At first light on Sunday morning I crept out of the house, pulled on my rubber boots and went for a long walk around the vineyards and across the paddocks, as I always do when I visit. There is something incredibly special about being under a big morning sky, the air crisp and clean, not another human-being within cooee*. The only sound is warbling magpies.

On this cold winter morning, I greet Lily the deer,

then head out into the paddocks where the sun is just rising above the gums.

I trudge on – up the hillside and past the caves my brothers and I used to play in – spotting a fox that slinks back into his den the moment he spies me.

On to the limestone quarry…another playground that is now much deeper and steeper than I remember, where the ochre light dances and I hear the echo of ‘laughter past’.

At the top of the hill, I pause to look over this precious land, where magnificent red gums throw long morning shadows.

On the other side of the hill, beyond the vines, a mob of kangaroos jumps away as I approach.

At the shearing shed I climb the stairs as I have so many times before, bringing smoko in a basket to the shearers as a child; tea, jubilee cake and sandwiches. The smell of lanolin hangs in the air. This morning the shears are still and silent but it’s easy to conjure in my mind their constant drone, the shed a hive of activity.

The sun shines brighter as I meander through rows of vines,

and head back towards the house paddock.

It was on this very lawn, left of the white wooden fence, that I celebrated my wedding reception in a big white marquee – many moons ago. Oh, how the trees have grown and life has changed…

I throw off my boots and open the door to the smell of bacon. My brother is cooking breakfast with eggs collected this morning. Suddenly I’m famished.

As I walked through the paddocks I had a  flashback to a ‘Winter Morning in Time’, circa 1970…

A morning in time: memories and milking

My breath curls into the crisp morning air as I dig my hands deeper into my parka pockets. I am perched on a wooden railing of the milking shed, swinging my legs in my rubber boots as I watch the warm milk squirt noisily against the cold, steel bucket. It is rhythmical and comforting. The only sound apart from the milk hitting the steel is Clarabelle, a jersey cow the colour of milky espresso, munching on her half bucket of oats.

My father sits on a stump of wood, its seat worn smooth with use, hand milking with a deft proficiency that comes from years of practice. Depending on the amount of feed in the paddock, the house cow produces about a gallon and a half of milk in the morning and a gallon at night … more with the new spring grasses. The sound of milk grows duller and deeper as the bucket fills with frothy warm milk. By the time the soft morning sun caresses my hair and the last drop of milk is shaken into the bucket, I am almost in a trance-like state, hypnotised by the sound of the ritual.

The cats that live in the haystack on the mice they catch are lurking about. My father pours a little milk into their tins near the shed. They lap it up. We walk up the gentle slope of the orchard together, towards the house, milk sloshing precariously close to the rim of the bucket. Jack Frost is still lying on the grass and the winter light throws magic into the morning. We kick off our boots and enter into the warm kitchen where my Scottish grandmother is slowly stirring oatmeal over the fire with her spurtle (porridge stick). Another morning ritual.

A large bowl sits ready on the table and a strong river of milk quickly fills it, foaming and swirling. This bowl has a permanent home on the top shelf of the fridge where it sits and forms a layer of cream that begs to be skimmed off with a spoon. My father likes to eat it on bread with homemade jam. A jug is filled with the remaining milk: raw, real, full-cream milk straight from a happy, coffee-coloured cow. The cereal is on the table. It’s time for breakfast.

*Cooee! is a shout used in Australia, usually in the bush, to attract attention, find missing people, or indicate one’s own location. When done correctly – loudly and shrilly – a call of “cooee” can carry over a considerable distance. The distance one’s cooee call travels can be a matter of competitive pride. It is also known as a call for help.

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As we chat into the night, my friend Kathy tells me about Metro Bakery & Café, her favourite café in this small regional city that has tongues wagging for all the right reasons.

The next morning we arrive early for breakfast. The Mount is renowned for its cold, frosty mornings but we soon push open a door to a room that is warm and inviting: rustic timber floors, dark wood, jazz playing. We could almost be in Melbourne. And, like Melbourne, the coffee is great.

Metro, derived from the Greek word Metrio, means ‘in the middle’ or ‘meeting place’. It’s the idea of community coming together and it certainly seems true to its name as I watch a loyal band of locals stream through the door, stopping to snatch a quick morning coffee & pastry and to read the morning paper. 

On the counter is a basket of buttery croissants au beurre, made and baked on the premises from a century-old traditional French recipe, and a tray of croissants aux amandes. There seems to be a focus on traditional French baking as well as Greek and Italian and as we wait for our breakfasts I chat to Toni Vorenas – who owns the café with her husband Theo – and find out why.

Photo courtesy of Metro Bakery

‘A French trained pastry chef literally knocked on our door and asked for a job. He had tried every bakery in Mount Gambier. At that time we did not make anything in-house and had no equipment,’ says Toni. ‘He started the bakery with us from the ground up. He brought over another pastry chef, also French trained, to work with him and he is still with us today. We have since hired three local boys who are all learning the skills.’

What began as a simple coffee and sandwich shop has evolved into a thriving European style bakery, café and bar and among the pastries now made in-house you will find pithiviers, mont blancs, opera cakes, escargots, and little lemon and raspberry tartlets.

Photo courtesy of Metro Bakery

‘I am Sicilian and my husband is Greek so our café food is also heavily influenced by our cultures,’ says Toni. ‘Our focus is on tradition – as well as using traditional methods of baking we also make our own sugo (passata) once a year. We use a lot of produce from my father’s garden and we have our own substantial herb garden out the back.’

The croissants aux almonds tempt but I decide on something more substantial and my Metro Big Breakfast arrives. Roasted tomatoes, smoked bacon, Spanish chorizo, sautéed mushrooms, mozzarella and herb potato rosti, basil pesto, and poached eggs with sourdough. Enough to keep me going for the entire day!

Artisan loaves and baguettes are made on the premises, with gluten-free options, and there is traditional baklava, cannoli and tiramisu.

Metro also does interesting light lunches from soups and salads to pasta. There’s a range of gourmet baguette sandwiches served all day, or you may prefer Chickpea & Haloumi fritters, Braised Pork Belly or a Terra Rossa Beef Burger.

Two years ago Metro started opening in the evenings as a dessert bar with plated desserts from the kitchen. ‘We still run the dessert bar but we have also added cafe style dinners,’ says Toni.

Oh, and that croissant aux amandes. I took one to go. It was très bon!

*For more information on the Limestone Coast click here.

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With the days becoming cooler and crisper after a long, hot summer, thoughts turn to the flavours of autumn and there’s no better place to witness the change of seasons than at a farmers’ market. The Adelaide Showground Farmers’ Market is the largest in South Australia and attracts up to 5000 locals and tourists every Sunday morning. Established in 2006 with the assistance of the Royal Agricultural & Horticultural Society, the non-profit organisation supports small family farms and regional producers who sell fresh, seasonal produce directly to consumers. It’s an authentic South Australian experience and has become a regular outing for me and my daughter Georgi.

We grab a coffee at the From Scratch coffee caravan at the entrance, which is excellent as usual, and await the bell that heralds the opening of the market. Buskers start up, buckets of flowers are whirled out, bacon and eggs sizzle on barbeques and outdoor tables soon fill up with a hungry breakfast crowd.

Our first stop, however, is always Patlin Gardens, the overflowing vegetable stall owned by Lina Verilli and Pat D’Onofrio, an engaging character who bellows his wares and dispenses earnest tips and advice on cooking to entertain the long queue already waiting. It’s one of the things I most love about farmers’ markets, the direct connection to ‘the source’. Their farm on the Gawler River produces a mind-boggling selection of seasonal and unusual pesticide-free vegetables grown outdoors all year round. The fertile soil is enhanced by organic manures, compost and seaweed extract. Today there are beautiful bunches of multi-coloured carrots,  ears of new-season corn, trumpet squash and squat orange pumpkins. Tempting as always are the tasty olives from their extensive olive grove, dressed in garlic, lemon pepper, oregano and sea salt, along with delicious extra virgin olive oil, homemade passata and Lina’s chilli sauce flavoured with their own jalapenos.

Next door is Willibrand Figs and just a bite into one of their soft-poached figs that has been gently dried and enrobed in thick, dark Belgian chocolate, and you will think you have gone to heaven. Willibrand’s orchard is in the Adelaide Hills and during the short but sweet fig season from February to the end of April, they welcome visitors to pick their own figs.

There are so many wonderful stalls that I can’t possibly do justice to them all in one post, but later on, I will tell you more about the delectable artisanal cheeses from Alexandrina, owned by fourth generation cheesemakers who have individually named their 80 Jersey cows…and about the ‘Pork Man’ from Minniribbie Berkshere Pig Farm with free-range sausages so good that I had to call my father to tell him I had rediscovered a taste from my grandmother’s kitchen. And then there’s the cloudy Kalangadoo organic apple juice from the Limestone Coast, available March to September.

At this time of the year the market is awash with crisp apples and Packham pears but I simply can’t finish without mentioning From Scratch pâtisserie, the place to go for your morning pastry fix. These delicious French and Italian inspired treats will make you dream and drool and Adelaidians can’t get enough! This morning the wait was so long that I gave up on my sfogliatelle with its light, luscious layers of wafer-thin pastry, custard, citron peel, cinnamon and vanilla, so I’m sorry to say that I can’t show you a photo. They do however, set up a pop-up pâtisserie in the alleyway next to Coffee Branch in the city on Friday mornings only, between 7 a.m. and 9 a.m. I may have to set the alarm…just to get a shot for you, bien sûr.

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