It really grinds my goat when people bang on about how they’re headed away to the Hunter or the Barossa or Margaret River to ‘drink some good wine’. Or at least it would, I’m sure, if I had a goat.
I mean, sure, it’s a fine way to spend a weekend away, and let’s not even try and pretend that Perth doesn’t have some banging weather – but stop using ‘good wine’ as some sort of license to flee the state. You’re all fools if you don’t think that we don’t have some freaking smashing bottles of plonk right here in our own backyard, and some of them are even Uber-able.
Because I’m a great friend and completely unselfish, I’ve taken it as my own personal goal to drink my way around the state, to provide y’all with the most comprehensive top five that you’ll ever see and yes. You are welcome. This is research, scientific research if you will – and look, while we’ve drawn some great conclusions thus far, on reflection my sample size isn’t large enough to be statistically significant, so I’m headed out into the field for further investigations.
Watch this space. *spills her pinot*
Oh Jack Rabbit. How do I love thee? Let me count thy ways.
If you haven’t been to this little slice of vino heaven, you are not a complete human being, so please kindly cancel your day, find a driver, and hightail it down the freeway very right now. I basically own shares in this place. They should have a permanent ‘Em’ table and just save us the hassle of having to book all the time. Crack into a massive bowl of mussels, wash it down with several glasses (read: bottles) of pinot and watch the sunset over the bay.
Go there for: The pinot. I would bathe in this stuff if I wasn’t so busy drinking it and someone else was responsible for cleaning my bathroom.
Truth be told. I fecking love Jack Rabbit. I’m basically keeping that place in business, and my ‘house burning down’ plan includes safe rescue of any JR bottles on the premises. But, it’s getting a little too big for it’s boots. People are taking notice, and it’s not quite the cruisy, stay as long as you like as long as you’re drinking, off the beaten track find it used to be.
So, enter Terindah. Just across the track – literally – this little gem has the ego very firmly in check, gives zero fecks if you want to sit on their cow sculpture and will encourage lingering over multiple vinos well beyond their actual opening hours. If you’re really nice, the staff will even let you take over the iPod, so you can dj your own drinking tunes. True story.
Go there for: an epic Sunday sesh. We did and our glasses were nay empty well into the evening hours. The food is divine and don’t even let the wait staff try and sell you on their award winning Shiraz (which is actually really nice, but sorry not sorry). Repeat after me: yes way rosé. Their’s is spectacular and completely underrated.
Once, I rode a horse to T’Gallant. True story. (Related: does anyone know if the whole being under 0.05 thing also applies to equine modes of transportation? And also, if the horse is very clearly doing his own thing and completely ignoring you, then am I, by definition, actually ‘in control of my vehicle’? Asking for a friend.)
The good news is that the horse is completely optional – cars will do if you’re not a cast member of McLeod’s Daughters – and while they’ve got a bit of buzz about their pinot grigio, please do yourself a favour and also tuck into the pinot gris. Also, there’s olives and breadsticks in the cellar door and they don’t even give you a strange look if you eat well more than your fair share during your ‘tasting’.
Go there for: the pizza. I ate a whole one all by my very self, and I’m not even sorry. WHO NEEDS THEIR JEANS TO FIT WHEN THEY HAVE FIGS AND BRIE TOGETHER AT LAST AS THE TASTE GODS INTENDED?!
Look, most of the Yarra Valley isn’t my jam. It’s usually rammed with tour buses or weddings or just general ‘everyone in Melbourne has decided to come here today!’, and I just wanna relax in a chair with a rosé, y’know? Which is why I heart TarraWarra. Cruise on in during the afternoon and you can generally always find a shady piece of grass to
slowly get hammered appreciate a glass of vino in the summer sun. They also have an art gallery, so you can feel like a sophisticated ‘wine-swishing’ cultured afficinado, rather than the raging alcoholic who’s onto her 17th straight day of drinking that you actually are.
Go there for: the most low key, relaxed vino experience in the Yarra Valley. And also, art #culture.
Ok, so back to the Tales Of All The Times Em Has Gone To Jack Rabbit. (One would think this is a #spon post, but I promise you, it’s not, I just really like drinking wine. To that point though, it could be, and if Mr Rabbit himself is reading, I have no problems selling out and can you mix half a box of pinot and half the box of rosé and I’ll happily do 12 posts reviewing each individual bottle and I assume you’re able to deliver, yes?)
The very best bubbles on the peninsula live in this inconspicuous lil’ spot that’s oh-so-conveniently placed on the way to/home the rest of the Bellarine, and so, well, it’d just be rude not to stop in for a little pre/post-game. It’s basically the fancy, wine swilling, version of the Maccas pit stop you make on the way home from a big night out – both compulsory and enjoyable. And if I’ve learned anything from my mother – it’s definitely not how to iron – but it is that there is always room for bubbles.
Go there for: Well, obviously, the Sparkling Blanc de Blanc. But also there’s a jolly fun resident black cat who DGAF if you were sitting in that chair, he’d like to sleep there now, thankyouverymuch.
SWEET LORD I’M AN ANNOYING DRUNK.