandean Tavern around eleven forty-five, which could have been an appropriate time-slot for lunch, but decided that if we headed to Symphony Hill first, we'd be able to head straight north after lunch.
On arriving, I found that expectations of picpoul, tannat and mondeuse (trial plantings referenced by Halliday) were wide of the mark, though what was on offer proved very tasty indeed.
Again, everything offered plenty of character in the bouquet department and the Wild Child Viognier and Tempranillo were particularly memorable when the taste buds came into play.
It was, however, one of those cases where a pen and some notes would have been a very good idea, and I really need to do something about developing a more reliable method of keeping track of my vinous recollections....
It was a case of three out of three when it came to adding the name to the mailing list, and I'll hopefully be ordering a subset of the range that will allow a closer examination....
Lunch at the Ballandean Tavern was a direct contrast to the previous day's effort in more ways than one. Where Kooroomba offered serious food at serious prices, the Ballandean offerings were substantial repasts at very reasonable rates.
Both female members of the party opted for the crumbed whiting, which arrived accompanied by salad and a goodly portion of chips, while Granty and I went for burgers. It may have had something to do with a late breakfast and a lunch around the regular time, but I was the only one of the four who managed to finish everything on the plate, and it was very much a case of forcing the last couple of chips down the gullet. Given that Madam's a small eater under most circumstances I end up polishing off the rest of her plate once I've finished my own, but there was no way I could even look at what was left under the circumstances.
Given the relative shortage of overnight sleep, there was a temptation to go into carpet snake mode, return to base and indulge in a lengthy siesta. That would, however, have proved unacceptable to the ladies, who'd pencilled in visits to The Bramble Patch and an establishment that apparently offered plenty of smelly stuff for the girls and nothing for the average bloke.
The Bramble Patch, with its range of jams and other berry-related products, is more or less a compulsory call when we're passing through Stanthorpe, and the road in seemed to have been improved since our previous visit. They've also done a fair bit of renovating in the shop section, though the goods on offer are more or less unchanged. It's obviously a case of 'when you're on a good thing'....