• Susan Wyndham • The Great Outdoors •

It's no nun's life for Susan Wyndham, who eats, drinks and makes merry.

The place: Old Convent, Convent Road, Borenore, NSW 2800.

What would the nuns think? We have arrived at the Old Convent after a long Friday lunch at Lolli Redini, one of the restaurants turning out miraculous food in Orange.

Sitting in the pale room splashed with pink cushions, we've feasted on Simonn Hawke's Jerusalem artichoke soup, duck confit salad, mushroom polenta, pearl perch with sharp and smoky caperberries, capsicum and eggplant, dollops of marmalade ice-cream and a squashed chocolate souffle cake.

We've slurped a luscious chardonnay and a rosé called Big Men in Tights from the local Bloodwood winery. We roll down the dirt road and into the convent's driveway under a rosé-coloured sky.

The nuns must have come to this outpost of Orange by cart and very sober when the first tiny convent was built in the 19th century. Their three-room cottage has recently been turned into our comfortable, self-contained accommodation by Josie and Jeffrey Chapman, with the addition of a kitchen and bathroom wing along a glass-louvred corridor.

Our bedroom has a king-sized bed, an old wardrobe and dressing table, rice-paper lamps and lavender bouquets. A second bedroom has twin beds, and the small living room squeezes a sofa, armchairs and television in front of a fireplace that has been set for lighting.

The Old Convent sits on just under a hectare amid gentle hills yet there's no risk of starving. Josie wears her cook's apron all weekend. From a family of caterers and publicans, she creates a warm atmosphere and serves a classy brunch, lunch and afternoon tea in the cafe behind her house. Dinner is not usually provided for overnight guests but Josie caters for private functions in a larger convent building that housed the nuns until 1965. Tonight she is feeding 40 schoolteachers in the dramatic, deconsecrated hall with a high timber ceiling, candelabra and white tablecloths.

Although we have no appetite, we can't resist the offer of twice-cooked souffles and salad from the teachers' menu, brought to our kitchen by Josie's assistant, Alex. Beef followed by poached pears and pannacotta also sound delicious but we have to lie down.

As the sunny day collapses into a frosty night, we get a small taste of the nuns' severe life. Thank heaven, and Josie, for the heated bathroom floor and electric blankets on our bed.

After a morning walk among fields, yellow poplars and a choir of magpies, we head to the sunny cafe for breakfast with a view of the neighbour's cows and a spread of fresh friands, cakes and tarts. Josie makes us coffee, eggs benedict and corncakes with smoked salmon that rival Bill Granger's famous Sydney version. Jeffrey brings the Saturday Herald and Central Western Daily.

Our plan for the day is to taste as many wines from this young, high, cool-climate region as possible. But perhaps the nuns are watching (remember how they stole the Nazis' spark plugs in The Sound of Music?).

Borenore has its own little pocket of creative people: makers of bed linen and pottery, growers of lavender, figs and berries. We drop into the studio of Ros Auld, a ceramic artist whose bold work includes platters painted by John Olsen. As we leave her driveway, the car refuses to move forward. The transmission has gone.

The next three hours are spent waiting for a towtruck to pull us into town and organising a rental car. Everyone is helpful and efficient but our drinking time is halved.

Displaying remarkable resilience, we keep our appointment at Bloodwood, most recommended among the region's two dozen wineries by knowledgeable locals. Rhonda Doyle takes us through the range, from a limey riesling to a divine pinot noir. From there we go down the road to Ross Hill, where tastings are done in a 1950s train carriage, and on to Brangayne, Canobolas-Smith and Ibis. Although the drought has limited this year's vintage, we will go home with an impressive selection.

Car trouble meant that we arrived at Proven, Orange's new bakery, as it was closing on Saturday afternoon and missed out on the frangipane tart, whose reputation has reached Sydney. So we're eager for dinner at Selkirks, the town's heavyweight restaurant owned by chef Michael Manners.

In a gracious old house with persimmon-tinted walls, we settle in for a feast: seafood tartlet, rabbit galette with yellow split peas, venison with tomatoes, olives and risotto, roast beef with root vegetables, and a lightly balanced dessert platter of ice-creams, sorbets, tart and chocolatey macaroons. Each course comes, if you like, with a recommended Orange wine.

Breakfast should be beyond us. But Josie delivers perfect raspberries with yoghurt and honey, scrambled eggs and bacon and, as a special favour, spring rolls from the lunch menu. Though you could easily self-cater in the cottage's kitchen, with all its equipment and basic breakfast foods, we've barely had time to make a cup of tea.

With more time we would walk up looming Mount Canobolas and tour the handsome town's Regional Gallery. We do fit in a visit to artist and stone lettercutter Ian Marr, whose work dots local gardens and sells around the world. His tables, benches and plinths are cut from 900-million-year-old South Australian slate and carry soaring lines from Latin and English literature, lists of birds, the periodic table or his own puns, such as "Virgil reality". It's too late for asceticism but we leave Orange with plenty of food for thought.