Dining at Benji's

Banjo Patterson is an Australian icon. His childhome home by the banks of the Parramatta River in Gladesville still stands, its sandstone walls as solid and sturdy as his resonating poems of life in a century gone past. Patterson's grandmother, Emily Barton, was a literary genius in her own right, but the grandson remains more significant in heritage, for it was him who penned The Man From Snowy River.

On a nippy winter's night, I was privileged to dine in the warmth of the Banjo Patterson House and with my cousin Susan and her hubby Boo Ann's family right in front of a much appreciated working fireplace. The window sill beside me led to a view of shiny lights by the riverbank, marred only by swaying palm leaves on a windy Saturday evening. The menu has been tastefully littered with verses from Banjo's most famous poems and images of his youthful countenance from another era.

Would Banjo have recognised the menu served? Maybe not the main dish of baked duck breast or the fancy desserts that belong to a more fusion age. I fancied that he would have chosen the kangaroo sirloin, the liquor-laced coffees and the wholesome pumpkin and potato soup (which I had as an entree). The ambience was one of easy, relaxed and fine dining, cocooned against the outside world, without a care for the weariness of the past week. Every time I had the privilege to be dining here there would be a wedding party in another function room, but bar for the alcohol imbibers hanging around the entrance, one would not have been aware of such a party. Instead I could concentrate on the 30th wedding anniversary celebration for Susan and Boo Ann.

Rainy Days and Mondays

I am sitting in my office, looking out through the window at the extreme wetness outside, the result of incessant pouring showers for the whole afternoon today. Last night I could hear the whoosh of the sweeping rain at home. More than just the water, the winds have carried the weather, dominated what we wore and made temperatures plunge further than the level they normally are at.

After several years of drought, the rains are back. I was still trying to re-arrange an appointment with Sydney Water to carry out a water-saving check for my house in a Sydney suburb. Apparently the plumber assigned to the case could not make it this coming Monday, but I was not told about it until, on a hunch this afternoon, I decided to phone them to confirm the appointment. The vagaries of calling in a tradeperson in Australian society can sometimes be even be more unpredictable than forecasting rainy weather.

Flying into Sydney on early Monday morning this week, I was treated to an unbelievable -and rare - sight. Instead of the sun lighting up a vast, dry landscape, my aircraft was flying above what seemed to be the Antarctic - thick layers of white, fluffy and furry ice and cloud. There was no break in this formation, until the craft descended and pierced through this heavenly layer to views of a grey dawn breaking over the suburbs and Tasman Sea.

I had barely escaped the torrential downpours in the city centre of Kuala Lumpur as I took a commuter train to KL International Airport on Sunday evening. So I was delightfully surprised with the sunny, but nippy, outlook outside Sydney's Kingsford-Smith Airport and over the regional town of Wollongong. The dry and bright climate soon changed on Tuesday, then Wednesday and so on. If not in the warm coccon of the office, I preferred to be indoors in such moist weather, and watched the State of Origin Mark 2 National Rugby League match between Queensland and New South Wales in the comfort of a mate's house, thankful I was not at Sydney'sTelstra Stadium that evening.

Rainy weather at times needs getting used to. I recall last week, while riding on a bus coach between the cities of Kula Lumpur and Penang, the rather amusing sight of the father of a Middle Eastern family filming equatorial afternoon downpours on the highway. For me, it's relocating my umbrellas; taking out the raingear; and enjoying with some satisfaction how my garden plants are taking in the water like drunkards at a bar. Rain brings in a soothing feeling inside me, and I know for sure we human beings have come from the seas and oceans. Even without consuming it, the mere sight, sensation and feel of a watery world comforts and stabilises me - least of all when trying to wake up before the sun rises and hearing the pitter-patter of falling drops.

We pray for moderation in all things, even rain. My fellow Australians in the Hunter Valley have suffered much grief and disruption in their lives a week back, when the Hunter River broke its banks after 30 years, and I hope that this does not happen again.

Breakfast at Berry's

Juice: Getting there was as refreshing as a sharp dose of spunky tomato juice on a lazy Sunday morning. It's only a couple of weeks here before the official arrival of so-called winter, but at least there were some brown and yellowing dried leaves waiting to take off some trees along the drive south of Wollongong. The surrounding landscape still looked like the Swiss countryside - in summer.

Cuppacinno: We chose a relatively warm table under shade and with small potted plants surrounding us. At 9am, the crowd was just right at this cafe - a mix of locals and tourers, families and couples. The coffee was one of the best I have taken, Italian but serevd by Anglos, with a thoughtful design of the froth on top. Lots of reading materials to browse while we waited, with reasonably quick service with a smile from the staff of Hedgehogs, a gem along the main road of Queen Street. Many items to choose to eat, but the big breakfast is always a winner.

The Bacon: There are competing outlets, and what caught my eye was the Post Ghost's haunt on the northern side of Queen Street. In what was the old post office, and next door to a functioning Berry Museum, which actually opens for a few hours like church on Sundays, the post cafe restaurant deserves my attention in my next visit. There are lots of wood to feel and appreciate as one walks inside the various shops or past its various side lanes to be surprised by hidden delights. On rainy days, it can feel real wet, and the nursery garden always maintains a moistured foliage look. A surprise is a shop selling pre-mixed curry pastes. In some shops, the sales staff make it a point to greet you when you walk in - and that's refreshing.

Toast: Parking can get limited, as in Sydney suburbs, if you arrive late for lunch instead of brunch. Food also becomes scarce after 2pm. Today the winds have become cooler. Some parts of the drive between Kiamia and Berry are on narrow roads, and there are aggressive drivers who get the thrill of seemingly nosing their vehicles at ours, before making a show of overtaking, even if they are exceeding the speed limits by doing so. Let them go, for like bread slices, one day they choose to be toasted by continuing such behaviour.

Poached Eggs: Alexander Berry aimed for a site now called his Coolanganta estate, with vineyards, lifestyle and plenty of acreage. The village of Berry, named in his honour, is located not far away from Coolanganta, and proudly reflects its dairy agricultural heritage, with a life-sized cow replica at the entrance to its main supermarket and with a lithany of cottage crafts. Today I visited the community arts shop, with work done by locals for charity - and thoroughly enjoyed the high quality of home-made inspiration. A car driver actually stopped for me to cross along Queen Street, even if she did not have to; ah, such civic charm!