Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [24]
“Speaking of lunch,” Tony asks us, “have you eaten breakfast?”
“No,” Bill answers. “We thought there might be some food around here.”
“Allow me, then, to make one final introduction, to the best breakfast sandwich in the world. Follow me.” He leads us to a stand in the corner of a second room where volunteers sell coffee, other drinks, and snacks as a fund-raising activity for the market. He tells us what to get and we follow his orders, right down to the cups of hot chocolate concocted with rich Jersey milk from a neighborhood dairy “to take the chill off of the morning air.” For the sandwich, the cooks start with a roll from a local bakery, then layer in it bacon produced in the valley, a fried egg fresh from the hen, pickled onions, and a tangy chutney from one of the vendors. Even though we’ve written a cookbook on breakfast with a whole chapter of great sandwiches, this gem tops them all, in part because of the ingredients’ sterling freshness.
After thanking Thalassa and Tony profusely for their help and offering them room and board if they’re ever in Santa Fe, we head off to explore some of the back roads of the Barossa. Bill gets lost immediately in the parking lot, going to the wrong front door of the car, pretending he’s there just to let Cheryl in, and finally getting behind the wheel again on the other side. He takes us through gently rolling hills awhile and then down into the valley, where fields of intensely yellow rapeseed and splashes of other wildflowers pop out of the lovely, manicured landscape. A canopy of eucalyptus branches overhangs some of the byways and sheep graze in the meadows. Scattered stone houses in shades ranging from cream to light gray flaunt beds of fiery poppies and rosemary bushes budding blue. Except for a few too-cute B&Bs, little looks overly precious or tarted up for tourists, an affliction of many prominent wine areas.
Along the way, we stop at Yalumba, Australia’s oldest family-owned winery. Dru Thomas greets us at the long bar of the cellar door (Aussie-speak for “tasting room”) and pours samples of a range of wines, starting with a 2004 Chardonnay fermented with wild yeast from the vineyards and concluding with a just maturing 2000 Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon. Many of the choices surprise us with their superb balance between fruit and acid. Bill tells Dru, “Most Australian reds we’ve purchased at home tend to be sweet, sometimes dreadfully so, but there’s no hint of that in these bottles.”
“You blokes have helped to make that the reigning international style, you know. Some Australian wineries add sugar for export sales.” If so, that’s a shame for everyone.
Our drive eventually leads to Maggie Beer’s Farm Shop. It’s still a little before noon, the time of our reservation, so we wander over to another wine tasting in progress, not realizing at first that the pourer is Maggie’s husband, Colin, handing out samples of his Beer Bros. Wines. The couple began raising pheasants on their farm in the 1970s and opened the award-winning Pheasant Farm Restaurant, which they ran for fifteen years before tiring of the toil. They then focused on making pantry products, such as verjuice, an acidic liquid based on unfermented grapes that Maggie champions in cooking. Today, the Beers sell their goods, and serve food as well, at the Farm Shop.
The dining room conveys a casual, country mood, but there’s nothing casual about the kitchen’s attitude toward food preparation. All diners start with a serving of Maggie’s signature pheasant pâté—magnificently buttery and fleshy—with caramelized onions and brioche flecked with orange zest. Cheryl follows with Berkshire Gold pork and fennel sausages with French du Puy lentils, verjuice-glazed apples, and wilted spinach, a masterpiece of meat and produce. Bill opts for an equally tasty game pie with roasted carrots and fennel and a cabernet sauce, saying as he savors the last bite, “I don’t know why more places in the States can’t offer this kind of