42˚ South

Greetings from 42˚ south and the beautiful and rugged island of Tasmania.

I made the short fifty minute hop from Melbourne on Wednesday and arrived in the town of Launceston, second biggest town on the island after the state capital, Hobart.

Launceston, or ‘Lonnie’ as the locals refer to it, is an interesting place. After checking in at the imaginatively named Launceston Backpackers (suggested slogan ‘it’s twenty bucks a night for a reason’), I immediately took myself off for a walk around as it was getting on for six in the evening and I was hungry. The town itself is really just a collection of faceless streets and shopping arcades that you might find anywhere in Australia. ‘Seaport’, happily, is a different proposition however. Located on the seafront as the name suggests, it’s a quaint little area of town with parks, a yacht club and a scattering of seafood restaurants. It was at one of the restaurants that I now presented myself, looking far too shabby for its standards but not caring.

The Waterfront immediately gets a big thumbs up for its scallops Mornay which tasted like they had been landed just that very morning, for the simple reason that they probably had. Now being in Tassy (more local terminology), I decided to sample some of the wines that you won’t find on many lists outside of the island. Come this far south of the equator and you’re in serious Riesling and Pinot Noir territory, and Tasmania’s burgeoning wine industry does both with serious aplomb. I permitted myself a racy glass of the Josef Chromy ‘Zdar’ Riesling 2006 – a steely little citrus and Granny Smith number with real stony minerality at four years old. Complemented by the backdrop of Lonnie harbour and the gateway to Cataract Gorge on the far side, this was a place I could have happily sat for hours. Unfortunately, the weather had other ideas and was closing in fast. I opted to quit while I was ahead, thanked the waitress and made my exit, just arriving back at the hostel as the heavens opened.

After trying to discern without success exactly what it was that had died in my room the previous night, I resolved to get an early night and get out and about first thing in the morning.  My Japanese roommates kindly assisted me in this regard, but their drunken wake-up call at half-past three was a bit earlier than I had actually had in mind.

Thankfully, at eight the next morning I got a call from Alison, food and beverage manager at Cradle Mountain Chateau saying she was in town and would I like a lift up the mountain. I was offered a job there while I was in Melbourne last week which I accepted and it’s here that you find me now, after having worked the last few days in the hotel’s a la carte restaurant Grey Gums (yes, you’re right – that is a crap name for a restaurant). It’s a good restaurant however, with a wine-list of over eighty percent Tasmanian wines and a small but dedicated staff. The hotel itself is very remote – in the centre of Cradle Mountain National Park, it’s a two-hour round trip to Launceston or Devonport and there is absolutely no mobile phone reception.

Since arriving, it’s been non-stop work (hello catering industry my old friend) but good fun in its own way, and Australia certainly looks after its hospitality staff. Once again, the surrounding country is fantastic – more rugged than beautiful – Tasmania has just shaken off the shackles of wintertime and many of the trees have no leaves and look almost as if they have recently been set alight. This high up on Cradle Mountain, fog coats the trees and hillsides every morning and it rains almost as much as it does back home. Summer is on its way however…

Interestingly for a ‘pommy’ like myself, we have a few non-fee paying residents that forage in the hotel grounds – namely Wallabies, Possums and Tasmanian Devils  – the possums are the ones to look out for. ‘Petey’ lives by the bins and ‘Little-black’ lives on the porch of the staff house, although I’m yet to be introduced. Possums are apparently particularly adept at getting inside wheelie bins and we’ve all been told  when taking out the rubbish to give the bin a swift kick in case there’s anything lurking inside - Possums like high places and when confronted with the choice between remaining in the bin or climbing all over the nearest human being, they reputedly opt for the latter more often than not - I have been warned. I’ve also been told that come summertime a few more ‘locals’ will appear on the paths and boardwalks, but these will be of the cold-blooded, sun-seeking variety and I’d rather not think about that if it’s all the same to you.

Working the restaurant this week has been its usual baptism of fire. A case of getting stuck in, rolling one’s sleeves up and other clichés. The job is one I’m very familiar with but up until yesterday I found myself relying on Glen, the restaurant manager, to solve a few things – ‘Where are the decanters? Where are the corkscrews? What time do we close? Where does the venison come from? Where can table two get hold of a bottle of the pinot they’re drinking?’

I’m now up to speed and it’s a bloody good thing – last night, Glen and I served 56 diners between us. Hard work, but the hours sail by and at the end of the night, a diner invited me to try his bottle of Yalumba’s 2006 ‘The Menzies’ Cabernet – the one wine I had had my eye on since arriving. You can get it in the UK but expect to pay around £25 to £30. A typically blockbusting, ‘you’ll enjoy this sir, one glass and you’ll be absolutely shitfaced’ sort of Cabernet with heady aromas of cassis, menthol and something quite medicinal. The palate delivered in much the same way with more juicy, ripe blackcurrants, a streak of eucalyptus, vanilla and just a hint of some earthy notes developing. Powerful and with a very long finish it will last for several years to come.

If you see a bottle, buy it for a special occasion and have it alongside a rare fillet steak or loin of venison as my guest did last night.

Excuse me now, it’s my day off but there’s just been a knock on my door…