IL Cacciatore

Dinner at the Hermitage Lodge – Hunter Valley

The Hermitage Lodge is probably a place I would return to if I were to return to the Hunter Valley (I can’t see that happening though, I don’t like wine that much). But it really is an excellent place to stay, in terms of the places I have stayed at. We figured that there was no points searching the Hunter Valley for a restaurant, as the Hotel had its own. We were told it gets booked out, and they weren’t bloody lying. This restaurant is probably one of the best Italian places I have ever eaten at outside of Italy (yes, saved my ass there). But really, if you’re going to eat out at the Hunter Valley, go to the Hermitage Lodge for the il Cacciatore restaurant (it means “the Hunter” – obvious reasons why it named it that).

So it was ma biche and I, and my little sister and her fiance. I think I was wearing havianas, the height of fashion I know. It was quite posh I think, the restaurant paid attention to all the detail. The placement of glasses, the cutlery, the endless napkins – I am simply not used to that in Australia.  The place was very nice. The waiter also addressed us as “sir” & “madam” – and for some fucking reason, when he was pouring our drinks – he kept pouring mine last! What the fuck? Is it because I looked oldest? For once I can’t use the brown excuse cos he poured my little sister’s drink first …

Anywho – you (and by you I mean I) judge a Italian restaurant by the way it makes its Bruschetta, if it can’t make this properly, then you know you are going to have a shit meal. I can tell you it was VERY nice. It was one of those starters where you will let the olive oil drip down your face, and then lick it up. Tomatoes were perfect. I was loving it.

Cliche, but I ordered the linguini with mushrooms and bacon pieces. It isn’t my favourite thing to order from an Italian restaurant (Sea food maronara, or anything with sea food in it) but it was very well done. Subtle flavours and everything. I think we didn’t order garlic bread. God damn it.

Ma biche had gnocchi – I freaken hate gnocchi, because the only times I have had it, my friend’s Italian mum made it – and in that case it was perfect. Even in Italy, when I have had it, it was not so the perfect texture. This place did it well. They must have hidden a old, fat Italian woman in the back making the potato for this. There are just some things illegal Asian workers can’t replicate.

The other two had meat of some sort. Both were good according to them.I think I did try the lamb – I couldn’t just slobber all over their dishes, but if one of them tastes nice – the rest of them tend to be. I have never been to a place where one dish tastes good, and the others taste like shit. It’s either all the dishes taste like ass, or they don’t. The chef here must be the best there is. You guys know me, I am rarely positive about anything.

Even the side dishes of vegetables were excellent. They looked good too. There were these wierd yellow vegetables I couldn’t identify. I thought they were called star fruit (it’s not). I want to eat more of them, I just don’t know what it was called. But yes, order a side dish!

I still remember the first bottle of Italian red wine I had in an expensive restaurant in Milan. This one was better, and to this day I still remember the taste of this wine. I am sure that we ordered two of them (and I am equally sure that the waiter forgot to charge us for one of them). But Partner’s Pick shiraz is gooooood, even the weird french guy I lived with in London who had orgasms when he used to drink French red wine at the house would love this one. I liked the Ivanhoe Pressings too. But Partner’s Pick is made by Hermitage Lodge, they have their own vineyard (see the previous post) and I am sure it was some sort of gimmick to make people buy the wine, but it is actually good.

Desert was nice, and I always liked how they take the time to make it look nice, only to have you destroy it. I forgot what rap my little sister ordered, but I am sure she gained some more ass or boob as a result of it.

Ma biche ordered this. It was very nice – had crunchy bits and a crap load of berries balanced out the sweetness (I hate when things are too sweet, except with cheesecake). I remember the days I used to be able to remember what crap was called, and  how much it cost. I didn’t pay, which is probably why this place was such a good memory!!! Bah ha ha ha ha.

In the end, two bottles of red wine a a crap load of different alcohol meant that we were all too loud, as Australians are apparently. But too loud for the place, we were sitting in the lounge at the reception drinking. This was also the most gayest looking lemon, lime and bitters – still good. I was a bit tipsy, and played the “pull my finger game” with ma biche, a French woman who DEFINITELY didn’t expect what happened as a result. BAH HA HAH HA HA. Have you ever burped in front of a french person before?