Slowly and Swirly

Just an hour’s drive from Melbourne, this district (cooler than Bordeaux and warmer than Burgundy) was born when the brothers Ryrie planted a few vines in 1838. Today, it’s a buzzing sprawl of more than 55 wineries and 70 lush vineyards, nurtured on a wide range of diets from ancient sandy clay to younger crumbly volcanic red soil. Around 30 wineries are open seven days a week and many have attached restaurants.

Our driver Greg Dallas runs the Epicurean Food and Wine Tours (epicureantours.com.au) with his wife. ‘‘It’s not hard to spot kangaroos and wallabies,’’ says the cheery Greg, as the antique stores make way for olive groves and strawberry orchards. He sounds like all those guides who’ve promised me tigers, then thrown me to the wild boars.

Back in the Trophy Room, the 2004 Bilbul Arneis is a full wine with the aroma of pineapples and melons. It’s matured in stainless steel not wood, I’ll have you know.

Most of the other participants are already using the Champagne bucket at the centre of the table to empty their glasses after a couple of delicate sips. Some are getting more intimate with the Brie. Not me.

I’m sniffing hay again, this time in the Pinot Gris. The Yarra Valley Chardonnay is riper, nuttier (Now I’m in the Page 3 swing of things). Their Pinot Noir—this elicits a whole Sideways-style discussion about the most unforgiving of all wines—was crowned Australia’s best Pinot last year.

‘‘It’s got a strawberry flavour but give it 10 years. It will change dramatically, become sweaty,’’ says Reeves. It’s his biggest worry. That 95 per cent of all wine sold today is drunk within 48 hours of purchase. I guess if you’re the kind of guy who finally opened that 1912 Pinot last week at your monthly wine tasting club, that statistic would niggle.

We move to a white pepper Shiraz, then a Shiraz Viognier that’s still in its nappies. And the Cabernet Sauvignon. ‘‘It’s drinking beautifully now, but imagine it 10 to 15 years down the line,’’ says Reeves. Clearly, wine is not a lifestyle choice for those who seek instant gratification.

We swirl through some dessert wines. Reeves is offended by sparkling reds. Too frivolous, he says. Banished to the breakfast table. Eleven wines down (I can hear my mother’s voice ‘‘Don’t mix drinks’’), and it’s time for some Black Noble. Lots of sugar, lots of alcohol.

Reeves puts the predominantly Asian noses around the table to test. Asks us to ID the so-familiar smell. Pepper? Cloves? Aniseed? Nope, just some humble soya sauce. This wine must be drunk with blue cheese. ‘‘I’ve converted a lot of people around this table,’’ says Reeves. Another one succumbs as I roll the wine slow-ly over the soft cheese in my mouth. Oral sex.

After buying a couple of bottles it’s time to stagger back to the bus. We pass through the quaint Victorian country town of Yarra Glen. Tea Leaves, the neighbourhood tea house, has an amazing collection of teapots.

Greg’s eyeing us. I’m grinning foolishly (I’m sure the others are too), and he announces it’s time for lunch at Bella Vedere in Badger’s Brook Vineyard. The sunny Italian restaurant thinks organic, sells everything from cornichons to couscous and does a mean lamb shank.

I opt for the Ferron Rice Risotto with tomato, basil, parsley and Parmigiano Regiano and some more Pinot (never drink on an empty stomach, the mother has often said). The restaurant does a $65 five course set dinner every Friday and Saturday.

Back in the bus, everyone’s passing around the mints. ‘‘Mint will ruin your taste buds,’’ warns Greg, belatedly. At Coldstream Hills (southcorp.com.au), the man behind the counter tells us that actor Sam Neil popped in last week. There’s no private room here, just a friendly, over-the-counter tasting.

Half the group opts for the stunning view over the wine. It’s easy to see why James Halliday, Australia’s most highly regarded wine critic, made this windy, north-facing property his home in 1985.

We start with the Sauvignon Blanc, move to the lightly wooded, straw-green Chardonnay, then the Pinot Noir—it won a prize at the Sydney Royal Wine Show—and end with the Merlot. Sometimes, a quickie works best.

At Domaine Chandon (domainechandon.com.au), the winery of Moet & Chandon, we are led into a large, sunny cafeteria-style room with French windows. Vintage Brut or the onion skin-coloured Rosé? Easy enough, I don’t do pink. From the windows you can see the roses—red at the head of the Pinot block, white for Chardonnay and pale pink for Pinot Meunier. Back then roses were used because they attracted the same bugs as grapes, now they’re just eye candy.

Talking of visual appeal, someone asks if we want to zip through the production line with its winemakers-in-shorts sights.

I’m up before you can say Pinot, but alas it’s more technicals than thighs. The neck freezer, packaging line, disgorger, corker, wire hooder. How spring is the beginning of a new vintage, that cuvée is the first press… yawn.

Then we go back to where it all began. Yering Station (yering.com) was where the Ryrie brothers planted the first vines. William, Donald and James, accompanied by four convict stockmen and driving 250 head of stock meandered to Yering, the aboriginal name for the area. Wine tastings are held at the quaint produce store—their locally-produced feta is a must-buy.

We’re staying next door, at the Chateau Yering Historic House (chateau-yering.com.au). A Chilean palm, planted way back in the 1850s, towers over the Victorian property. My room has a claw-foot bath, a private balcony, my own tin box of cookies and a king-sized bed… with a err… cat on it. Turns out the lifelike stuffed toy is the Do Not Disturb sign.

The head chef is from Malta and we have a fusion feast at the restaurant, named after a former owner’s wife. A grim portrait of woman, who looks just like Elanore must have, watches over us with a ‘haven’t you had enough to drink?’ expression.

Perhaps it’s time to put pussycat on patrol outside my door.