Topic: TN: Heaven at the Green Dragon Inn (New Zealand, pt. 5, very long, img)
Author: Thor Iverson (Boston, MA)
Date: 20030331133217

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Los Angeles

Darth Vader and the pelvis

New Zealand

Waiheke and the malbec fetish Five wines with penguin All in the family

The United Nations of nations

Never have I seen so many countries in one place.

Wheeling along the only road from Queenstown to Milford Sound is like taking a tour of everywhere else. First, it’s a little like Lake Tahoe, with mountain heights perfectly reverse-reflected in crystalline lakes. Then it’s the Scottish Highlands, rocks covered with endlessly rolling grasses rising up towards distant peaks. The hills between the Napa and Sonoma Valleys are next, dried and desiccated on either side of forbidding tree-topped pinnacles, then flowing out like lava flows of brown parchment grass. Soon, the pristine tree-and-stream landscape of northwestern Canada glitters and sparkles, with each snow-capped precipice mirrored in icy blue streams. And finally it’s Norway, with deep glacial ravines and their dramatic tree-clinging barriers zigzagging a salty oceanic wind through cliffs both verdant and stark.

We’re headed that way

But mostly, the drive is a seemingly never-ending two-lane ribbon of pavement, narrowing to a single lane at nearly every bridge and pass. It twists and turns south along the final S-bend of Lake Wakatipu, rising and falling to the shoreline, then straightens through a flat expanse of farmland. At Five Rivers (one of a score of towns noted on our map, though frequently said “towns” are neither signed nor visible; one wonders if they ever existed, or if they are just the invention of a fanciful mapmaker) there’s a cutoff to Mossburn, at which point the westward road presents a slowly-changing vista littered with the ubiquitous herds of sheep, cattle, and domesticated deer. At a half-horse village intriguingly-named The Key, the road gradually turns northwest towards Te Anau, the only town of note in the latter two-thirds of the drive; while in terms of distance it’s far closer to our destination than our starting point, time-wise it’s just about halfway, and we stop here for a leg-stretching stroll.

Sleepily resting near the southern tip of Lake Te Anau, the town is fronted by a long strip of small hotels perpendicular to the only commercial street of note. A gentle breeze flows down the lake, just cool enough to make jackets necessary in the shade, but not quite strong enough to prevent a little perspiration in a vivid sunlight blazing out of an unbroken blue sky. The contrast between the rough horizon on the landward side of town and the soaring white jaggedness of the Kepler, Murchison, and Stuart ranges, which dominate the other side of the lake, is striking. A lot of walking, stretching, and a few minor shopping excursions later, we’re back in the car and headed north along the lake

A glass of heaven

Soon, we turn inland again, and hunger overtakes us somewhere along the Eglinton River. There are two things that New Zealand does better than any other country I’ve visited: provide clean public toilets nearly everywhere one might wish to visit, and brilliantly-site picnic tables along every scenic drive (and in New Zealand, just about everything is a scenic drive). Here, tucked against some trees on the river flat, is one of the most spectacular locations in which I’ve ever eaten. We enjoy a lunch consisting of various preparations of local mussels, some local cheeses, saucisson, and a refreshing glass or two of wine:

Kumeu River 2002 Pinot Gris (Kumeu) – Crisp sea-salty pear and grapefruit, piercing rather than full-bodied and perhaps closer to an Austrian style than anything Alsatian or Italian, though the fruit is a bit more present.

We wander along the riverbank, wondering how many – or how few – feet have ever walked these paths, and then return to the car. Though we’re protected on all sides by majestic Alpine heights, there’s still just enough of a breeze to render the vaunted Mirror Lakes a little fuzzy, and so our stay there is a brief one. We try a few more scenic walks along the way, but eventually the desire to get there overtakes us.

It’s at that point that we encounter the tunnel.

The road to hell

Above the Mirror Lakes

On the twisty, stomach-turning ascent past Cascade Creek, frequent stops aren’t just to admire the view, but necessary for internal equilibrium. At one of the larger turnoffs (and in the absence of turnoffs, cliffs on both sides of a narrow and shoulderless road make any thought of pulling over impossible), a small coterie of the much talked-about keas descend on our position, darkly glaring at us over their carnivorously curved beaks. Attempts to scare them away are met primarily by disinterested flinches and more glares, but sufficient pounding and chasing eventually saves our window trim and windshield wipers from their inquisitive wrath.

We continue to wind up a precarious road, surrounded by sheer cliffs releasing narrow rivulets of water every few dozen meters, from positions almost too high too see clearly. The waterfalls quickly plunge into a riot of twisted and bent trees that cling to life along the lower cliff walls. Now as much vertical as horizontal, our car’s twists and turns come to an abrupt and largely unannounced end at one of these cliff walls, and almost immediately we’re surrounded by utter darkness. A blackness so complete that even the non-claustrophobic must shudder a bit.

Theresa, who is claustrophobic, immediately begins to freak out.

All we can see are a pair of pinprick headlights in the distance and the small wedge of road illuminated by our own headlights. That wedge is neither promising nor comforting; the bumpy, unlined road is littered with small and not-so-small rocks fallen from the roughly-hewn walls, walls which – here and there – are oozing and trickling water into little pools that collect amongst the rocks. And yet, it’s not quite so bad until we realize that the onrushing headlights belong to a tour bus. We’re as far left as I feel comfortable moving, and we’re still taking up what feels like three-quarters of the road.

The bus continues to approach.

All too soon, it's upon us. I feel like I’ve partially-climbed the nearest tunnel wall, having come to a complete stop in the widest section of tunnel I could find. The bus passes about two inches from our right-side mirror.

Where’s the golf course?

Exhale. Breathe. Breathe.

Thankfully, there are no more approaching vehicles, and eventually we emerge on the other side, into the stunning expanse of the Cleddau Valley, pulling over as quickly as we can and exiting the car in a breathless rush. We lean against it, waiting for our nerves to calm and the regular, rhythmic pulse of normal breathing. Who needs Queenstown’s various artificial adventures, when one can just drive through the Homer Tunnel?

From there, it's one stunning view after another, broken up by frequent yielding on the many single-lane stretches – some by design, some caused by falling rocks – until at long last the first sign of civilization in many kilometers, a hotel, appears on the side of the road. We've coasted onto a flat and only gently curving trail surrounded by parking lots and lusher, non-alpine vegetation. We've arrived at Milford Sound.

The Sound of music

We collect our tickets and board the Lady Bowen, part of the Red Boat fleet and named after one of the spectacular waterfalls that line the fiord through which we're about to sail. But it is here that words fail. They simply don't exist in sufficient expressiveness to describe our next few hours, spent amongst the icy multilayered depths of the fiord, the ravaging steeps of the peaks that rise from it, or the warming calm of the Tasman Sea into which we briefly sail as land tails away. It's as if all heaven has been called down for an all-too-brief glimpse of paradise. But we are now in the realm of poetry, and once more words fail. Except, perhaps, this one thought: whenever I look around our boat, everyone who has joined us on this tour of Eden is smiling.

Theresa’s in the weeds

The journey ends with a short stop at an underwater observatory, where a rainbow-hued riot of aquatic life remains apathetic to the beauties above, followed by a walk to the side of the mist-churning falls for which our boat was named.

The drive back is almost anti-climatic in its repetitious beauty. Wide expanses, sheep, deer, sheep, goats, sheep, cows, sheep. We stop for a restorative dinnertime picnic near Te Anau, with a herd of deer staring at us from a wary and skittish distance, but we are tired...not so much from lack of sleep, but from too much experience to fit into a single day. And yet, more sleep would have been possible; convinced by numerous guide books that the trip was going to take at least five hours each way, we instead discover that by leaving and departing at times different from most of the Queenstown and Te Anau tour buses, the trip can be easily completed in 3-3 ½ hours each way, though one would miss much by not stopping along the way.

A pregnant pause

The remoteness of this entire region makes finding any sort of radio broadcast a nearly impossible task. Eventually, however, we find one to keep us company on the lowly drive. It's an AM station spooling out a tedious multi-hour farm report, but it's all we have. And it's thus that we learn of a Southland ram that has surpassed the world record for semen production.

Thankfully, there are no further details.

Gondola with the wind

The next morning dawns equally clear, and just as warm. We're experiencing a sort of spiritual hangover, and while we start a lot of conversations about the previous day's majesties, we quickly drift off into silent reverie. Unlike a real hangover, however, it doesn't affect our appetites, and we're up early for the hotel's promised breakfast, served in a sunny upstairs room.

Milford Sound

On this morning, we see the remnants of someone's even earlier start. But other than that, we are the only diners – and the only guests – we see over our four-night stay. Serving us is a cheery, twentyish girl, and she starts by bringing a large plate of fruit (including – bien sur – kiwifruit), toast, and muffins with various butters, jams, and honeys. Then there's scrambled eggs, various meat products (including an odd sort of crispy hot dog), cereal, tea, and a giant French press full of rich, flawlessly roasted coffee. It's enough food for a small platoon, though we suppose that adventurous hiking types would crave the carb- and protein load. Stuffed, we're eventually out the door and driving to the base of the Skyline Gondola, to get a different – and higher – perspective on the town.

Amusingly, considering her long history at ski resorts around America and Europe, Theresa rather painfully bumps her head getting into the cramped gondola. But the views from the top, as wheeled "lugers" careen down one of two mountaintop courses, are worth a little head-bump. Para-penters flip and soar from above our heads, spiraling rapidly down towards the town and the jewel box lake that glistens along its waterfront. Fencing in all this wonder are the towering Remarkables, which change color depending on when and from where one views them; at the moment, they're a glinted rust color that's perfectly reflected in Lake Wakatipu.

Glass of Chards

The drive east from Queenstown is no less dramatic than any other direction, and along the precipitous ravines bordering the Shotover River it's difficult to keep one's eyes on the road. The Kawarau Bridge, otherwise known as the Mother Church of bungee jumping, is full of eager danglers strapping on their giant rubber bands. But the local prize for the road most frightening and visually captivating (at the same time) goes to the driveway into Chard Farm, our first winery visit in Central Otago.

We’re Abel to Sea Tasman

Our enthusiastic tasting room host (this is just a drop-in visit; we have no appointment) assures us that the road we've just traveled used to be the main road to Queenstown. Considering the imminent death along one side of it, it must not have been a very popular road. Nonetheless, the mortality-challenging drops on one side are pleasantly matched by the smooth angle of vineyard rows on the other, and the winery's position seems secure enough.

Unfortunately, the drive is the most exciting thing about this winery. Some decent raw materials are, in general, either underworked in the vineyard or overworked in the cellar, and sometimes both. On the other hand, the winery's not that old (the first vines were planted in 1987), and only about a third of the fruit comes from their own vineyards. Some of the wines are quite drinkable, which is not meant to damn with faint praise; drinkability is a virtue in wine, one that's too often forgotten in these times. We taste everything that's open:

Chard Farm 2001 Pinot Gris (Central Otago) – Very dry, showing nice pear and walnut flavors that come to an abrupt stop on the ultra-short finish.

Chard Farm 2001 Riesling (Central Otago) – 3.5 g/l residual sugar. Light petrol is easily overwhelmed by fresh melon, mixed apple, and kiwifruit. The finish is friendly, with a bit of drying steeliness and acidity rendering the sugar barely noticeable. There's some potential here.

Chard Farm 2002 Sauvignon Blanc (New Zealand) – The fruit here comes from Central Otago and Marlborough. That's a long trip. I'm instantly prepared to dislike it, thinking there's already probably too much sauvignon blanc from New Zealand, but this one is so gleeful I can't help but smile. There's capsicum, to be sure, and thus it's likely not as ripe as it could be. But the pepper is followed by thyme, pineapple, banana skin, and some herbality on the finish. A very strange sauvignon blanc, but not at all bad if one is prepared to accept its oddities.

Mr. Misty The blushing Bridal Veil Bowen Falls

Chard Farm 2001 Chardonnay "Closeburn" (Central Otago) – Put through full malolactic fermentation, but the usual follow-up – time in new wood – is absent. Creamy lavender-scented honeydew on its rich nose is followed by a whisper of ripe lemon and grapefruit, building to a riper, grapey finish supported by lingering acidity. It needs some time to settle, but should be sweetly gluggable in a few years.

Chard Farm 2001 Chardonnay "Judge & Jury" (Central Otago) – The inevitable counterpart to the Closeburn, aged for 11 months in French oak. There's honeysuckle on the nose, though there's also an oddly rubbery note and some obvious wood. After that, it might as well be dealcoholized Californian chardonnay: full-bodied orange juice, big and planky and short.

Chard Farm 2001 Pinot Noir "River Run" (New Zealand) – A blend of grapes from Central Otago and Nelson. That's still a long trip. Red and black cherries tarted up by volatile acidity, showing slightly candied cherry Life-Saver and polystyrene flavors with a little hint of earthiness. Flawed in various ways.

Chard Farm 2001 Pinot Noir "Finla Mor" (Central Otago) – 11 months in French oak. Earthy dark plum is a promising beginning, one which is quickly subsumed by dark chocolate and some charred barrel notes.

2001 is apparently the end for the two previous designations, which will be replaced by single-block bottlings called Red Gate and Blacksmith's, both from Chard Farm's own vineyards. I wish them better luck, riper fruit and less wood.

Wine variability aside, this is a fun tasting. We purchase a styrofoam shipper (which we'll eventually ditch after the TranzAlpine Express gets it wet) to cart our wine purchases around, and proceed down the road. The bouncing bunginistas are taking a lunch break, and so are we.

Quirk Gibbston

Gibbston Valley is the most Napa-esque of any winery we'll visit in New Zealand, but then it is primarily owned by an American. It's also the most-visited, though it takes in a paltry (by Napa standards) 50,000 visitors each year. How can anyone sell a decent number of branded trinkets and doo-dads with only 50,000 customers?

Gibbston Valley is a three-pronged operation: a winery (complete with a well-staffed tasting room and its surrounding gift shop), a cheesery, and a restaurant. They do everything well enough, which is a relief as we're intending to have lunch here, but it could also be said that they do nothing better than well enough. This winery has a lofty reputation in New Zealand, but there are the subtle signs of coasting, or perhaps laurel-resting, all around.

We had an appointment for a tour and tasting the previous day, but the weather over Milford Sound led us to change our plans, and a tour wasn't available at any other time during our Queenstown stay. And so, while I decide to taste but eschew the paid public tour, Theresa opts to visit the cheesery instead. An exchange of business cards with a brusque tasting room employee gets the regular tasting fee waived, and adds one wine to the usual limit of six.

Gibbston Valley 2001 Pinot Noir "Gold River" (Central Otago) – This is a young vines cuvée. Bright strawberry and raspberry turn tart on the finish, and there's a rather omnipresent whiff of volatile acidity along with an unwelcome dose of chocolate liqueur, probably from oak.

Gibbston Valley 2001 Pinot Noir (Central Otago) – A mix of black and green olives, strawberries, and a tentative earthiness in a smooth, long-finishing package. A vanilla-oak sheen mostly fades into the background, and there's a very slight tannic bite. A little age would be worthwhile, though this is quite drinkable now.

Gibbston Valley 2001 Chardonnay "Greenstone" (Central Otago) – Green apple, lemon and white plum with a stony core and tart, refreshing acidity. Long and tasty, built for food, and blissfully unoaked.

Gibbston Valley 2002 Pinot Gris (Central Otago) – Leafy pear and corn silk with some soggy minerality. Just OK.

Deer kea: the sheep are lion around

Gibbston Valley 2002 Riesling (Central Otago) – 12 g/l residual sugar. The nose is shy, giving up only a little frothy petrol and zesty lemon-lime rind. The rindy character turns to grapefruit on the palate, along with green apple. Very obviously tart, though it's long and mouthfilling and promising more down the road, and while it should age well over the medium-short term it will always be a slightly sour wine that's not fully balanced by the sugar.

Gibbston Valley 2002 Blanc de Pinot Noir (Central Otago) – An attempt has been made to strengthen this with a little more skin contact than normal. I don't know if it helps. A sweet red apple Life-Saver nose quickly turns to odd banana and cantaloupe notes, then returns to more typical red cherry and strawberry flavors carried by proportionate acidity. All the components are there, and yet it's somewhat disappointing.

Gibbston Valley 2001 Chardonnay "Reserve" (Central Otago) – This is the malo & oak cuvée, and it shows. Sweet melon, grapefruit, and spicy buttered cashews with vanilla and other, even more obvious, wood flavors. The finish is long, though said finish is quite arboreal.

Theresa returns from the cheesery, reporting that the cheeses are good but not great; she buys a few for later snacking, and I concur. Their greatest flaw (which they share with most of the other New Zealand cheeses that we'll taste on this trip) is probably just a general lack of cheesemaking spirit, but it also doesn't help that they're all from pasteurized milk, which is appropriate for some styles, but strips others of all their potential quality.

The restaurant is doing a brisk lunch trade, and most people choose to sit outside on this beautiful spring day. As do we. The food here is thoroughly acceptable...and perhaps even more importantly, wine-friendly. One nice thing encouraged at Gibbston Valley is for visitors to cart their six-glass tasting portions out to the restaurant for sampling with food, and in fact that's what most people are doing (though a few iconoclasts are drinking beer instead). We opt for a couple of generous by-the-glass pours from the all-Gibbston Valley list (which, sadly, only features recent releases).

Gibbston Valley 2001 Pinot Noir "Gold River" (Central Otago) – Again. Upfront fruit, but still with that volatile acidity, and it almost begins to seem like a pinot put through carbonic maceration with its jellied fruit flavors. Theresa doesn't much care for it, though it goes better with her food than it does with mine, and we eventually switch glasses.

Gibbston Valley 2001 Pinot Noir (Central Otago) – And again. Probably thanks to more oxygenation from an open and frequently-agitated bottle, this is showing deeper, more intense plum and strawberry flavors than the bottle I'd tasted inside. There's a lovely and fragrant orange blossom note, and a little bit of smooth tannin.

With this I devour a spicy lamb dish doused with a spicy olive/tomato/mint sauce – vaguely Middle-Eastern/Mediterranean in origin – and a buttery leek tart served by a highly disorganized but friendly waitstaff. It's a good match with pinot noir, and perhaps the spice also helps bring out some different characters in the wine.

Queenstown quay quickie

A chip off the old block

Having tasted a few Gibbston subregion wineries, and having decided that the Wanaka and Alexandra subregions are farther than we really want to drive on this waning afternoon, we once again head west to the remaining major Central Otago subregion, the Cromwell Basin. The road is a dusty and unfriendly expanse of brown, with barren, rocky slopes pockmarked by abandoned mining huts. We cross the river to Bannockburn, where the slopeside desolation is caused less by general desiccation than it is by an impressive amount of clearing and smoothing, which we find out is very largely aimed at preparing land for viticulture. It's like being present at the birth of a wine region, and one wonders what this area will be like after a few decades.

Eventually, we find our way to a small oasis of greenery and stability. Tucked at the end of a sculpted, tree-lined driveway is a tiny little tasting room. This is Felton Road.

The winemaker isn't available, but a knowledgeable young woman in the tasting room (she tells us that she intends to open a wine bar called "Passion" in Cromwell one of these years, so if said business ever appears, say "hi") answers most of our questions. The idea for the winery was hatched in 1991, though it wasn't until the following year that grapes were planted in Felton Road's blend of silty and sandy loams mixed with clay. Their first release of pinot noir, in 1997, was an instant sensation, and made the winery's reputation in one fell swoop.

A Remarkable para sights

Unfortunately the two single-block pinots (Block 3 and Block 5) aren't available for tasting, though there's a little of the former available for purchase. I quite enjoy these wines, and think they show a lot more potential quality than those at Gibbston Valley, even if the latter is currently operating at a slightly higher average level of quality.

Felton Road 2002 Riesling (Central Otago) – 10% alcohol, and in fact the rieslings here are very consciously aimed towards a Mosel style. They don't quite achieve it, but the effort is interesting. Salty lemon-lime and red apple with a delicate sweetness. Fresh and nice, holding a little in reserve for short-term aging.

Felton Road 2002 Riesling "Dry" (Central Otago) – Also 10%. Intense apple skin is all one gets from this very dry, firm, and tightly-wound riesling, but the finish is long and slightly fuller-bodied. The only flaw, at the moment, is a reductive note, but this has lots of potential.

Felton Road 2002 Riesling Block 1 (Central Otago) – Yet again, 10%. Even more intense, showing honeysuckle and clay in an elegant package of balanced sweetness and crisp acidity. A gorgeous young wine.

Felton Road 2002 Chardonnay (Central Otago) – Ripe tangerine, pineapple and a bit of petrol, but too acidic and abrupt.

Felton Road 2001 Chardonnay "Barrel Fermented" (Central Otago) – ...and after fermentation, spending 11 months in 3rd year oak, which is about right for this wine. Honeysuckle and orange, spiced tangerine and banana, balanced and promising more development and elegance down the road.

Felton Road 2001 Chardonnay Block 2 (Central Otago) – Barrel-fermented, 18 months in a blend of new and old wood. Plum and a spice box: cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. Full, rich, and thick, balancing fruit and oak with verve, and in this style it's a rather majestic wine.

Felton Road 2001 Pinot Noir (Central Otago) – Red cherry, citrus rind, and light earthiness are friendly enough, but there's a stronger tannic edge from these soils, and one that's not entirely ripe. OK, and it will probably develop (though it will never lose that bitterness) over the next few years, but it's clearly inferior to the single-block pinots.

Mine, all mine

Hairy Carrick

We have time for one more tasting, and after a brief disagreement about where that should be, we end up at Carrick. A modern, newly-constructed tasting and aging facility sits in the middle of a field of dirt; here, too, everything is under construction. This is a brand new venture (their first vintage was 2002) and growing pains are to be expected, but there are some obvious failures here, and their best wine (the regular pinot noir) isn't even available for tasting, though we do buy a bottle to drink later in the trip.

Carrick 2002 Riesling (Central Otago) – Brightly sweet lemon and ripe red apple. Nice, though perhaps a bit simple.

Carrick 2002 Pinot Gris (Central Otago) – Green apple skin, pear skin, walnut skin and petrol, with loads of tart acid. Extremely light-bodied, and really not ripe enough.

Carrick 2002 Sauvignon Blanc (Central Otago) – Of all the capsicum-dominated sauvignon blancs I've tasted, many of them from New Zealand, this is the worst. Like puréed bell and chile peppers with a harshly sour apple streak. Disgusting.

Carrick 2001 Chardonnay (Central Otago) – 12 months in French oak. There's some nice passionfruit here, but it's absolutely buried in some sort of industrial clove accident. I like a little hint of oak-supplied clove, but come on.

Carrick 2001 Pinot Noir "Young Vines" (Central Otago) – "Young" here meaning 5-6 year old vines. Sweaty but floral strawberry, a touch underripe, and fundamentally insignificant.

Don’t look down at Chard Farm… …up is much nicer

Threads of gold

The road north from Queenstown climbs quickly into scenic hills abrupted by rocky river chasms and crowned with lush forests; despite the discontinuities, this is resort country, and there are even a few golf courses along the way. Many bends and turns later, we're in Arrowtown, a partially-preserved, partially-restored gold town with a welcoming frontier charm. Commerce is mostly restricted to a single street, with a row of carefully-maintained miners' houses continuing towards a tiny, well-lawned suburban annex.

It seems that most of the commerce here, other than gift shops, is of the restaurant variety, at all prices and levels of (relative) luxury. Saffron, a modern split-level establishment near one end of the commercial row, is part of a small complex containing a more casual pizza & pasta joint and a bar, all just underneath the cleverly-hidden Arrowtown cinema. There's a lot of confusion over our reservation – the owner is a bit rude about it at first, and fails to properly apologize when it's discovered that the problem is his inability to read his own handwriting – which leads to us getting probably the worst table in the restaurant, right next to the kitchen's pickup window. Also in contrast to all the other tables, the owner fails to bring us bread. But once we shed the decidedly unpleasant owner for the rest of the waitstaff, things get much friendlier, and in fact the kitchen is never much of a distraction.

Thankfully, after our rough beginnings, the food is extraordinary. A tiny "cuisine moderne" plate of pricey butter-sautéed whitebait in a blend of sauces is a small burst of intense fishy flavor, though it doesn't even compare to Theresa's genre-defining Stewart Island deepwater shrimp, the best shrimp I have ever tasted. I follow this with a fairly straightforward venison loin and fennel-infused venison sausage, with horseradish mashed potatoes and samplings from a side plate of perfectly-grilled mixed vegetables dressed with herbed olive oil; a triumph of simple ingredient quality over fancy kitchen tricks. A long and occasionally deep two-part wine list presents almost too many delicious options, but we finally decide on something aged and non-local from the "special reserve" list.

Te Mata 1990 Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot "Awatere" (Hawke's Bay) – Only halfway to maturity, if that. Graphite, cigar box, and cassis – all the Bordelais classics are here – and showing a little earthiness under a rigid, still-primary structure. A very, very impressive wine with years of development ahead of it.

Well we’re living here in Arrowtown

At the sign of the Prancing Pony

Dessert is a rich chocolate cake with a raspberry coulis and some signature saffron ice cream, an evocative mélange of flavors that proves too intense for any of the dessert wines on offer. I am, however, interested in a digestif of some sort, and our waitress encourages us to go next door to the Blue Door Bar, owned by the same people that own Saffron, where she assures us our bill – and our digestifs – will be sent whenever we're ready for them.

This turns out to be one of the best suggestions of the trip. The bar is a very small, ambiently dark room that looks to be straight out of a former life as a mining saloon, with rough-hewn stone walls and well-worn wooden beams over a flagstone floor. Built-in benches ring the room on three sides – the fourth is a tiny bar – while deeply comfortable chairs center the establishment around the lulling warmth of a blazing fireplace. We settle into these chairs, on either side of an upturned wine barrel doubling as a table, rest our feet on padded footrests, and instantly achieve a meditative relaxation we've not yet felt on this trip. Lulling aboriginal trance music softly fills the room, swirling and mingling with woodsmoke to transport us, as clearly as anything yet has, to Middle Earth; this is Bree, or perhaps the Green Dragon Inn, come to vivid life in the heart of one of the most beautiful landscapes on Earth. I sip on Dalwhinnie and a perfect espresso, soaking up the experience until I'm in a sort of trance myself. I could spend every night of my life here, and not regret a single moment.

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