Winter Rain & Rabbits Can Swim

Rain on the tin roof crowding out climate change.
White clouds hugged Willunga Hills, while Huey sent her down in sheets.
Today the rain is exceptional, beautiful, more beautiful than any other time following three years of drought and heatwaves and that nagging fear that the rain may never come again.

Our creek is flowing for the first time in four years. The sound of water gushing down the creek and into the dam with frogs calling is the most delicious lifegiving music I could imagine.
I followed the creek today, as if I don't know where it comes from, stood on the bridge and watched the brown water gush over rocks, under tree roots and on down to the dam.

I scared a rabbit, in his rabbit-like panic he tacked back and forth then plonked into the creek.
Frantic dog paddling began, he bumped into the bank and scrambled up the other side.
I didn't know rabbits could swim. All animals can swim if they have to, can't they? Instinctively paddling for survival. But not all humans. Perhaps they think too much.

oil press

Our Olive Harvest is nearly finished. One more old Verdale heavy with fruit waits for the pick.

There are still some cherry pink Manzanillo and sleek black plump Kalamatas hanging on for pickling.

Oil harvest is a gentle time. Making fresh bread is essential, dipping into the fresh pressed pungent oil while it is still warm from the oven. Every drop of this season's press is mouthwateringly delicious, we drink it.

We'd like to congratulate ourselves on good farming, picking the fruit at the right time and getting it to the press gently and quickly, for pressing in our well maintained Olio Mio with precision learnt through years of patience and practice. However the truth is that this delicious drop of oil is more about the growing season. The one element we play no part in.

The timing has a major influence on the style and quality of oil, so just prior to harvest we spend a lot of time in the grove plucking the fruit from each tree, gently crushing the fruit in our hands to release the juice, inhale the deep olive aroma and rub the oil into our skin, this to check flavour ripeness and oil content. The window for perfect ripeness is down to a few weeks in the year. The oil flavour of any variety can be completely changed by harvesting green through to fully ripe producing distinctly different styles. When all things are equal there are strong genetic varietal characteristics.

As with all farming we are at the mercy of wind, rain and sun.

Having successfully tended the grove to provide a crop we handle with care, press to perfection and then it is all about storage. Keeping the precious extra virgin oil away from oxygen, heat and light.

Pressing Olive Oil

The scent of olive juice is in the air. There is always a sense of celebration for the first press of new season's oil. This year we discover a delicate peppery liquid gold. So sweet and mild that our guests enjoy it straight from the press. Most years my favourite grassy early harvest bites their throats until it tames to a peppery finesse in Spring.

winter days

The last of autumn leaves have blown off in the wind, bare brown vines with wild witches' hair of rusty orange canes await the winter prune. The vivid colour of oranges and jonquils radiate against slate skies. We light the first of many bonfires mesmerised by flames spiralling into the night sky.

These winter days are ideal for preserving the last of sumptuous yellow quinces. Peel, core and quarter quinces. Make a simple syrup combining equal sugar and water, split vanilla pods and star anise. Let them blip away on the lowest heat for several hours until quinces are tender and deep red in colour. A spoonful of the thickest cream, best enjoyed by a wood fire.

Pickling to order for Sea & Vines Lunch on 7 June

I have picked, peeled, sliced and pickled over twenty kilos of quinces. My hand is sore but I'm feeling satisfied. My next job is to boil and reduce 40 litres of red wine to start the Shiraz syrup. It sounded lovely at the time when Chef Nigel Rich worked out the menu with us. I had, as I usually do, a rather romantic vision of myself humming happily peeling fuzzy quinces on a sunny afternoon and stirring a small pot of wine on a winter night, shiraz in the pot another in my glass. Of course when you are preparing lunch for up to 40 guests the pottering becomes more like a production line. Hand crafted literally becomes a physical demand. It is just one of the many times that causes me to reflect and respect the profession of chefs, and that great gulf between cooking for small numbers to a la carte service, or catering on a large scale. It is the Chef Dustin Rodgers that will shuck 120 oysters on the day of our Sea & Vines lunch, I've seen him do it before working like something between a machine and an artist. I call it the chef frenzy. I try to imitate their hustle, flick of the teatowel and pan flipping ways. Every chef has their own kitchen dance. Gliding back and forth from stove to bench, stir, taste, wipe, chop, taste, wash, pluck, trim, truss, taste, wipe.

wild mushrooms

I forgot how good mushrooms are. We found wild mushrooms under the old gum trees when we arrived in McLaren Vale 15 years ago. Blissfully pungent big brown monsters that fried up with butter and garlic as our regular weekend feast. Some kind of poison entered the food chain. Across the Vale it was rumoured that eating wild mushrooms made you sick. Our neighbours got really sick. We noticed a yellow tinge, and sometimes a red streak appeared in our mushrooms and the taste had changed, there was now a bitter after taste and when you cooked them it was acrid, we'd lost our wild mushrooms. Locals arriving at restaurants proudly presenting their foragers bounty of fungus were turned away. I called experts and was put onto the next expert, all said there were no tests to be sure the mushrooms were safe because they could only test for what they knew, and they couldn't test for what they didn't know.. which all made sense at the time. We all stopped foraging. Until this year. David stumbled across some particularly fine looking mushrooms and broke them, open, clean, white. Tasted. Fresh, delicate, earth. How precious they seem now, more exotic than imported truffles. Carefully we watch and pick them just as they break through the soil. Now we cook them in Olive Oil, still with garlic and savour with quiet respect.

Curing Olives, Pickled

There is something divinely meaty about dark black pickled olives. The depth of flavour, smooth skin and firm fleshed saltiness is a perfect start to any evening.

Grassy green olives are made for autumn lunches, summer sauces and spring chicken.

Local markets and providores have a good range of wonderful South Australian olives pickled using natural curing methods that are ready to eat.

Pickling your own becomes quite addictive when you start curing to your taste. Our Spanish Queen and Verdale are ready to pickle this week, Kalamata look to be a few weeks away.

If you don’t have a tree handy, head to one of our olive growing regions during harvest - McLaren Vale, Barossa, Clare, Adelaide Plains or Riverland - to purchase the fresh fruit, or order some at the Adelaide Central Market from about May through to August.

Most olive varieties are good for pickling. We choose the sleek black Kalamata and small Koroneiki for their full ripe flavour; the Spanish Queen we pickle green, and Verdale we prefer with a blush of purple, just as they are turning from green to black. We also pickle feral fruit from wild olive trees for their funky flavours.

Eating fresh olives straight from the tree makes me wonder how someone thought that olives could be edible and went about pickling them in the first place. The natural bitterness is astounding which explains the lengthy soaking process required to reduce that bitterness.

We’ve tried many of the various pickling methods over the years, from technical pamphlets to family secrets shared by our Greek and Italian neighbours, and used every tip offered by fellow enthusiasts. There have been some great olives along the way but we suffered from patchy results and finally cracked the consistency issue after seeking the advice of local professional pickler, Rachel Steer. The following method will produce excellent results.

Pick the olives carefully, avoiding bruising the fruit.

Wash the olives in fresh water.

For black olives you’ll need to do some pre-washing before the brine - wash in fresh water every second day until you can bite into the olive without screwing your face up. For green olives we put them straight into the brine.

Make a brine solution of 10 per cent salt, to cover your olives – use cooking salt and sterile water (mains tap water is fine).

Place the olives in a bucket with a loose cover to keep out any bugs, and keep the olives submerged (use a plate to keep them below the brine). In a few days you will see the frothing of natural fermentation taking place.

Knowing when the olives are ready to store in a lower concentration of brine is about taste. Keep trying them, it is around 4 to 6 months before we want to eat a bowl full and then we know they are ready.

When the fermentation has finished (no more bubbles) and you are happy with the taste, wash the olives with fresh water and replace with a lower concentration of brine, we use 5 per cent salt. Seal the bucket or tub and keep in a dark cool spot. A scum may form on the top, it is harmless. We like to eat these olives when they are about six months old with a fully developed olive flavour, they will last at least 12 months.

If you find the olives are too salty, soak them in some fresh water overnight in the fridge, allow them to come to room temperature before eating.

These olives are delicious lightly coated with extra virgin olive oil, or marinated with verjuice, preserved lemons or limes; gently crushed cumin, fennel, coriander seeds and olive oil; or chillies, garlic and bay leaves. Try warming them slightly in the oven with a coating of olive oil a few sprigs of fresh thyme, have some crusty bread ready for dipping in the oil.