Mr & Mrs Smith

This review of Wharekauhau Lodge and Country Estate in Wairarapa is taken from our guidebook Mr & Mrs Smith Hotel Collection Australia/New Zealand.

Blue lake on one side, rolling green farmland on the other – this was all the proof Mr Smith and I needed that we weren’t in the city any more… ‘We’re in the Wopwops,’ exclaimed Mr Smith (rural suburbs, for all you non-Kiwis). His boyish enthusiasm suggested that he too could feel the stresses of urban life ebbing away: fast work indeed for two die-hard townies from Auckland, who hadn’t breathed so much as a lungful of country air in six months. But our drive over the Rimutaka Ranges was to prove only the start of our rustic detox.

Arriving at Wharekauhau Lodge and Country Estate (pronounced ‘forry-coe-hoe’ – whodathunkit?), we were greeted by the friendly staff all too keen to show us around the property. For us – fresh off the plane at Wellington – its lakeside lawns and surrounding forested foothills were the city-addict equivalent of going cold turkey. Too overwhelmed to fully appreciate the wine-label-worthy countryside just yet, we retreated to our cottage. The Palliser Bay views would wait.

Away from the grandeur of the main lodge, our stand-alone cabin was pure modern farmhouse in style: high ceilings with exposed beams, a canopied bed and a romantic gas open fire. There was nothing for it but to run a hot bath for two. I’ll spare you the details of our ablutions, but the private view from the bathroom window cannot go undescribed. (Well, when I say private, I’m not counting the countless sheep in the neighbouring meadows, who have a disconcerting tendency to stare.) From my soapy look-out point, I could see over the pea-green pastures down to the mirror-calm Lake Ferry. The only thing that could improve the vista would have been a glass of champagne – cue Mr Smith’s arrival with cups of peppermint tea. OK, it’s not quite Krug, but it still hit the spot.

Before we could say ‘More tea, vicar?’, it was time to dress for dinner in the lodge. The idea of communal dining can seem strange to the uninitiated, including Mr Smith and me. We felt glad rags would help (in my case, any excuse to go glam is a welcome treat), as did the fireside cocktails and canapés. Introductions made and our trepidation overcome (at one point Mr Smith had to slap my hand away from the moreish salmon with a stern reminder that other guests might also like to sample the hors d’oeuvres), the mood lightened considerably as we adjourned to the dining room and conversation turned to more important matters: such as when, exactly, we were going to be able to sample the pinot noir.

The estate at Wharekauhau is also a working farm – raising sheep and beef cattle – and, beyond its boundaries, the wineries of Martinborough await. As a result, the set menu at the lodge is a food-mile-friendly fantasy of farm-sourced produce and equally
local vintages. For me, the eye fillet of the estate’s own Texel lamb was the standout – its flavourful tenderness rendering the proffered steak knife redundant. I had to remind myself to leave room for dessert – a tangily divine citrus tart that had as much bite as the banter now in full flow around the table. Mr Smith and I smiled in mute agreement across our espressos, two evangelical converts to communal dining.

It wasn’t until 10am the following day that we finally managed to drag ourselves from the super king-size bed, after an indulgent lie-in, the views out of the window once more transfixing us. We struggled to make breakfast on time, but a welcoming waft of the smell of baking bread from the lodge kitchen reassured us we weren’t too late. There was no need to leave this 2,200-hectare playground, where we could have taken a tour of the farm, ridden horses or borrowed quad bikes, but Mr Smith and I had viticulture on our minds – it was time to head out to sample the grapes of Martinborough.

We’d been told that many of the 29 boutique vintners in the area were within walking distance of each other, but it wasn’t until we rolled up to Martinborough town square that we understood how close they really were – some actually side by side. The area is known for its cracking pinot noirs, and we found a couple of favourites at Palliser Estate and Ata Rangi (Wharekauhau Lodge staff had kindly offered to pick us up later if we were enjoying ourselves a little too much to drive back). On the return journey, we decided the perfect tonic, post wine tasting, would be a windswept stroll beside the sea, so we continued past Wharekauhau to shack-scattered Ocean Beach. The weather was wild – windy and wet – but we emerged from the car anyway to stare at the rugged beauty of the black-sand shoreline.

Our dinner à deux was booked for a romantically lit, private room in the main lodge, before an open fire. Scallops served in a delicate coconut broth, followed by tender pork fillet, were both perfection to our palates. Before our medley of pannacotta, sorbet and crumble arrived, I had no idea something as humble as rhubarb could be worked into such a tremendous tasting plate of a dessert. Relaxed, sated and pleasingly Buddha-bellied, we ambled back to our cottage, gumboots on and takeaway cheese selection in hand. Too happy for sleep just yet, we settled upon the idea of an after-dinner soak in the alfresco hot tub. Wharekauhau: in our case pronounced ‘pure heaven’.