A day or so before a drive up to Canberra, through the screens, my eyes feast on the sight of Sam Vincent of Gollion Farm delivering a tray of figs to Onzieme restaurant — we’ve a booking there in a few nights, 8.30pm, yes we do. The thought of that tray having been carefully picked, carefully transported and carefully dropped at the door of a man who has deep respect for anything grown with such care. The thought of what goes through his mind having received this bounty. The thought of how they’ll appear on the menu, on plates making their way from the kitchen to the dining room.
Arriving in the capital late afternoon, we sit on the back deck with a glass of something chilled and a plate holding a French blue, slices of baguette and yes, figs. Oh and a little bowl of honey and a handful of walnuts. It’s a plate of pleasure, it’s a plate of the moment.
We follow the figs, from the quiet and calm of the back deck, to the buzz and warmth of the restaurant. We wander through the dining r…
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