Days of pale wine and radishes return, and the pleasure is all mine

Spring is here; the magnolias are blooming. When the wind kicks up, they drop gently curved petals, creamy white on one side and a deep, secret pink on the other. You can feel the change of season in the air, the way the chill of night gives way to mid-morning warmth. Fingers of sunlight on a bedroom wall. Outside, the grass is Astroturf green. A season of renewal, of the earth reinventing itself. Even now, with these short, warm winters (shorter and warmer every year), it’s impossible not to feel a sense of optimism in these first, green months.

In winter, it is proper to eat for sustenance; in spring, for pleasure alone. At this time of year, I am lured by glossy curls of silverbeet, tiny new potatoes, the fine, sharp scent of spring onions. Piles of lemons, waiting for a fingernail to release their fragrance. It is a season of green on the plate as well. Delicate zucchini flowers, destined to be filled with ricotta and seared in a pan; frothy fronds of dill; pungent basil, so easily bruised but none the worse for it. Slender bulbs of bok choy. Tart green apples. Black-skinned avocados, buttery green inside.

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What should you drink in spring? Over winter, I like cynar, amaro, mirto – bitter drinks for a bitter season. But spring calls for less dolorous things. A pale, pleasant wine of the unfiltered kind, mysterious with sediment, or something dry and blush-coloured, served very cold. A martini, which is right for every season (I read somewhere that a gin martini with an olive is a banker’s drink while a vodka martini with a twist is preferred by poets, but in my own experience, I have found the opposite to be true). Sparkling water so effervescent it leaves a sensation on the palate that is almost like burning.

I want simplicity in spring; I want what’s easy. Broad beans tumbled into lemony pasta and scattered with ribbons of mint. A thin clear broth of ginger and garlic, its surface shimmering with sesame oil. Good bread, generously spread with butter and topped with whisper-thin slices of radish and cracked black pepper. Eggs from the farmer’s markets, their yolks so orange they seem somewhat unreal, boiled and served with nothing but a little flaky salt, eaten straight from the shell with a spoon. Improvised dishes – easy to pull off so long as your ingredients are fresh and good – as relaxed as a loose seam. I want to have friends over in the early evening hours, while the sun still gilds the trees. I want to fill vases with budding flowers and branches with their new, green leaves.

On the first day of spring, I was in Victoria’s central highlands, where the climate is cooler than elsewhere in the state. There, the days were still cold and sharp; frost tipped the grass in the mornings. By the afternoon, the sun was brilliant and in the streets, the plum trees were fuzzed pink with blooms. In the evening, I visited a wine bar, where the daily menu was written on a chalkboard and music (jazz, blues) drifted from a record player behind the bar.

It was still early. To me, this is the ideal time to dine, when the sky retains a little colour and most of the seats are empty. Through the open door to the kitchen, I could see the chef tending to several large silver pots. On the menu: tagliatelle with morel mushrooms, roasted cauliflower with saffron agrodolce, a salad of shaved cabbage and dark leaves of treviso. The last of the winter vegetables, all earth and bitterness.

Craving the new season, I asked my waiter if he could bring me something fresh, whatever tasted most like spring? Of course he could. A slab of leek pie, pastry buttery with sour cream, leeks reduced to melting sweetness, topped with bright stems of watercress. A salad of late beurre bosc pears, fennel and Roquefort, its salty richness cut through by a bright lemon vinaigrette. I drank a glass of muscadet, light and cleanly acidic, as lean as a new, green stem. I ate slowly. It was pleasant to sit alone, listening to the music and the gentle buzz of other people’s conversations, to drink good wine and eat honest food. Outside, the sky changed from inky blue to black. I walked home in the cold night air. In the darkness, the blossoms on the trees seemed almost green.