John Torode is posing for the camera when a big blowfly lands on his wine glass.

“A bit of true blue Australia for you,” says Max, our photographer.

“I know, I’m local,” Torode says in his clipped English accent.

And so he is. It’s a little known fact that Torode, one of British television’s best known faces, grew up in Maitland. 

From the age of four to 10 he was a Tenambit boy, which means a trip to Pokolbin wine country for a few days is a homecoming of sorts.

What does he remember of those early days?

“Scouts, playing junior rugby league for Tenambit – I was told I was a shit player, but so be it –­ and my grandmother’s wonderful cooking. She originally lived in central Maitland but moved to Tenambit after the ’55 flood.

“We had a vegetable garden in the backyard, the mayor was the grocer and he would deliver to our door. 

“We knew the local butcher who was also my rugby league coach.

“Nan’s food wasn’t elaborate, but it was fresh and tasty. She did things how they should be done..”

Little did he know at the time just how much Nan’s home-style cooking would shape his life.

Even now, all these years later – he turned the big five-oh last year – food is his passion and his livelihood.

“I look back and all my great memories, with the exception of having children, seem to have food playing a central theme,” he admits.

So, after moving to England in 1991, let’s take a minute to look at the John Torode of today.

He’s a television celebrity, no doubt.

In 2005 he and his partner in crime Gregg Wallace took over as the front men of MasterChef on UK ­television, and 11 years later they’re still going strong. 

The concept has even expanded to take in a Celebrity MasterChef and now a Junior MasterChef.

He has written nine cookbooks, and for several years was the celebrity chef of choice on British morning television.

He has had a number of highly regarded restaurants in London, although at the moment he is out of the business.

“I love the restaurant game and I will do it again,” he explains. 

“But it’s very time consuming and right now, with four kids, I have other priorities. I want to see them grow up.”

John’s time with his grandmother came about after his mother died when he was four. 

His father needed to work long hours and it was decided living with Nan was the best option.

It was probably natural that a young boy without his mum would gravitate towards a matriarchal figure – and as Nan was happiest in the kitchen, John spent a lot of time there.

“I always loved it,” he recalls. 

“She taught me the basics. I could cook a roast chicken by the time I was seven. I could grill a pretty good lamb chop, make a gramma pie, do scones ...”

His uncle Alex was of Russian heritage and he vividly remembers walking into his house and smelling these exotic foods.

So different, but he couldn’t wait to try them.

If Nan’s cooking hadn’t done it, then those mouth-watering aromas at Uncle Alex’s house certainly did – young John wasn’t even in double figures, but he was a hardcore foodie in the making.

When he moved to Melbourne to be with his dad a few years later it was natural he would gravitate to restaurants.

His first full-time job was at a restaurant called Beaumaris – classic French, intricate sauces made from scratch . . . a great training ground.

Next up was Tsindos – a “posh Italian” in his own words.

“I remember working there one night and Harrison Ford walked in,” he says. “Can you imaging how big an impact that had on a 19-year-old. Oh my God!”

So by the time John, in his mid-20s, decided to stretch his wings and head to the UK, he was well credentialled, highly trained and hasn’t looked back.

He’s at Pokolbin staying at his friend, winemaker Neil McGuigan’s house, to work on a project together: let’s call it Project Rosé.

They want to make a rosé under the MT label (McGuigan-Torode) which sells in the UK. They have previously made a semillon together that Torode is very proud of.

“I really love Hunter semillon and the MT is a beautiful drink. Now I want to do the same thing with rosé.”

But there’s a catch. Torode is setting the bar high . . . very high.

“I want to make a rosé for everybody to enjoy every day. I want it to be a food wine, but also a non-food wine, a wine you can drink in the pub, at a barbecue, when you have sparkling silver on the table, or in a plastic mug. I want to strip the barriers.”

After spending half his life in England, he says that’s an easier thing to do in Australia than in the UK.

“Australia is more egalitarian. The bloke walking down the street here in thongs and shorts could be a billionaire, and the bloke in a suit next to him could be worthless.

“That’s not the case in England where there is still a class structure and a traditional way of doing things. That extends to food and wine.

“When Australia brought in foreign workers in the ’50s and ’60s they were introduced to Italians, Greeks, Turks, Chinese . . . people where eating together with the family was part of their culture. And that obviously included drinking together too.

“Australians adopted that, even if it was in their own way, with barbecues and friends and family in the backyard.

“But England doesn’t do that so well. They don’t eat with the family as much. 

“And they also have this tradition where if you cook lamb or red meat, then it has to be matched with red wine.

“I want to change that. I want rosé to go with that food. Or I want them to understand that if I do lamb with lemon rind, parsley and fresh radish, that it can absolutely go with white. Why not?”

The big sticking point in his rosé revolution is brunch.

Torode – call him an optimist if you will – wants his rosé to also be a good brunch drink. And that means, among other things, it has to match with eggs.

“That’s not easy,” he admits. “Rosé and eggs, that’s the challenge.

“I’m down in the lab working with Neil, seeing what we can come up with. I’m not going to put my name on it if I’m not happy with it. But we’re close, we’re nearly there.”

It seems in John Torode’s world, everything goes with rosé.

Except for those bloody blowflies.