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THE WIZARDS OF MOD OZ   (p. 2 of 3)

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You can see some of that heritage driving through the pristine 12,000-square-kilometre Hunter Valley, where many of the wineries still bear the old family names: Lindemans, Tulloch, Tyrrell’s, Wilkinson, Drayton’s, McWilliams, Wyndham, McGuigan. The sun plays peekaboo between the gum trees. If it weren’t for the gentle afternoon cloud cover here, the grapes would fry in the 40°C summer days. Extreme heat, torrential fall rains and winter droughts mean that only one Hunter vintage in three is good, and most of it is sold locally at winery tasting rooms called "cellar doors."

Looking out from the front terrace of Audrey Wilkinson’s winery, I see why the early settlers stopped here in 1866. The ocean shimmers in the distance; the black fists of the Brokenback mountain range hold up the western sky. Many of the old vineyards are on Broke Road (presumably named after the fate of those Sydney financiers who had the bucks, but not the expertise, to fulfill their owning-a-vineyard fantasies). In the hills below, 48 hectares of vineyards are filled with young vines decked in their spring foliage like children in lime-green uniforms, all knobby knees and elbows, lined up to go to school. Indeed, the fruit of these vines will be educated in this winery, where it will learn the discipline of the press and the manners of oak. (Some of the old wooden fermenting vats are carved with the initials of men who worked here 100 years ago.)

In the tasting room, I sample the 2003 Audrey Wilkinson Semillon, a brilliant white wine that bursts with citrus zest. "The first thing you look for is whether the wine is stable, clear and bright," says Steve, half of the tasting room tag team. His cohort Laurie jumps in, like a seasoned nightclub performer: "Yeah, not like Steve at all." The minibus crowd touring the winery laughs as Steve adds, "Laurie’s working here as our ‘insultant.’" When he produces the spit bucket, he says, "Pour the wine you don’t want into our export bin."

Jokes aside, Australia is a leading wine exporter (after Italy, France, Spain and the U.S.). A new winery opens down under every 72 hours. Back in the 1980s, most Australian wines were heavily flavoured alcoholic jam made from overripe shiraz grapes. You’ll still find those ever-popular fruit bombs; but now vintners create wines with finesse and a strong sense of regionalism in a wide range of styles to pair with the innovative new cuisine.

"Semillon – it’s an odd duck of a wine," a young helper at Tyrrell’s winery tells me as I sip the award-wining 1997 Reserve Belford Semillon. "Crisp and clean when it’s young, but along about two to three years, it’s nothing. Best to hide it away, which is what we do. We don’t release the semillons until they’re ready at five years or so. Then they’re fat with almonds and honey."

Hunter shiraz is also worth aging, unlike the fruity wines of other regions that don’t last much more than a year after bottling. The Graveyard Shiraz at Brokenwood Wines has a classic Bordeaux-like structure and is redolent of violets and ripe red berry fruit. It’s a serious wine rated as highly as Penfolds Grange (Australia’s most famous wine), though Brokenwood looks like a hobby operation, with its folksy tasting room covered in cricket memorabilia. The Brokenwood vineyard is planted with cuttings from the original 1830s rootstock that catch the first rays of the day, giving the wine full-bodied ripeness. More and more local wineries are starting to label their bottles with vineyard designations, so that the Hunter Valley starts to get the recognition it deserves.

When I return to Sydney, the city is draped in green and yellow, the national colours. Children wave flags on street corners, and groups of people sing "Waltzing Matilda." Has word spread that I’m here investigating the city’s food and wine? Then again, it might also have something to do with the Australian rugby team, the defending world champions, playing their first game of the World Cup tonight. (To the dismay of the locals, the Australians would lose the final to the English.)

My dinner at Guillaume at Bennelong in the Opera House, the city’s most identifiable icon for the last 31 years, affords a spectacular view of the harbour through the large open windows. Ferries trimmed in white lights pull in and out of Circular Quay, while strains of cello drift into the restaurant. As I linger over my shiraz and casserole of rabbit with fresh pappardelle, fireworks explode on the harbour bridge in what looks like the shape of a wine bottle – or could it be a rugby ball? The nation may have lost one world title, but it seems to me that it now holds another. [ ]

While on assignment in Australia, Natalie MacLean was named the World’s Best Drink Writer at the World Food Media Awards for her e-newsletter at www.nataliemaclean.com.

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