Mr & Mrs Smith

At seven months pregnant, Mrs Smith is already complaining of feeling like a beached whale. So where better for a babymoon than a beach house named after a whaler?

Jonah’s is a luxury ocean retreat only 40 kilometres north of Sydney. Many of its patrons commandeer one of Australia’s few remaining seaplanes for the 15-minute flight up the coast, skirting the pine-fringed Northern Beaches. This, however, is our last chance to drive our much-loved Alfa Romeo before a baby seat renders it neutered.

It’s easy to forget we’re still technically in Sydney as we whizz through the national forest and pop out opposite the ocean near Whale Beach. Despite this tiny town being at the northern end of a skinny peninsula, we still get lost. Relying on our urban Swiss Army Knife, the iPhone, for directions we forget that, unlike the penknife, the phone becomes less useful the more remote you are. Eventually, the weakest of signals sparks our handset back to life and we find Jonah’s high atop a cliff, up a dozen of the narrowest roads I’ve seen outside the older parts of Europe. Their steepness is amplified by the inky blackness and the knowledge that with every inch we climb, there’s further to fall if we take the wrong turn.

On arrival, we’re shown to our new abode – Jonah’s Private (aka the Executive Ocean Retreat) – a separate residence adjacent to the main retreat with three rooms, a plunge pool and balcony, usually set aside for families or groups of mates. It’s like having a very spacious beach house all to ourselves.

Beach houses rent out for up to AU$10,000 a week in these parts, so this is truly an exclusive locale. The soap opera Home and Away is filmed a couple of kilometres further north, but the real celebrity spotting is to be had in the warren of lanes leading to the bay and the amazing houses built into the cliffs.

Jonah’s is no exception; the understated cream, low-rise building looks and feels the part. Designs such as shells on door handles may be a little beyond their heyday, but chime in with the coastal vibe, and the easy elegance of whitewashed walls and hand-made furniture all remind you that you’re on holiday, even if only for the weekend. White tiles and a parquet floor complete the light, bright feel. As attention-to-detail devotees, we’d have tweaked a few things in our room – we’d have liked more chairs and towel hooks, and a working iPod dock – but our malfunctioning one is fixed promptly, so it doesn’t spoil our fun.

We had packed a picnic in Sydney, but fine as our selection of Italian cold cuts, olives and cheeses was, the delicatessens of the nearby chichi suburbs of Mona Vale and Avalon would doubtless have had better. Nevertheless, we devour it at our circular dining table, replete with crockery and cutlery, although we’re tempted to decamp to the balcony to dine out under the stars.

Jonah’s has a great, low-key bar, but our pad is so plush we opt to stay in, and I proceed to demolish a bottle of Tasmanian pinot noir which I picked up en route. Stuck on lemon, lime and bitters, Mrs Smith’s expressions go from mildly envious through irritated to plain annoyed as my jollity increases.

But really, picnicing is far from the point of Jonah’s. This is, first and foremost, a destination restaurant, as we discover dining at its esteemed eatery on our second night. The seasonal, southern European-inspired fare is rivalled only by the views of the Pacific from the packed dining room. Staff are smart, funny and extremely well briefed on the menu and take a special interest in the dietary requirements of my pregnant partner.

An amuse-bouche of roasted cauliflower in a beurre béarnaise is a revelation in subtlety. Entrées are equally stunning – the texture of my steak tartare with quail egg yolk is simply perfect against the crunch of the sourdough croutons, while Mrs Smith’s blue swimmer crab vermicelli is deliciously light and lemony. Another blue swimmer, a native of this coast, is hoicked out of the ocean for my main, where it’s stuffed along with foie gras inside a John Dory filet. The fish is impeccably cooked, flesh firm and skin crispy. As Mrs Smith is reduced to sipping sparkling water only, my sommelier’s ability to match wines is hampered by a limited by-the-glass choice.

Staying over at Jonah’s gives you the best of both worlds, with semi-circular banquette seats romantic for dinner, and the window table a top tip for panoramic views come morning. Breakfast, so commonly a let down at hotels, was a joy. Jonah’s wisely eschews the delights of a buffet congealing under heat lamps for a full à la carte menu that includes the devine huevos rancheros with chorizo and fresh buttermilk pancakes.

As we peruse the weekend papers we gaze down at the Pacific below, its azure blue glinting in the morning sun. Hardy locals are taking a dawn dip, Saturday surfers are looking for swell, and, to cap the scene off, a pod of dolphins come and frolic in the waves right below our table. With their graceful flips and shimmies, these slinky creatures could give the Alfa Romeo a run for its money. ‘Suddenly, being a member of the whale family doesn’t seem so bad,’ smiles the cetaceous Mrs Smith.