This serene valley restaurant with jaw-dropping views is worth the gnarly drive

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There must be a word, probably in some highly obscure Teutonic language, for the feeling you get when you see a cute lamb grazing in the field just near the restaurant you’re dining in, just before you start grazing on a plate of cute lamb.

That’s the feeling I get while enjoying my lamb rump, looking out to the cliff scapes of the Megalong Valley at golden hour, when the sheer, craggy rock face almost glows.

The breed is SheepMaster, by the way, prized for their wonderful non-shedding qualities, which means the animals don’t require a lot of shearing maintenance before they’re slow cooked and served with shishito peppers, locally grown buckwheat and a side of buttered new potatoes dug up from a farm just an hour down the road.

There’s no sugarcoating the gnarly drive down the narrow, not-particularly-well-kept road to the Megalong. It’s worth it, though. How often do you get to wander along rows of brassicas, bitter greens and wildflowers, just as the cherry blossom is coming into bloom, or quietly watch hens peck at the rich soil of the valley, while enjoying a cup of Jerusalem artichoke veloute and the last of the winter truffles?

Here at this farm-to-table restaurant, it’s eight courses of produce mostly sourced from the farm, dictated by the seasons. The menu is full of intent, that speaks to fine dining the way it used to be done. A bit of back-reading about chef Colin Barker reveals a resume packed with solid, old-school culinary firepower. He did time at Liam Tomlin’s Banc, Warren Turnbull’s Assiette and Brett Graham’s Ledbury before settling in as head chef at The Boathouse on Blackwattle Bay, which he ran for 13 years before it shut in 2020.

This is the project he leapt on next. A 600-hectare property taking in the farm, restaurant and surrounding bushland. Inside, an open kitchen and modern-classic dining room featuring great views of the property wherever you’re sitting.

The set menu changes regularly, but always starts with a little snack plate of raw vegetables. Then a crisp tartlet (blue oyster mushrooms and salted egg yolk on one visit; caramelised onion, cauliflower and macadamia, finished with a powder of dehydrated broccoli leaf on another), followed by a teeny cup of honey nut pumpkin veloute enriched with creme fraiche and finished with marron shell oil.

Drinks-wise, you have options. All of them are good. Some, like the wine pairing, rely heavily on the fact your dining party is staying at the accommodation onsite. If that’s not an option, one of you is going to be a very smug sober person and drive everyone else home. Or just pace a couple of interesting glasses through the meal. Very coolly, there’s an entire subsection of the drinks list devoted to vermouth. There’s a whole negroni menu on offer as well, if you swing that way.

Massive snaps must go to a spring dish of sugarloaf cabbage, blasted in the woodfire oven and served on a slick of natural yoghurt, dressed with a house-made XO sauce made in fermented capocollo offcuts. Simultaneously smoky and funky, tempered by that sweet cabbage and cooling dairy.

If pure joy looks like a cold local beer, a hunk of sourdough, a mountain of whipped butter, and really nice service from a small-but-extremely attentive floor team, you’re exactly where you need to be.

A tender fillet of crisp-skinned Murray cod is paired with the hot, mustardy bite of wasabina, and the briny crunch of salsify, softened with a close-to-curdled dash of buttermilk. On another visit, that same fish is accessorised with tiny broccoli tips, baby leeks, chickpea miso and a light Japanese-style broth made on the fish offcuts. Beautifully paired with a splash of Rowlee Wines tight, bright fume blanc.

Judging by the fat covering on the rosy slices of Speckle Park steak, the cattle have spent some quality time in the top paddock. The richness is foiled by a silken Japanese turnip puree and cut with bitter, peppery wilted radicchio.

A palate cleanser of Logan Brae pink lady sorbet is one of the prettiest, most delicate pre-desserts I’ve had in years. Pure apple flavour. And while I’m appreciative of the unadorned slice of just-set Basque cheesecake that follows, it’s the petit fours that I’m still thinking about. Berries picked on the property turned into marshmallows with a little sprig of fennel, say, or a beef fat salted caramel. What a treat.

This is ground-up cooking, presented with thought and care. Brave the trip, settle in for the journey.

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