For the past three weeks, I’ve been lucky enough to take photos of the special tapas of the kitchen team at The Coughing Gherkin. The food was created by Natalie Powles, Emma Rekunow & Oscar Foreman.

Tapas Specials 9th November

Squid & Fennel with caramelized pineapple, cucumber ribbons & fresh basil.

Lamb & pine-nut ‘cigars’ – Spicy lamb filo pastry parcels with pommegranate sauce.

Grilled haloumi with a asparagus, zucchini, lemon, mint & parsley salad

Tapas Specials 3rd November

Potato & Parsley Tortilla with romesco sauce

Sticky Rum & Coke Pork Ribs

Crispy Prawns & Squid with chipotle aioli

Tapas Specials 27th October

Corn Fritters with lime salt & guacamole

Crispy Squid with Tzatziki & fresh lemon

Smoked Salmon mini roulades with dill cream cheese, herb salsa & sesame seeds

The French – the inventors of choux pastry – have mastered the art of using this very special dough in baking. Long tubes are piped to make ecclairs, small balls are baked and filled with crème patissiere for profiteroles, which can then, for celebrations, be stacked into pretentious towers & coated with toffee to make croquembouche.

The Spanish – the inventors of the afternoon nap – have a much more casual approach to this dough. Deep fry it, dip it chocolate, and eat it for breakfast: Churros.

These are commonly known as ‘Spanish Doughnuts’, semi-accurate because there are similarities: they are deep fried lumps of dough, served as a sweet and in many place with cinnamon. However this description doesn’t do justice to the delectability of Churros – they are so much better than doughnuts. What is special about choux pastry is that it consists of purely butter, water, eggs & flour. Unlike most cakes & bread there is no raising agent, and the dough when cooked relies on the high moisture level (and the resulting steam inside the dough) to create a puffing or rising effect. This is what makes hot, fresh made, Churros literally melt in your mouth.

Like so many things in the Hispanic world, Churros are claimed by many as their own, but ultimately shared by the whole culture, spanning the Spanish speaking world in one form or another. There are a great many variations, including with or without sugar, and with or without stuffing. The addition of cinnamon would seem to be an Australian/Americanism, but personally we think it is delicious so we use it. There are few rules, except that Churros are almost always served as dipping accompaniment to Hot Chocolate, or Coffee. In the spanish speaking world as breakfast or morning snack, but here in Oz normally as a dessert or late night treat.

N.B. Anyone that has visited continental Europe will realise that the term ‘Hot Chocolate’ means something very different from that in Australia – it is not a warm, milk drink that has been made beige by the addition of some chocolate powder. Continental (especially Spanish) hot chocolate it thick, syrupy, and delectably gluggy – the main ingredient of which is good quality melted chocolate. At the Coughing Gherkin, we avoid potential confusion by serving Churros with our Chocolate fudge, for dipping purposes.

Ingredients:

CHURROS

• Vegetable Oil (for frying)
• 1 cup water
• 1/2 cup margarine or butter
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 3 eggs 

  CINNAMON SUGAR

• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup ground cinnamon

CHOCOLATE FUDGE

• 200g dark cooking chocolate
• 140m pouring cream
• 60g butter
• 5ml of dark rum (optional, but strongly advised!)

Method (Churros):

Heat 2cm of oil in a pan to 180degC.

Make the churro dough by heating water, butter and salt in a saucepan; stir in flour. Stir vigorously over low heat until mixture forms a ball and then remove from heat. Beat the eggs until smooth and then add to saucepan gradually while stirring mixture.

Spoon mixture into a piping bag with large star tip. Squeeze 10cm strips of dough into hot oil. Fry 3 or 4 strips at a time until golden brown, turning once, about 2 minutes on each side. Drain on paper towels.

N.B:

At the Coughing Gherkin we have a small domestic deep fryer used exclusively for Churros. Assuming that you don’t have one, the recipe below describes the method for doing it in a saucepan. A fryer is easier, because it will control the temperature, but a saucepan is very possible, just be very careful.

Method (Chocolate):

Put the chocolate in a mixing bowl.

Bring the cream, butter & rum to the boil and pour over the chocolate. Leave to rest for one minute and then whisk until smooth.

Winter is upon us in the northern tablelands, and with it – the desire to slow cook some of the more interesting cuts of meat in the butchers. Whether it’s pies, stews or pasta – the weather is brutally cold and there’s nothing quite like gooey and thoroughly tasty bits of meat on our forks to cheer us up.

This winter was the first for many years at red grapevine that we haven’t had Osso Buco on our menu, instead choosing to have this classic slow cooked pasta sauce on our specials instead. It’s been a great success, so much so that we decided to post it as our recipe for this month.

There is something especially alluring about Ox, however for those who don’t know, this is the meat from the tail of the exact same domesticated & castrated Bovine creature that gives us Scotch Fillet Steak and mince beef. The term ‘Ox’ generally refers to a Bullock that has been trained to work as a draught animal, not commonly practiced in a country with thousands of tractors. If you were to purchase ‘Ox’ meat at a market stall in Mongolia then it would be almost certainly be Ox, but in an Australian supermarket chances are it’s come from the very same animal as the packet of T-Bone or topside beef it’s sitting next to. Why butchers and chefs refer to the tongue and tail as Ox is probably a result of culinary tradition more than anything else. I doubt ‘Eye Fillet of Ox’ would be particularly popular in restaurants.

Ingredients:
2kg oxtail or beeftail (You may find it described as either).
2 large brown onions
3 celery stalks
3 large carrots
500ml vegetable stock
½ cup red wine

1. Arrange a large roasting tin or ovenproof dish with some chopped carrot, onion, & celery pieces
2. In a hot frying pan with a small amount of oil, lightly brown your oxtail pieces on both sides
3. When finished, place the meat on top of the vegetables in the dish. Deglaze your pan with the red wine and pour this on top of the oxtail. Then add enough vegetable stock so that the liquid level goes up 1/3 to 1/2 of the meat. It needs to be sitting in the liquid, but not covered.
4. Cover the oxtail tightly with two pieces of aluminium foil. It is VERY IMPORTANT that it is tightly covered with no holes. The slow cooking will only work if there is little to no moisture loss at all. As the liquid comes to the boil, it will turn to steam, but then condense on the inside of the foil and go back to liquid again. It is this cycle that creates the combination of boiling, steaming & roasting which breaks the meat down, and makes it so flavoursome & tender.
5. The whole tray will need about 4 hours in an oven set to 150 degrees C.

There is a comprehensive description of this method (officially known as braising) and a video of us slow cooking lamb on one of our older posts here.

6. Take it out of the oven, and allow the meat to cool slightly.
7. Shred the meat from the bone, making sure you get all the gooey sticky yuminess from all the nooks & crannies.
8. Save the carrots and puree them thoroughly till smooth.
9. Strain all of the cooking liquid.
10. Mix through the meat & carrot with enough of the stock to make a thick sauce. If it is too runny, put it into a saucepan on a low heat and reduce it until it has reached a nice thick consistency.
11. Mix together with whatever pasta you choose. This month at red grapevine we have used tagliatelle.

Any question, or thoughts (or if anyone knows a little more about the Ox / Beef Etymology) please use the comment section below.

Nobody in Australia gets very excited about strawberries. After all, they are only strawberries.

It’s only for the few weeks every year at the beginning of the winter when the prices soar & people start punching each other across supermarket aisles that anybody notices strawberries at all. This increase (this year we saw nearly $9 per punnet) is due to the end of the season for the southern states (October to May) not quite overlapping with the start of the Queensland & Western Australian strawberry season (from June to October). Once this happens, strawberry equilibrium is restored, prices return to normal, and everyone forgets about them again. After all, they are only strawberries!

It’s somewhat remarkable that the Australian strawberry industry can maintain production to suit our needs at such consistently low prices, even more remarkable that as consumers we expect it to. One of the many ways we are spoiled in this country is that we have an agricultural, food production & retail infrastructure which transcends the forces of nature. For some reason it has become somehow essential for the city supermarket aisles to contain a consistent range of products all year round, and through the cunning application of climate & technology this has been achieved. But at what cost? Have we lost an appreciation of seasons in this country? To me, it is yet another way that the good fortune of Australian society has done little more than to encourage our lack of understanding, and to feed our already overgrown sense of entitlement.

As an arrogant Australian teenager living in London, I was bemused by the excitement that strawberries would create at summertime parties & functions. I was given endless bowls of little, rock hard, tart, juiceless little pellets to eat from someone’s garden served with cream, and was supposed to make appreciative murmurs until I’d managed to chug them all down. I couldn’t honestly understand why anybody could be excited about something that was so genuinely crap. It wasn’t until nearly 20 years later, back in Australia, that I realised it wasn’t the strawberries themselves that English people were excited about, it was the fact that they were having strawberries at all. Strawberries meant Wimbledon, Pimms & lemonade, The Boat Race, and Sunshine (possibly). It represented three months away from uni or school, holidays to Brighton, and an exceedingly brief opportunity to wear clothing that exposed your limbs to the elements. Eating strawberries wasn’t just about eating from the season, it was a way of celebrating the season, and the enjoyment of them was based on something so much deeper than simply having, or not having, good fruit.

We are more than a little spoilt in this regard, and it goes a long way beyond simply getting whatever we want. I think many modern chefs who’ve grown up in Australian cities (I include myself in this) lack a native concept of seasonality. Everyone knows what it means, in fact at the moment it’s a real buzz word – but we don’t ‘feel’ it or use it in the way we would if we had lived it and breathed it. Seasonality in a lot of our kitchens is like an accessory – the same as ‘organic’, or ‘free range’, ‘ethical’ or ‘free trade’. It’s not a genuine food parameter, but rather a concept we optionally adopt when it suits us to style the food on a menu.

As for strawberries, they are often taken for granted – and have been relegated to a ‘staple’ category of fruit. More often used as a garnish than an ingredient, and way too often cut into fans by apprentices to hide the desserts that they clumsily damage.

I’m not sure I have the answer – perhaps there isn’t one. But next time my two children decided to casually demolish a punnet of strawberries in 35 seconds, I might grab a couple for myself and see what they taste like, and I’ll try to be a little more thankful for some of the things we have.

There is some great info on the Australian Strawberry industry here at www.strawberriesaustralia.com.au

I was recently involved in a discussion via twitter about boiled eggs. Regrettable, but true.

I thought my normal answer, 4 and a half minutes, would be enough. But when someone mentioned the effect of altitude, and the ‘structural integrity’ of soldiers, I was very soon out of my depth. I’m a chef, not a scientist.

So I google “effects of altitude on boiling eggs”. Also regrettable, but true.

Apparently, the boiling point of water changes depending on your distance from sea level, effecting cooking times. At the top of mount Everest, water will reach boiling point at 66 degrees Celsius, and eggs will hard boil at 35 minutes. (Assuming that the egg is at room temperature. Ironically, this formula doesn’t seem to take into account the fact that eggs at the top of mount Everest are very likely to be frozen). If I ever get to the top of Everest, however, I don’t think I’ll need this. For me, boiled eggs are a “made it out of bed, but not quite out of my pyjamas” food, they’re not a “made it to the top of Everest” type of thing. For me, that would be a Doner Kebab moment.

It begs the question, do we need to get so scientific when we talk about food?

I’ve always believed that great food comes from the finely balanced application of tradition, science and intuition. But as human beings our egos will have us push our own areas of expertise to the forefront – often to the stubborn exclusion of all others. This may make us feel good about ourselves, but it won’t make the food any better.

Traditionalists will refuse to accept any other way of doing things than what they know. There are those who believe cooking climaxed in Paris in 1938 with Laroussse Gastronomique, and that any deviation from classical methodology is heresy. While I am yet to meet anyone of Italian descent who doesn’t claim their their Nona’s gnocchi is not only the best in the world, but that anything else is total crap. There’s also the recipe pedants. Those that refuse to compromise – driving across the city to find some rare yet insignificant herb or spice, just because ‘the recipe said so’.

On the other hand, there are those that believe intuition in cooking is everything: the ‘touch – taste – feel – smell – sense’ approach. Such a crucial part of good cooking, yet used by itself fundamentally flawed. I’ve met so many cooks that claim “I never use a recipe – I just go with the flow”, as if this meant to be a good thing. I’m sure that there are builders that can build an entire house without using a tape measure. Impressive? Absolutely, but that doesn’t it make the house any better. An apprentice a few years ago told me that making gnochi at TAFE they were not told the ratio of potato to flour, but rather were taught how to do it by ‘feel’ (there are so many things wrong with this it requires its own separate rant). Suffice it to say, a gnocchi dough that ‘feels’ right to a 17 year old with virtually no dough experience, will generally ‘feel’ like you are swallowing a squash ball when you eat it. Assuming that we can’t get Nona to give the class, would it be too much to ask for them to learn the ‘feel’ AND the recipe. Covering all the bases is surely a better way to go.

Finally, to those of you that want to take food to the scientific level when it is simply not necessary: get your head out of the book, and you might notice that you’re overcooking your eggs!

Food should always be about the food, rather than the chef. It is about the destination, not the journey. When we get too carried away with how we got there, and which way is best, we are generally getting too carried away with ourselves. Let’s just concentrate on cooking it & eating it.

On that note – here it is.

Boiled eggs and soldiers

Ingredients
Eggs
Soldiers

A note on the ingredients

I always use free range eggs, and the fresher they are the better.

In almost all egg situations, room temperature is best. The main exception is when separating eggs, which is much easier when the eggs are cold. (I’m sure that there is a scientific explanation for this – but I don’t really care what it is)

Solidiers: if you’re like me, and have a 4 year old Vegan Ornithologist child who believes that eggs are for making baby chickens, then raspberry jam soldiers are also delicious.

Method
I love boiled eggs when you capture the exact point that the yolks are starting to congeal. They are runny, but just getting a tiny bit lumpy in places.
To do this, I boil the water first, and lower the (room temperature) eggs gently into the water with a slotted spoon. (I have read a lot of instructions that suggest starting in cold water, and then “noticing” when the water begins to boil & start timing from there – I don’t know who the hell are they kidding, but they obviously don’t have dogs / kids / mobile phones etc. I think it is much easier to let the water boil & then “notice” that you put them in the water.) I don’t have a stopwatch, so I use this.

I leave them there for 4 minutes 30 seconds. I am at 950m elevation (from my recent reading, at sea level this would be 4 minutes & 10 seconds).

Get them out of the water, put them in an egg cup (preferably something with some novelty value) and eat them.

Soldiers:
Toast your bread, lather it with butter, and cut them into strips.
Don’t scrimp on butter. To maintain ‘structural integrity’ simply toast the bread a little further than you would a normal piece of toast.

This recipe is hardly original. In fact, pasta with mushrooms is one of the oldest and most common combinations in Italian cuisine, not just found across the Italian peninsula, but served and eaten all over the world.

It would be fairly accurate to refer to this as ‘Boscaiola’ sauce, however at red grapevine we shy away from using the traditional terminology. Calling a dish ‘bolognaise’, ‘carbonara’, or ‘boscaiola’ enters dangerous territory. It is difficult enough to meet (or exceed) customer expectations as it is, near impossible if you invite the customer to bring a whole lot of preconceptions to the experience. It is not just connoiseurs, traditionalists or pedants that I’m afraid of either. Almost everyone in the world has some experience, concept, or expectation of what these dishes are. When advertising ‘Boscaiola’ you are inviting direct comparison with every neighborhood pasta shop, trattoria or restaurant anywhere in the world that your customers may have been. You can be conjuring memories of expensive Italian holidays, or any of the thousands of recipes in print which use the same culinary terms. Call me a coward, but I’d always rather stay out of it. I believe in borrowing ideas from tradition, but would rather call the food what it is, and hopefully it will be good enough to talk for itself.

Ironically though, the definition of authentic ‘Boscaiola’ is not set it stone, and unlike many Italian sauces, the regional origin is not that distinct. In the context of food ‘Boscaila’ means ‘of the forrest’ – a reference to its most common ingredient – wild mushrooms. Literally though, ‘Boscaiolo’ means ‘woodman’ or ‘lumberjack’. It is quaint, but I’ve always liked the lumberjack connection to Boscaiola. It is a hearty & rustic collection of flavours and is always immensely satisfying. I think if I spent all day cutting down trees, this is the type of meal I’d like to come home to.

You can use any pasta that you like for this, but I tend towards the rule that short, spiral or tubular pastas should be served with rich tomato sauces, while long pastas work really well with sticky creamy or olive oil based sauces.

Interestingly enough, the name Pappardelle derives from the verb “pappare,”- to gobble up. Perfect for the lumberjack.

(Serves 1)

The Sauce:
1. In a hot pan, lightly saute the bacon, mushrooms & leeks for about 1 minute, or until the bacon crispens slightly, the mushrooms moisten, and the leeks go limp.
2. Add the crushed garlic and deglaze with the white wine.
3. When the wine has reduced in volume by about half (depending on the heat in your pan this should take anywhere from 20-40 seconds) add the cream, salt & pepper & bring to the boil.
4. Once the cream starts to bubble, it will slowly reduce. There is no time guideline for this, you just need to watch the sauce and turn it off when it has reached the desired consistency. For the best result, the sauce should be thick enough to stick to pasta, but runny enough to mix through it easily. If you reduce it too far, you can add a little cream.

The Pasta:
All pasta types & brands are different, so you should always follow the instructions on the packet carefully.

All pasta should be cooked in lightly salted water.

For this dish at red grapevine, we use Barilla’s Pappardelle Uovo from their specialty range. This is not available in a lot of supermarkets, but there are many great pappardelle varieties that are. If you live close to somewhere that sells fresh egg pasta than even better.

N.B. If you are fairly confident with the coordinating the cooking, you can save time by cook the pasta while you make the sauce, but it is quite easy to overcook the pasta this way (which is an irretrievable disaster). If you have an extra few minutes, cook the sauce first, put it to one side, and then cook the pasta.

Once both are ready, drain the pasta, and add the pasta to the sauce and mix. ALWAYS add the pasta to the sauce, and never the sauce to the pasta.

Good luck. Any queries or feedback please feel free to use the comments below.

In my next life, I’m coming back as a saniard. There are the obvious reasons – sleeping in the day time, Sangria, Santiago Bernebeau Stadium, sun-kissed senoritas in dusty white cotton dresses. The main reason however, is Tapas.

Tapas is more than a cuisine, it is a culture – a way of eating, cooking & thinking about food. Having evolved quite far from its 15th century origins, Tapas has become an integral part of the social fabric of Spain. It is customary for Spaniards to bar crawl after work, ordering small snacks to temper their hunger, and to assist the flow of drinking and conversation. It is often eaten as an appetiser before dinner – normally not served until very late, or as a substitute for dinner completely. Many Tapas bars have as many as 20-30 dishes on offer, ranging from cold selections of olives & cheese through to cooked meat dishes & seafood. Most bars offer staple dishes that are available everywhere, as well as their signature dishes which are unique to that venue. While no effort is spared on quality – Tapas is never the centrepiece to an evening, it is just one part of a diverse social landscape. The Tapas experience is all about consuming food, but the food never consumes the experience.

There are no rules to Tapas. It can be whatever the venue wants it to be, and cooked the way the chef wants it to be cooked. Similarly, it can be consumed any way that suits – one dish at a time throughout a city over the course of an evening, or many dishes at once as a main meal. It can be shared by many or eaten alone. The amount of variety and flexibility in this food culture ensures that no two Tapas experiences will ever be the same.

What is refreshing about Tapas to me, is that it represents the opposite of everything I dislike about attitudes towards food the English speaking world. We have always had a ‘one large plate’ mentality to eating. Luckily, it no longer has to be overcooked meat & three veg, but we are still driven by a concept that a plate of food should be large, and the sole possession of one individual, encumbered with a social pressure to finish all of it, whether it’s wanted or not. It’s not that we are anti sharing in our culture (although many people don’t like it) it’s just the way we have framed our concepts of eating. There is also at times an almost painful sense of ceremony that we attach to our ‘one plate of food’ – all the way from saying grace to the majestically synchronised removal of shiny silver domes. The various table manner etiquettes: nobody eats until everybody is ‘ready’, do not leave the table till everyone has finished – while perfectly sensible & courteous – all add a subtle pressure to this ‘moment’ of eating.

This pressure extends into the kitchen. If our guests are only having one thing to eat – it has to be unattainably good. For commercial chefs a pressure exists not just to feed – but to ‘define’ ourselves in an artistic sense with every meal. It’s not enough for the food to be hot, tasty & delivered quickly – it needs to macerated, infused, complex, overly handled and pretentiously presented.

In a paradoxical way, the more casually we approach food culture, the better it becomes. This is where Tapas is so appealing to eat as well as cook. Not only are the plates small, but they are fundamentally less important in a ceremonial sense. As such, they can be humble, honest offerings, within which the chef can focus on basic attention to detail – which is always, to me, the difference between mediocre & great food.

It has always been an ambition of ours to cook Tapas, but I’ve always been nervous of how to translate it to the dining culture we are within. There are Tapas bars & restaurants all over London, Sydney, New York, reflecting their eclectic metropolitan cultures. But in the country and smaller towns, eating habits are harder to change. The key to the food is in it’s flexibility. If the flavours are good enough, I’m sure people will find a way to enjoy it.

The Coughing Gherkin is open Thursday to Saturday from 5.30pm

Food: Natalie Powles, Emma Rekunow, Brian Powles
Photos: Brian

A two week restaurant rennovation

Before:

After:

Late October

We had the opportunity to meet the board of The Armidale Club to discuss their restaurant situation, and to propose to them the idea of a sister restaurant to red grapevine, to be known as The Coughing Gherkin, becoming the restaurant at the club. Luckily, they were very keen on the idea, but timing was crucial to them, as it was obviously in the best interests of the club to have something up & running as soon as possible. In the end, we agreed on an target date of November 18th, giving us a little under 3 weeks. The restaurant area was in desperate need of some TLC:

Painting

The first week and a half were spent giving the entire restaurant area a paint job including the ceiling (which required extensive preparation), walls, doors and arcatraves. Many of the existing colours were dark (blues & reds) and required undercoating before our first colour coat was painted on. The painting proved to be a lot more work than we had anticipated. A new carpet was booked to be laid on the 12th November by Hunts Carpets & Blinds & we aimed to be finished by then. We only just made it.

Carpet

The 100% wool Axminster Carpet at the club (which would have been absolutely stunning when it was laid about 30 years ago) needed to go, and with some elbow grease we managed to get it out in one afternoon on Thursday 11th, just in time for a professional team to lay a new one.

Other Projects

A bamboo screen was built by David & John, to allow for a little Back of house privacy, and to make the area just outside the kitchen door a little cosier

Some old paintings found at life line made were converted into specials boards;

Furniture

Meanwhile, we began the arduous task of sourcing, fixing & upcycling furniture for the restaurant.
A fairly ugly painted white table found at the Salvation Army proved to be quite attractive thanks to some paint stripper, a belt sander & quite a lot of elbow grease.

By Far the most time consuming job was refurbishing the existing restaurant chairs. The chairs themselves were very attractive, but the canary yellow colour and faded floral covers were not going to fit with our colour scheme. All 43 needed to be dismantled, sanded back, painted and recovered. Luckily, for this job we had a team of helpers.

Mitch proved to be just as handy with a piece of sandpaper as he is with a cocktail shaker.

Pete, second chef at red grapevine, on his fourth bottle of beer but still on his first chair!

Luckily, some others were a little more productive.

Finishing touches

Three new signs were made by AOK signs (who also kindly helped us fix up some of our DIY graphic design)



and then we were almost ready, just needing to bring everything to the restaurant and assemble it.

and then we were finished…..


The Coughing Gherkin opened on the 18th November 2010

Special thanks to:
The Painting Crew
John, Rosemary & David Johnson
Natalie Powles
Emma Rekunow
Alex Robilliard
Sally Hobbs

The Chair Crew
Rose Lee
Mitch Thomas
Summer Weston
Alyssa Beaumont
Pete Ireland
Leo Pastor-Kellet
Fiona Doig
Ellen Fitzgerald
Natalie Powles
Frank Widderson

the staff, board & friends of The Armidale Club and everybody else that has helped out.

The staff at red grapevine are very excited to be involved in Movember this year, and we’re hoping to raise money for this great cause by selling whole Ciabatta loaves at the restaurant for takeaway. The Ciabatta is our signature bread, and this will be the first time that whole loaves will be available to the public. They are approximately 500g loaves and and are $5 each. 100% of the proceeds will go to the Movember fund. The bread will be available for sale each night on the bar.

Movember is not just about raising money, but increasing awareness of men’s health issues – in particular prostate cancer and depression. The male staff at red grapevine will be attempting to grow moustaches throughout the coming month. We are not too confident (we have a lot more faith in our bread than our facial hair to be honest.) To find out more about Movember visit The official movember website.

To donate to the cause you can use the paypal link below

or directly to the Movember fund, by using this link to their donations page and searching for red grapevine.

If you can’t make it to the restaurant this month, but would like a loaf of bread delivered (as long as you live in Armidale), then you can buy loaves via paypal below and we’ll deliver one to you on our next baking day.

We bake Tuesday through to Saturday and the bread is normally ready at about 6pm.

By breakfast the next day it is at it’s best. (especially with vegemite!!)

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