It was sometime in 1983. Driving back from Melbourne to Coonawarra where I was employed by Katnook Estate as chief assistant to the assistant chief, I called into Ballarat to visit an old family friend, Kostos Rind. Kostos was retired then, but had spent the latter half of his life teaching science and anything else that came to mind to the fortunate students of Ballarat Grammar. Kostos had firstly fled advancing Germans, then advancing Russians, before escaping with wife and daughter to Australia. He had been integral to the development of the Geiger Counter. Without question he was the most brilliant human being anyone who ever met him would ever meet. He also had a palate like Picasso and a photographic memory that made him absolutely lethal in wine tasting games. He didn’t keep a huge cellar, just select volumes of wines you would crawl over hot coals for. I decided to arrive with a wine of some consequence, if only as a mark of respect. After much pain and angst I chose a Virgin Hills 1979, which I presented proudly. “Thank you very much, Jeremy”, said Kostos. “But I think we should try something a little more appropriate.” With that he turned on his heel and made for the cellar, leaving me completely short of breath. Returning with both hands clasped reverently around a dusty bottle he said “I hope this is as good as I remember”. It was. And it had to be. An unforgettable, perfect red wine. I asked him what it was, but I should have guessed. Virgin Hills, 1975.
