Caught up in the demands of fast-paced urban life, many of us wish to embrace the tenets of ‘slow living’ – a lifestyle choice that encourages taking a moment to smell the roses and reconnect with the tranquil beauty of nature. Though one doesn’t necessarily need to put on a nice shirt and make the two-hour drive to Brae to join the resistance cohort, it’s hard to think of a more seductive destination to unplug and reunite with the potency of the present.
Here, culinary excellence is coupled with the serenity of the Birregurra countryside in the form of a leisurely five-hour degustation lunch from powerhouse chef Dan Hunter.
If you’ve got the capacity (or will) to splurge, an overnight stay at one of Brae’s six peaceful suites will allow you to bask in the magic a little longer – but my friend and I feel lucky enough to be booked in for a meal. On the drive up, the atmosphere in her car is charged with breathless chatter and anticipation; after all, Brae is arguably Victoria’s most decorated regional establishment. It might be oxymoronic, but we’re chomping at the bit to slow down and take in every second of the experience.
Brae is a fine diner, to be sure, but there’s a relaxed ambience to the restaurant that feels immediately soft and welcoming; a fireplace crackles softly in the foyer where low lounges beckon a pre- or post- luncheon drink, and our host is charming and naturally convivial. I say “naturally” because there’s more to the staff here than just polite friendliness; there’s a real sense that everyone genuinely likes to work here. It feels good to be around. The entire dining space is awash with natural sunlight and we’re delighted to find our table nestled in the corner, our own private nook set against the backdrop of rolling rural landscapes.
But let’s get to the part you’re probably most curious about: the food. Across the nine-course degustation menu, the kitchen showcases environmentally focused Australian cuisine. What that means is that the restaurant leverages seasonal produce from its own organic farm, while the rest is sourced from trusted local suppliers. It’s a thoughtful gastronomic journey that’s both gratifying and cerebrally stimulating in equal measure.
For drinks, I’ve opted for the composite pairing, which alternates alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages to complement each dish.
Nadeson Collis’ Inception brut from Henty starts us off on a sparkling note. We’re then served twin potato gems wearing elaborate black truffle fascinators, along with a warming broth of chicken and thyme. Instead of achieving utmost clarification, this broth makes its herbaceous sediment the centrepiece and, as a result, it’s texturally more exciting.
A sort of pesto has been made from the farm’s romanesco with parsley, lemon zest, sheep’s milk cheese, almond, olive oil and orange koshô, which is delivered to us on crisp chickpea crackers. Pickled cauliflower and a scattering of aromantic plants are its garnishes. Washed down with something lactofermented and lemony, it’s clear here that the concoctions sing of their living earthy origins.
A baked custard of rainbow trout and saffron glazed with beetroot is next to arrive, married with the delights of a locally produced, quite sublimely raspberry-ish rosé. Those of us who care know that sourcing high-quality saffron is a meticulous process, but what wows here is the creamy, delicate trout flavour and its country-sunset colour palette.
The following sequence of hits, as technically considered as they may be, only serve to summon emotional utterances from our lips born from the esoteric realm of associations. Sea urchin on fried dough: nostalgic seaside memories. Murray cod and kohlrabi with mixed myrtle butter sauce: the hardened milk cap of a Peter’s ice cream surface exposed to the elements (and that’s just from the butter). I don’t exactly understand why this is the way we experience food, nor if it’s appropriate to include in a critical review, but this is how Brae operates – it’s a feeling exercise as much as it is a thinking one.
Brae’s kitchen seemingly has an affinity for crafting little orbs out of its ingredients – from the golden turnip balls dotted around a Tasmanian angasi oyster to the ‘dipping dots’-style strawberry gum ice cream with frozen fig and jostaberry. In other restaurants, these shapes might seem fussy (as in the case of needless spherification, for example). But here, they’re tasteful and impactful inclusions.
Arguably, the Brae Farm vegetable garden is the restaurant’s most iconic dish – an ever-evolving salad of sorts that makes the most of the farm’s harvest throughout every season. Its pairing, a blend of She-Oak chardonnay vinegar, hibiscus and lime, is the crowned Drink of the Day, inspiring my friend and I to giddily make spurious connections with fairy potions and mystical enchantments. There’s something really special about a recipe that encourages your inner child to come out to play (or perhaps we’re just batshit insane).
If you’re a stickler for best-in-class service, this is it; our staff are like synchronised dancers, explaining each dish and removing empty plates like they’re performers in a piece of fine-tuned choreography.
At one point in the midst of our reverie, we receive hot pieces of pork jowl barbecued with smoked eel and pierced with a pair of broad bean stems. The dish is steaming hot, like it’s just been plucked out of the pits of hell. It’s sticky-on-your-teeth levels of treacly, and despite our refined surroundings, we unleash our animal instinct to gnaw each fatty morsel off the skewers. If Brae feels like a play set in heaven, then this is the deliciously devilish intermission.
The rest of the day flows on, an innumerable series of gifts to our taste buds: a festive-looking aged pekin duck roasted on the bone with sweet and sour pickled plums; layered fingers of duck liver cream, cocoa and pistachio with winter truffle; and then dessert.
But before we enjoy the latter, we’re invited to take a tour of Brae’s beautiful farm garden and we walk off our lunch in a state of utter bliss.
The first sweet, the half-time (choc) orange dessert is a highlight. Sweet marmalade made from Brae Farm's carrots and a vanilla citrus cream (courtesy of Schulz Organic Dairy) are piled into orange halves, then topped with sparkly citrus granita. It’s instantly one of my favourite dishes of the year.
A final farewell is presented in the form of a second petite dessert. Somewhat visually reminiscent of brandy snaps (or perhaps Italian cannoli), crisp, golden parsnip skin shells are piped with a silky mousse of parsnip, apple and Schulz Organic dairy cream. My mother will be pleased to know it’s the only kind of cigar I’m interested in inhaling these days – and we do, finishing every last crumb along with its sweet puddle of chamomile caramel in the middle of the plate.
If I’m ever so lucky to be able to stay the night at Brae, that’s next on my list of ‘ways to slow down’. But for now, I’ll be content to think of what the experience taught me: that treasures of the earth are everywhere if we look, and pleasure is accessible if we only make the time.