My Cellar

Former food critic Matthew Evans moved to Tasmania and established his Fat Pig Farm more than 10 years ago. These days, the trained chef offers cooking classes, lunches and more at his thriving site.

Matthew Evans on his love for farming, great food and wine

How do you explain your farming philosophy?

We’re working with that ‘paddock to plate’ idea and seeing how much we can produce from one corner of the world. About 95 per cent of what we serve at our lunches comes from within our fence lines. What people get here is a moment in time from this specific corner of southern Tasmania. It’s our place in the world, our community, our geography, and it can never be replicated, even on the same day the next year.

Can you remember what life was like before Tasmania?

It’s a very different world here. Our lives are still busy – relentless, even – but I feel blessed that we get to do things like cook, serve and eat food. And nothing we do demeans us or takes away from our soul. There’s no compromising.

What’s been the biggest surprise since turning to farming?

I think just how complicated everything is, and the complexity of the ecosystem we’re trying to build. From the outside, it looks nowhere near as complicated, but the longer you do it, the more you realise how little you know.

Was there one wine that reeled you into a love for it?

I never used to drink much – I cut my teeth on cider. I didn’t have anything against wine, but I didn’t really like it. My mum was in a wine club, and came home from that one day with a [Barossa Valley Estate] E&E Black Pepper Shiraz, saying it was the wine that stood out. I tasted it and thought, ‘That’s not like the wine I know!’ It made me realise there were wines I liked, and that I needed to find them, spend more on them, learn what I liked and then look for more.

Since I’ve been in Tasmania,

I’m very much into cool-climate wines. I’ve always been a huge fan of pinot noir and chardonnay, particularly the finer, elegant styles like Chablis and Meursault.

Do you remember the first wine you cellared?

I started reading what people wrote about wine and someone said that Penfolds 707 [Cabernet Sauvignon] was undervalued, so I bought a dozen at $20 each. Then when I lost my job and my flat, I sold eight bottles to my mum and sister. They bought the wine to get me out of trouble and only opened them when I was visiting, so I got to enjoy them with 15 or 18 years on them. I kept the other four in a sock drawer for about 10 or 15 years.

What are your favourite wine styles?

Since I’ve been in Tasmania, I’m very much into cool-climate wines. I’ve always been a huge fan of pinot noir and chardonnay, particularly the finer, elegant styles like Chablis and Meursault. And the more I’ve drunk cool-climate wines here, the more my tastes have tended towards them.

Do you have a wine collection?

When I had money, I bought a couple of Hill of Grace over a few years, and I used to be in the Rockford wine club and would buy some of their wines. I’d stash away a few bottles like that, but not anymore – mainly because we don’t actually have a cellar, but also because I’m now drinking wine that doesn’t need as much age. I do miss the fact that I don’t have anything in the cellar, though. I think I’ve got one bottle of Rockford Basket Press that’s about 20 years old, but I’m waiting to share that with a friend next time she visits. You’ve got to open those wines with people who really enjoy them, and make sure they work with the food.

What’s one of your best food and wine experiences?

It was at a restaurant in Paris, when I was young and staying in a youth hostel. They matched cheese with wine at the end of the meal, and it was really clever, but I couldn’t remember the name of the wines. When I asked the waiter to tell me them again, they soaked the labels off the bottles, stuck them to the back of my menu and wrote the names of the cheese match next to each one. It was gastronomically awesome, but the level of service was incomparable. Who would do that? Especially when I’m in a cheap jacket and probably smelled like a hostel. It was just a beautiful experience.

Is there any wine style you can’t learn to love?

Stalky cabernets. There’s a green stalky character in a lot of cabernets from Australia, and also Bordeaux, that my palate doesn’t love. But at least I’ve found something I don’t have to spend money on! That gives me a little bit of freedom. If I’m in a bottle shop, I’m never going to pick up a cabernet. I can also ignore the New Zealand sauvignon blancs.

Any favourites for special occasions?

We bought some Deviation Road sparkling for Christmas and it was beautiful. I was really impressed with the style – it had a toastiness you get from Champagne. We also like Willie Smith’s small-batch cider they do in whisky barrels, which comes in longnecks. It’s brutally expensive for cider, but not compared to wine, and it’s got as much going on, and as much charm, as a wine.

What do you think is the mark of a good wine?

I first discovered this when I tried Giaconda, but there’s this thing that happens where you don’t realise you’ve swallowed, and suddenly the bottle is empty. There’s a lovely effortlessness to it.

Is there a wine that isn’t considered great, but you love anyway?

Semillon from the Hunter Valley is totally underrated. Whenever I’ve drunk aged Hunter semillon, I’ve always thought, ‘Why don’t more people know about this? Why isn’t it more celebrated?’ I think it’s because you can’t compare it to anything from the Napa or Loire. It has no comparison, and it’s not trendy or sexy. But if someone shows up with a Hunter semillon, I’m there at the opening of the bottle making sure some ends up in my glass.

What’s one dish you think everyone should know how to cook?

Risotto. It’s been bastardised. You can’t cook it in the microwave or the oven, you have to stand there stirring and carefully monitoring the stock. And because you’re standing there so long, you’d be mad not to put some of that wine going into your rice in your glass. It doesn’t work if you don’t cook risotto with wine, and the cook has to engage with the ingredients. I like the calming nature of the process. It’s not necessarily complicated, but you’re not looking at your phone or trying to watch TV. It’s all about the dish you’re cooking and the pleasure you’re about to give. You’ve got to give it your attention, but it pays you back.

What would you serve at the ultimate occasion?

I’d dive for some abalone, which I’d serve stir-fried with ginger and chilli, with a beer or gewurztraminer. Then we’d sit down to a long meal of things from the garden, like stuffed artichokes and plates of chargrilled asparagus with goat’s cheese on top. And let’s face it, we’re pig farmers, so I’m pretty keen on porchetta, which would be cooked over a slow chargrill, with crackling, ideally. And I’d serve that with a pinot from one of our neighbours, Jim Chatto or Sailor Seeks Horse.

Matthew Evans’ latest book is The Commons (Hardie Grant, $60) and he also features in the SBS show, Gourmet Farmer.