Four Years of Otherness!

Today marks four years since Otherness quietly opened its doors.

Such a milestone might seem inconsequential, especially considering that next month, my friends in the Singh family will close the doors of the Jasmin, an Adelaide dining institution, after 46 years. 

Four years still feels satisfying, especially when I think about our humble beginnings.

The landlord once berated me, observing that I didn’t know what my business was. He was right, of course. My thoughts during the planning and early days of operation centred around what I didn’t want Otherness to be. I didn’t want to run another restaurant. I didn’t want to employ chefs. I didn’t want to build and collate another big wine list. I didn’t want to work long nights, waiting tables.

I wanted a small cellar door for my quirky, collaborative wines. I wanted to run it with a couple of mates. I had already ordered a hand-cranked fire-engine-red Italian meat slicer. Surely my non-hospo mates could turn a handle and finely slice some fritz? 

I thought that maybe during one or two evenings a week, we might open up as a simple wine bar for the local Angaston community. I could tell some stories about the Barossa, its past, its present, its wine and about the many great characters I have been fortunate to have met, worked and communed with during my many years in wine and hospitality. 

Of course, we would also have music. Playlists and stories from my parallel career as a professional musician.

But then I met chef, Sam Smith. The circumstances of our meeting and joining forces is a story in itself. I still remember Sam looking at me askance, eyebrows raised, as I told him all the things that I didn’t want my new business to be. 

Within a couple of months of that first meeting, Sam was in the kitchen, I was on the floor, and extraordinary food was already crossing the pass. We were up and running. Improvising. Feeling our way. Meeting our people. Plugging Otherness into the Angaston community.

In our conversations, Sam and I were very careful to never use the ‘R’ word. We were a wine bar. Our dining offering was ‘wine bar’ food. The first reviewers visited: Simon Wilkinson, Katie Spain; both enthusiastically acknowledging the deliciousness of Sam’s frequently changing menus of seasonal, simple wine bar fare. 

I remember the day Sam apologised to me for including a ‘restaurant’ dish on the menu. 

“What makes it a restaurant dish?” I asked? 

“The number of elements and the height of the food on the plate!”

Our regular guests either didn’t notice or quietly welcomed this development. As a waiter, I see first-hand the reactions to each new dish. The subtle evolution of our dining offering has been embraced and has over time, attracted new, now regular guests.

Sam has been both architect and facilitator of the Otherness dining experience. I know of no other chef who can do what he does, so seemingly effortlessly. He is a master of planning, ordering, designing balanced menus that speak of the seasons, region, and relationships with like-minded farmers, orchardists and providores.  He can feed a full restaurant singlehandedly. I marvel at his skill, his composure under stress and his ability to empower all those with whom he works. Even during the busiest services, each dish comes out beautifully plated, perfectly seasoned and achingly flavourful.

My early determination not to employ chefs eroded pretty quickly. In late 2022 Emily Thomas joined Sam in the Otherness kitchen, bringing with her extraordinary experience as an international chef. I have written about Emily previously. Emily’s food is her love language. Her dishes are generously flavoured and deeply nourishing. 

Chef Sandor Palmai began working with us a couple of years ago. A personal friend of mine for more than 30 years, his deeply personal, gentle style of cooking is so intimately connected to both the earth and the environment. Sandor has recently taken over the many large, raised garden beds at my home in Angaston. I get a thrill seeing overflowing beds of herbs and ripening tomatoes. I remind myself to wear a robe at home in the early hours, just in case one of my chefs is performing an early morning harvest of rocket or basil! 

But back to Sam. Perhaps his greatest legacy is culinary collaboration. Head chefs usually design menus. Other chefs usually cook the head chef’s dishes, with little room to explore or express. Not so at Otherness. Sam welcomes input from his colleagues. Often there will be Emily or Sandor dishes on the menu. But for me, the most exciting dishes are those generated by the three of them together. Often these collaborative dishes evolve from day to day, week to week. This excites me. The evolution of such dishes is tracked and commented on by regular guests like winemaker, Chris Ringland, who dines with us several times a week.  It has become part of the essence of Otherness.

From the beginning I knew that service was key to everything I wanted Otherness to be. I recognised the importance of having long-term permanent front of house professionals that could nurture and build real relationships with our people. I needed staff who thought as I did and got a thrill each time a regular guest walked in the front door. 

I never wanted formal, obsequious service. There is no need at Otherness for a dress code that separates staff from guests. But throughout every facet of the experience, we aim to surprise. To over-deliver. Attentive and informed. Be able to articulate the chefs’ inspiration and process. Provide insight into the wines that wear an Otherness label. Provide educated assistance for guests as they select international wines.

Enter Charlie Schultz and Tess Mathai. 

Charlie and Tess were the heart and soul of the Appellation Restaurant dining experience here in the Barossa when I was sometimes employed as a waiter. There was always a deep connection between the three of us. 

Charlie has become my right-hand person. I’m a dreamer, and quite scatter-brained at the best of times. Without Charlie, Otherness might be quite chaotic. She organises and steers. Her rapport with our guests is deep and intuitive. She is genuinely funny. The tastings that she hosts of my wines are always entertaining, informative and persuasive. 

And then there’s Tess – unique, impossibly warm-hearted and generous. Her laughter is infectious. Tess has worked as a chef in Toulouse, Kuala Lumpur and here in the Barossa. Her knowledge of food and capacity to fill gaps in every department of the business is incredibly valuable. But even with her cooking skills and experience, locking her in the kitchen would deny our community a constantly bubbling stream of hospitality warmth and joy. 

Otherness wouldn’t be Otherness without our community around us, without those guests who darken our doorway several times a week. You know who you are. Thank you for contributing so much to the entity we have become.

Sam once told me that he feels so differently when cooking at Otherness. Looking out into the dining room, seeing so many familiar faces, he said that it feels as though he is cooking at home for family and friends.

This community nexus informs the Otherness restaurant experience. With our guests feeling like our family, it would feel churlish charging for water. Are we the only restaurant that refuses to charge for chilled sparkling and still filtered water? Likewise, there will never be any fine print: no secret credit card surcharges. And you’ll need to insist if you ever wish to leave a gratuity. The new norm of including a service tip in the presented bill, paid unless you specifically reject it, feels uncomfortable to me, and certainly isn’t something that we would inflict on family.

Despite the depth of culinary offering within our town – Casa Carboni, Barossa Cheese Company, Coco, Hive, Barossa Pho – Angaston can feel peripheral when it comes to tourism. A detour off the well-trodden Tanunda to Seppeltsfield tourist trail.

Having said that, those lucky enough to visit our village will experience the same warmth of service, the same generosity enjoyed by our Otherness regulars. We love meeting new guests. Perhaps you might join the three families who have moved to Angaston from interstate after dining with us and now visit us weekly? 

Otherness will continue to evolve. Restaurants need a certain restlessness if they are to stay relevant. Once you settle into comfortable routines, once menus become tired and unchanging, once guests sense that the excitement is waning, commentors will begin each sentence with ‘Remember when…’ 

2025 was a big one for us. The food has never been more interesting, more delicious or more collaborative. And I experienced a moment of profound satisfaction and pride when my three chefs were presented with a ‘Snail of Approval’ by representatives of the Slow Food movement at our Tasting Australia dinner.

On our fourth birthday, I can confirm without reservation that Otherness is now a restaurant. But you can still come in and order a serve of co-tenant Breaking Bread’s Country Sourdough and a plate of finely sliced salumi with a chilled glass of Riesling. There’s still a wine bar lurking deep inside us. 

The playlists may have been hijacked by Charlie and Tess, but I know, deep in my heart, that Otherness is the place that I would want to visit several times a week. It somehow nurtures you.  

Thank you, all past and present Otherness staff. Everyone has left their mark. 

And thank you Margaret Lehmann, who at my sixtieth birthday, nearly five years ago proposed a toast, saying that it was time that I “(…) stuck my head over the parapet again.”

So, back to my first musing “What exactly has Otherness become?”. It’s not exactly one thing. It’s lots of things. It’s whatever Otherness guests who ‘get it’ want it to be. 

Grant