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The legend goes that Yellow Billy was a bushranger (AKA William White) who roamed the Hunter region in the 1860s. White slept in caves, lived off the land and used fire to cook and survive. Chef Sam Alexander and sommelier Pat Hester pay homage to him at their fire-powered Hunter Valley venue, Yellow Billy Restaurant, where cooking over fire is at the heart of each dish.
I’m sitting down at lunch and it quickly becomes apparent that Alexander knows how to do two things really well. The first is cooking meat perfectly – whether that’s on Yellow Billy’s parrilla grill, or up on the custom-made fire pit. The second is creating big and bold flavours. You won’t find any subtle dishes here. Wallflower plates? Not in this neck of the valley.
Yellow Billy Restaurant is found in wine country’s Pokolbin. Walking in, you pass under a fairytale-like archway covered in a blanket of vines before reaching an outdoor courtyard anchored by a black water feature. (Yellow Billy shares a roof with Piggs Peake Winery, and the team also runs The Sty next door, which pumps out pimped-up jaffles and coffee by Drop Bear Coffee Roasters). Cacti stand tall and cycad plants look like fireworks bursting out of pots the colour of rust. It feels very outback-y and relaxed, the kind of place you can settle in and not worry about an out-by time. Inside is a darker affair – it's kitted out with charcoal furniture and wine bottles along one wall – and to me it says winter.
As well as co-owner and sommelier, Hester is also the manager, gliding up and down the courtyard like it’s his runway. But the wine list is where he really shines. Exciting as it is interesting, you’re just as likely to find a funky drop from an up-and-coming Hunter Valley gun on the list as you will a vino from a Hungarian winemaker who befriended Hester after lunch one day (and subsequently brought him 30 bottles of wine to try).
I begin with two half glasses: a 2022 Thomas Wines Braemore Semillon – vibrant, crisp and tropical – and the second, a 2022 ‘Like a Version’ semillon created by Daniel Thomas and Ollie Margan (if you think the names sound familiar, you’d be right) that’s fruity and mellow.
A plate of focaccia arrives warm, bouncy and light, with flakes of sea salt and rosemary. The team makes it fresh daily, and you can tell. Next – three chubby, crumbed and golden saltfish croquettes are laying on a creamy bed of seaweed tartare. On top is a scattering of chives, crisp capers, and a handful of shredded and fried shiso leaves. The filling inside is well-seasoned, sweetened thanks to cooked-down vege, and the tartare sauce (with a good whack of vinegar) is sharp enough to match the fingers. Sorry, croquettes. It’s a seriously delicious starter.
In between courses I wander up into Yellow Billy’s garden (all the guests are welcome to explore). While pretty, it isn’t just here for the ’gram – about 45 per cent of the produce used in the kitchen is actually grown out here. There are lemons and limes and a fig tree and every herb you can think of, plus pumpkins, rhubarb, chillies, and a worm farm to compost all the scraps. Out the back is a native garden with Davidson plums, finger lime, native ginger and lemon myrtle. I could spend hours walking around and admiring, but it’s time for the main act.
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I went for the pork cutlet – and it’s a showstopper. Chargrilled pork comes with the bone, sliced thick, and dressed with a chimichurri. It’s served with pickled fennel jam, garden salad and burnt orange. Dry-aged for one week, the meat is succulent, slightly smoky and flavoursome; and the herby chimichurri has enough punch to rival any that I tasted in Buenos Aires. Pickled fennel brings sweetness and balance, the salad adds freshness, and the orange juice lifts. It's a bold and cracking plate, and I know I will be thinking of this long after I leave the Valley.
Sides of charred carrot with a smoky baba ganoush and herb sauce, and beetroot hunks with a smooth and nutty hummus and sticky sweet pomegranate molasses, both stand their own. Though just-plucked-from-the-garden leaves lightly dressed in a white balsamic vinaigrette could do with a bit more amping up.
For dessert, blackberry jam crostata tastes like an elevated and nostalgic version of a dessert your nan would make. The dome-like pastry is crumbly and buttery, and topped with sweet blackberry jam, plump fruit and a scoop of tangy creme fraiche ice cream so good I want to take it home.
Great mates as well as business partners, Alexander and Hester debunk the age-old saying that you shouldn’t start a business with a friend. Because whatever they’re doing, it’s working. And while the days of William White are long gone, I like to imagine that if he was around he would think the guys had done a mighty fine job, and join them for a wine and a cracking meal in the courtyard. I’m sure he’d appreciate a night off the pans.
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