By Leigh O’Connor.
Connor Bishop’s journey to the kitchen at Anvers Wines is more than a career arc - it’s a love story with land, season and place. In the rolling hills of Adelaide Hills, perched on Razorback Road at Kangarilla, Anvers is already a wine destination. Under Connor’s stewardship, the restaurant becomes a stage - food and wine weaving into a single narrative of terroir.
Connor didn’t arrive overnight. He’s a thinker as much as a maker. His approach is rooted in restraint, clarity and respect. He believes technique should disappear into flavour, not compete for attention. He crafts dishes not to dazzle with complexity, but to reveal the subtle power of ingredients grown nearby - the soil, climate, effort and care baked into every leaf or cut.
When Connor arrived at Anvers, he saw a blank canvas with vivid hues already in waiting. The vineyards, the gentle slopes, the forests, the sea fog - they all whisper ideas. He set out to let them inform every plate. His first menu was designed to feel like a snapshot of the Adelaide Hills right now - what’s in perfect season, what the land offers without forcing it.
On his menus, you might find Fleurieu dairy lending richness to a soft cheese course; Kangarilla beef or local game showing depth and texture; hapuka or venison brought gently, each note disciplined but expressive. You may taste native elements woven in - marron, sea herbs, pepperberry - reminders of land meeting ocean, forest meeting horizon. The story is rarely loud, but always present.
One dish close to him is his take on ox tongue. He elevates that humble cut - brined, sous-vide, finished over hibachi, finished with smoked soy and yuzu kosho - pairing it with apple purée, tartness, smoke. It’s a conversation between tradition and renewal. Another favourite: the humble peas and ham reinvented - smoked pork, natural fermentation, vivid green peas, acidity, textures - nostalgia remade for this place.
Connor insists the alchemy isn’t in his hands alone. Food and wine at Anvers are in dialogue. In developing a dish, he often thinks of which vintage will accompany it - how a Barbera might cut through richness, or how the Shiraz could lift the smoky notes. The wine team becomes collaborators, refining pairing and pacing. For him, no dish should overshadow the glass, no glass dominate the plate. They rise together.
Localism is more than a sourcing strategy - for Connor it’s an ethos. He believes in honouring growers, paying fairly, reducing waste, preserving surplus and designing menus that evolve gracefully. That means menus shift not just between seasons, but between weeks - responding to rain, heat, harvest, unexpected gifts from the land.
In the dining room at Anvers, the effect is subtle but powerful. The space is elegant but grounded, vineyard views bleeding into the palette of the restaurant, light shifting across plates. As you dine, you feel held in time - between sun and soil, vine and root. You see technique in its softest form, intended to elevate but not dominate.
Connor Bishop is building more than a restaurant; he’s crafting a voice for Anvers - one that doesn’t scream, but lingers. Each menu, each pairing, each dish is an invitation: to read the land, taste the seasons, sense the care behind each bite and sip. In Kangarilla, under his hand, Anvers becomes not just a place you visit - but a place you feel.
