Eating Auckland: a week away

What are the best restaurants in Auckland? I guess everyone has an opinion. I for one want to eat at restaurants that I can’t eat at elsewhere: when I go away I like to discover a unique way of eating that’s particular to the region. I’ve always associated New Zealand with seafood, fritters and fruits, but that’s just my take. In much the same way that Sydney has a certain ‘Sydney style’ I was keen to discover if Auckland had one too.

SAILS My companions for dinner number one were probably ruing sticking up their hands to join me as they trudged up a deserted highway in the dark, in the mud, towards a restaurant that we weren’t entirely sure would be open. Our hopes were lit and dashed when we stumbled upon the garish Swashbuckler restaurant (though I’ve heard the food is actually quite good) only to be pointed further up into the mist and told it was still a bit of a trudge away. We approached from the dark side, and nearly didn’t make it at all as we negotiated a deserted carpark and worried that the weather was coming in. I’m glad we did keep going however because when we were finally welcomed into the restaurant’s bosom it was as a reward for our toils. Particularly striking in the restaurant are the beautiful zigzagging paper chandeliers, the same as those found in Wildfire (Circular Quay, Sydney). As it was a cool winter night we couldn’t appreciate the sea of bobbing boats behind the glass but I reckon it would be quite delightful on a sunny day. Standouts on the menu were the succulent braised lamb neck with beetroot and tiny lamb cutlets, and a gorgeous plum ice cream served on the dessert platter which reminded me in the best way possible of tinned dark plums at my parents’ dinner parties. In the quest to sample as many New Zealand sauvignon blancs as possible, the Sails wine list yielded two that were particularly enjoyable: Craggy Range Te Muna 2007 and Pegasus Bay 2007. A cheese that I’ll also be seeking out next time I get across the ditch will be Kahurangi Single Cream Blue – heaven.

DINE Peter Gordon is something of a New Zealand hero and one who champions fusion food. However, despite the hype, and despite the restaurant’s location in the SkyCity Grand Hotel, the restaurant and food struck me as upper-end bistro rather than fine dining. That’s not a bad thing though and I think it compliments the food, which is robust and vibrant, rather than fussy or elegant. We were convinced by the familiar and engaging waiter to put ourselves in his hands for the degustation with matching wines and the end impression was that this was food better suited to eating as a meal rather than as a trouping of small dishes – quite simply because the serving sizes were huge for degustation and the food, once again, bistro-style and came looking like slightly under-sized meals rather than small, contained courses. Similarly the wine matched was poured in a very generous manner. I’ve a hazy recollection that a riesling and the following pinot noir were very, very good. I just wish I’d remembered their names.

FRENCH CAFÉ I’d avoided booking The French Café because I’d worried that this wasn’t going to be a unique restaurant to Auckland, but that it would be of a certain French style that is reproduced somewhat around the world, or at least would be similar to certain European restaurants in Sydney. I was wrong. The restaurant began to help me flesh out my impressions of New Zealand dining. For one, it’s generous. The chef’s degustation was extremely good value and each serving was similarly generous in size – perhaps too generous as I was rolled out at the end of the meal and couldn’t finish the last few courses: mon Dieu! Despite a long day myself and dining companion’s moods lifted as we were lulled into enjoying the patter of courses. My companion, The Cocktail Queen, gave the restaurant’s Moulin Rouge the thumbs up, and subsequent wine service was attentive but not pushy and delightfully warm and knowledgeable. A stand out dish was the prawn cocktail of tomato sorbet, prawn jelly, prawns, avocado and seafood dressing in a fine glass bowl rimmed with lemon salt. Another was the sublime beetroot, onion and fig tart topped with a cushion of goats cheese and a single star of borage: the low, comfortable lighting made the photo hard for you to discern, however hopefully conveys the beautiful attention to presentation. This is excellent presentation in my book: at once inventive and understated. I quite understand how The French Café won the awards it has. There were few dishes that missed (a cigar of foie gras was a little overwhelmed with caramel and apple), and many more that both surprised and delighted.

Michelin & the Street: Zurich

ZURICH You’re definitely in Switzerland when your first evening catching up with friends involves fondue and schnapps. The nature of fondue means schnapps is necessary: to burn a ‘Norman hole’ through all the congealing cheese in your stomach, and it works very well I think. Also makes for interesting English-Swiss conversation! So that was fondue number one, a hearty meal on top of the heart-stopper we’d had earlier in a beer hall.

The beer hall we stumbled into after pouring off our overnight train was no steins-on –the-wall-and-cowbells piece, but a serious den for alcoholics. I think we were on the verge of being chucked out when we asked for mineral water rather than beer, and opted to share a heaving plate of rosti, cheese and bacon, rather than attempt one each. Good move. This was the kind of food that either kills you or makes you stronger. We redeemed ourselves only a little with the waitress (who looked like she carried a rolling pin behind her apron for use on the hall’s patrons) when we ordered our coffee topped up with bitter herbal liquor – no name for it, it was ‘house’. Though we were in one of the richest cities in Europe, we’d stumbled on the bottom-end’s pub.

Cheese is of course synonymous with Switzerland. Especially the big wheels of ‘Swiss’ cheese in all its holey glory. There are many surprises however for anyone willing to try something other than emmental or gruyère. A Swiss meal other than fondue that celebrates the cheese board is boiled potatoes (kept warm in a special padded bag unique to that purpose) served with a selection of cheeses and salads. I adored the Rostiger Ritter (‘rusty knight’) cheese, and not just for its name as it has great smooth texture flecked with tartaric crystals. Also L’Etivaz is a remarkable cheese, named after our good Swiss friend’s ancestral village. Apparently it’s made the way gruyère was 100 years ago, only from the milk of cows on summer pasture and made by hand by our friend’s grandparents. Similar to gruyère it’s creamier and subtler. Another I particularly enjoyed was the white cheese bärlauch, which is soft and flavoured with a centre of wild garlic – quite pronounced and quite delicious, especially smeared on warm potatoes.

And then there’s the charcuterie. As we poked around Swiss sites, at every opportunity a very hospitable friend of our friends would duck into an aromatic shop only to emerge with yet another of his favourite sausages for us to try. Paired with beer, local wine, local schnapps, crisps or whatever, invariably the Swiss Army Knife would come out of his pocket and slice and dice as soon as we sat down for a break amidst our wanders.

Michelin & the Street: Berlin

BERLIN Too much currywurst, is simply too much currywurst. And I don’t get it. Previous to landing in this awesome city we’d had this late-night dish built up as Berlin’s answer to the kebab so we thought we’d do our duty and eat it as often as possible, in our search for the city’s finest. Nup, I’m not convinced. It’s a plate of chopped up bratwurst (usually pretty withered too as these are train station fayre) doused in tomato sauce and curry powder. Now I’ll admit that the first currywurst we had was probably the best – from outside Gesundbrunnen underground station. There was a queue (it was lunchtime) and the bratwurst was bursting from its natural skin. However, subsequent sausages were dry in the mouth or with chewy artificial casings so I left Berlin not too concerned that I’d have to stick to kebabs after the pub in Sydney.

Of course the beer was fun to taste and the Rieslings were too, however what I really fell in love with was herbal liquors and liqueurs. Shots of Kuemmerling are sold in packs of twelve tiny green glass bottles in the supermarkets and are supposed to be good for digestion. They are actually very convenient for slipping a few in your handbag before going out to bars where the drinks are bound to be a bit pricey. We stayed with a friend whose extremely cool band mates caught us drinking Kuemmerlings in the kitchen and were very amused as they’re what German oomas drink. However, we suspect we may have kicked off a little revival of the drink – at least amongst the indie kids scene, because Kuemmerlings are cheap, powerful and quite easy to drink. They might even be good digestifs as well.

Michelin & the Street: the Netherlands

THE NETHERLANDS Is it chance or coincidence that the whole country cycles constantly and that the national dish is fries with mayonnaise? Either that or the meal is sausage and potatoes. And then there’s the cheese that’s everywhere and at every time of the day... Dutch food is hearty food so my advice for travellers is to do as the Dutch do and bike as much as possible lest the excess baggage be personal rather than in your suitcase. There’s a handful about my waist that I can put directly at the door of the Dutch. Beer, chips and mayo – mind you, all good things on their own…

Generally the dairy and chacuterie that we sampled was excellent; especially the cream which is often on the menu as an extra for your coffee, cake or hot chocolate. I have no idea why I found the word for cream so amusing (slagroom), but I did. And I ordered it at every opportunity. So why, if the cream is so good, are there so many of those little UHT milks everywhere? They’re excessive packaging and awful product for not much convenience. They should be banned. And I’m pretty amazed that so close to Italy the coffee of choice is drip filter. I usually drink my coffee black, without sugar, so there’s nothing to hide what a foul drop filtered coffee usually is. Bitter and baleful. Not at all what I like to wake up. Interestingly, apparently some travelling Dutch like to bring their own coffee with them overseas for fear the local brew won’t be strong enough.

One of my favourite things to do travelling is poke around in foreign supermarkets and I had enormous fun in the Netherlands. All I can say is: wow, I have never seen such a big dairy cabinet and range. I will be seeking out quark at home more regularly after a few memorable encounters (including one on an early morning train when we had to kinda shake it up and try and drink it out of the tub because we’d no spoon). I’ve also become a convert to yogurt drinks, though in retrospect I feel that may have contributed to the weight-gain as well. So there’s the dairy section – and then there are the meat and fish pastes. According to our gorgeous Almelo friend raw beef paste is what everyone’s eating nowadays in Holland. It’s like serving French Onion Dip at an Australian barbecue. There’s a hot paprika meat paste that I thought was pretty good and it’s bloody nice to see no one getting freaked out about raw meat.

And yes, we tried pickled herring: it’s fishy and wet. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get right into it for the sake of our lovely Dutch friends, however I did like the hot raw onion contrasted with the fish. I did not so much like the soft white roll it's often served in. It all got a bit mushy for me!

Michelin & the Street: Yorkshire

YORKSHIRE Yes, we tried Yorkshire pudding. Yep, it’s good. Ate it at The Blue Lion in East Witton, where, apparently, Price Charles likes to sup when he’s around. Nice. The pub’s Sunday lunch is another great example of good cooking without the bells and whistles, though scanning the regular menu there was a bit too much fusion confusion for me, so I was more than happy that we were there for the roast beef or pork roast. The roast beef with Yorkshire pudding was just what you’d hope for, once again accompanied by amazing fresh horseradish (I’m going to plant some back home). And I was glad I’d married who I had, as he doesn’t like pork crackling so I got to eat it all off our shared pork plate.

So another great thing about Yorkshire is that it’s surrounded by the cheese lands, a mystical part of the UK that produces Lancashire, Wensleydale, Cheddar, Stilton… Wensleydale was the revelation this time. A crumbly white cheese not unlike a dry fetta, I adored it accompanied by fruitcake as is the Yorky way. The cheese is a perfect foil for the richness of the fruitcake; adding something slightly sharp and fresh to the otherwise very rich and musty cake. A disappointing thing however, was the tea: it’s all tea bags. I just hadn’t expected that. I’d thought that somewhere renowned for its afternoon teas would do it properly with leaf.

The Yorke Arms in Ramsgill is a Michelin-starred restaurant in an out-of-the-way village. Before lunch we enjoyed a bracing little walk around the ridges and through the meadows filled with new lambs – we two Australians lived a half-forgotten ancestry. We came in from the cold, took our borrowed Wellies off and partook of a sherry (figuratively speaking – we actually drank a glass of Chablis) in the drawing room. On second thoughts we probably weren’t living the shabby lives our particular relatives had lived in England, we were living the BBC on Sunday night ABC.

Best thing about my meal (aside from the delightful company of our Yorkshire Friends) was a perfect crayfish tail. I mean the kind that rock your world – a reminder that they’re brilliant when jumping-fresh and just-cooked, and a waste of money otherwise. The crayfish came with a Whitby crab salad – a refined, gentile dish of just the sort you’d expect in a fine, upstanding establishment! Dessert too was a cracker of rich cream and new berries – so much so that I forgot to photograph mine before I’d eaten it all.

Michelin & the Street: London

LONDON Australians have been a bit smug about our restaurants for a while now, so it’s always a bit of a surprise to hear whispered that London is where it’s at. Personally, I’m not so sure about that, but it’s certainly come a long way baby, though I feel a bit sad about how hard it was to track down a great fish n’ chips joint.

Certainly the pubs have it all over your average Australian pub. Yep, it’s true. You could head into most pubs in London and feel comfortable. They don’t have pokies, they’re usually warm, they’re usually well-worn and stainless steel is rare. Pub-grub, on the other hand has definitely gone very upmarket since the last few times I was over there. In fact, instead of heading to the pub for a cheap, good-value meal, you’d be better off in an Indian or African restaurant: every pub in London wants to be a gastropub. That means nothing’s cheap. Waiting for my sister in the lovely, very old Windsor Castle Hotel in Notting Hill, we paid the equivalent of $12 for a plate of seven chips. I kid you not. They were nice chips. They were not enough for one let alone enough for two.

Maybe it’s the grey weather in London, because it seems like Italian food is everywhere. Italian restaurants such as Antonio Carluccio’s chain seem pockets of holiday sunshine, with delis in the front selling pumping red tomatoes and luminescent oils. It’s an odd experience, even if you’re not familiar with Putney, to find yourself in a little slice of Italy enjoying fresh buffalo mozzarella and gorgeous truly al dente pasta. My dining companions rated Carluccio’s citron panna cotta as right up there, and I’ll concur that it was pretty close to perfect with all the wobble of soft white breasts and just sweet enough. It’s still surreal however looking over the grey Thames eating food this sunny.

Now one restaurant that I’d been looking forward to in particular was St John Bread & Wine. I own the cookbooks and I love the philosophy (nose to tail eating). My birthday present to myself this year was four hours of blissful grazing at what became one of my favourite restaurants. Facing Spitalfields Markets, St John Bread & Wine takes deep inspiration from the district’s past as a meat market (it used to be referred to as London’s armpit due to the offaly bad waste smells). Fergus Henderson, the chef, has become a bit of a celebrity and I think he’s one of only a handful of chefs who really deserve it. He’s doing his bit for the underrated and underappreciated bits of the beast.

We kicked off lunch at St John with smoked eel and horseradish. And what horseradish it was! Anyone who’s been frustrated by a futile search for good jarred horseradish will know what I mean when I say this was fresh, creamy and kicked a hole in the top of your head. Then we moved onto cold rolled pig’s spleen served with shaved onion, pickled cucumbers and a vinegar sauce. I ate it in small squares, frankly overwhelmed by the iron in large pieces, however others at the table reckoned they could eat it all day, every day. Next up were whole deep-fried sprats (a small native fish), simply served with lemon which were very sweet and moist, not unlike large whitebait. Our shared main was a near-perfect dish of braised oxtail, unctuous and bone-suckingly good, served with the most delicious swede puree I have ever eaten. We actually didn’t want our meal to end. So even though we had a train to catch we ordered cheese (Irish Coolea) and Madiera, then dessert as well.

Now if all that talk of offal put you off, the desserts at St John are 100% comfort zone. The blood orange trifle was rich with thick, double Jersey cream and the buttermilk pudding with young rhubarb was tangy and creamy at once. We even considered another course before we looked at the time… in retrospect maybe we should have though because making our train just meant we got to Nottingham on time to watch a one-all draw and eat Balti chicken pies.

Back in London and we checked out Mr Jerk – bloody good jerk chicken, brilliant served with salad and rice or the ‘hard’ stuff (taro, sweet potato, yam and plantain). I got to overhear one of those conversations that make you giggle about stereotypes as two Soho types who (it divulged) were film producers moaned about one’s inheritance woes. According to my sister-in-the-know though, the best jerk chicken in London is to be found cooked over drums at the Notting Hill Carnival. Apparently the flavour is something to do with the kero or the oil residue in the drums.

About six years ago I visited Marco Pierre White’s restaurant Mirabelle by myself – lunch for one. It was like drinking very good wine by yourself: all the better for feeling a bit indulgent and naughty. So I figured it’d be nice this time around to check out his new restaurant Criterion, attached to the Criterion Theatre. The pre-theatre menu (and hey, we were going to the theatre so, perfect) was excellent value at around £16. It’s a visually stunning restaurant with its magnificent Byzantium-style mosaic ceiling, and the gold leaf everywhere and soft lighting means it’s somewhere I’d highly recommend for a date (everyone looks good in golden, low lighting). Unfortunately the service was haphazard (French waiters may add je ne sais quoi but they’re useless if you can’t make yourself understood without resorting to French) and the food was hit and miss. The pork chop I ordered was a little dry though my cauliflower veloute was competent. I hadn’t managed to replicate that aurored lunch of yore.

But I found nirvana in London again before I left, at Masters Super Fish. I reckon it could be the last great fish n’ chips joint in London. Near Waterloo station it’s filled with exactly the kind of burly blokes you want to see, so you’re already feeling good about it. Then your cod and chips come and you’re overwhelmed with shattering batter and succulent cod. Ah, chips the way they used to be before they became fries or pretenders cooked in oil that (ridiculously) purports health-claims. Here’s to lard, glorious lard. This is a reminder of why all fish and chips were originally cooked in lard – because it makes the best, crispy fish and chips. And at Master Super Fish you even get offered pickled cucumbers and pickled eggs with your meal. If we hadn’t spent the day walking in the countryside I probably would have felt a bit guilty about the amount I managed to eat off the mountainside put in front of me. As it was I even managed to pull a few particularly good-looking chips off my sister’s plate.

Michelin & the Street: Paris

PARIS My memories of Paris had been coloured somewhat by previous experiences backpacking there. It’s not the world’s easiest city to be very poor in, so I hadn’t exactly had the kind of food nirvana experiences other people had, at least up until now. Whilst ten years ago I’d lived on the Belgium Baguette (it’s a baguette filled with fries and mayonnaise), this visit we could afford ourselves a little more.

Whilst tempted to revisit Le Refuge des Fondues (an eccentric, cramped fondue joint where the wine is served in baby bottles), we settled on Bistro des Dames in low-key Clichy for our first night’s meal. My salad was a huge bowl of frighteningly fresh greens adorned with ruby-red smoked duck breast, half white, soft fat, slivers of saucisson sec and rich, liverish, odorous slices of gooseneck sausage. A salad for the non-believers I would say though it didn’t stop me poaching forkfuls of my husband’s crisp and melting duck confit.

It’s almost not worth visiting Poilane when in Paris considering they ship their wonderful bread to so many places now, however it’s the experience, oui? All the bread and pastry products are baked at the same temperature in the same oven at the bakery. That means only pastries that can cook well at the high temperatures required for bread are produced – many very rustic and from very old recipes. Amazingly, the mother (sourdough starter) has been constantly in use here since the 60s. This is such a famous bakery that you can buy souvenirs such as an aprons and bread slicers.

The almost side-by-side ‘gourmet’ food stores Fauchon and Hediard are similarly famous foodie joints. After being given tours of both stores I’d say they’re both worth a look-in if you love preserves, for which both stores are justly famous. Otherwise I think you’ll find all the spices, foie gras and bits and pieces you need elsewhere and to be honest, I was a little concerned with the coffee storing techniques at both places where style seemed to win out against freshness! I was really impressed though with the artfulness of the food displays, particularly at Fauchon where the take away and eat in café serves food that would do well on display in the Louvre. Priced to match, of course.

A pleasant surprise in Paris this visit was the Lavinia wine store. It’s innovative in design and function with tastings available for many bottles of wine (for a fee per taste), making lunch there an informal wine tasting if you choose it to be. We were even let into the vault for a poke around (I don’t mean that literally, I was too scared to breath on most of these wines…). There are two sanctums in the vault. The first contains some of the most sought-after wines in the world, including about forty extremely fine wines from Australia (such as Hill of Grace and The Armagh), but the second is literally behind steel bars and the average cost per bottle in this little cave is $16,000. Apparently its contents are big with Russian mill/billionaires.

Christian Constant is a big-name chef in Paris who seems to have nurtured an inordinate number of protégés. Our lunch at his flagship restaurant Le Violin d’Ingres would be a sample of his new menu: one adjusted to make dining a little less formal and more accessible. Having said that, the restaurant is frequented by the biggest wigs Paris has.

We were offered tiny sweet new season radishes served with butter taken off a great wheel on the restaurant’s sideboard and salt flakes as we decided on our courses. Standout entrée for me was my enormous slice of brioche stuffed with mind-numbingly creamy foie gras and just-set pinot noir jelly. My main was the restaurant’s signature dish of almond-crusted sea bass with sauce ravigote. The fish was sublime however the crust seemed too thick with breadcrumbs, which soaked with oil meant I could only enjoy so much. Across the table the cassoulet was deft and competent but I suspect the real winner was the melting lamb and ratte potatoes, a simple dish of meat and potatoes slow-cooked in a sealed pot. Here was a fine example of the best of the season: milk-fed lamb and beautiful, tiny, incredibly tasty rattes from Bretagne. Winter was still apparent in dessert however: a blissful cream of chestnut made serious with strong coffee jelly set over it and studded with one fat, chewy glace chestnut. I wish I had written down the name of the chardonnay from Bordeaux that we tried however, as it was seriously one of the best wines I’ve ever drunk and if I’d the cash I would have kept drinking that all afternoon.

What’s the winning experience though? Well, it’s got to be cruising the Bagnitolles market in Clichy idly grazing on sausage, cheeses, tapenades and honey. The sheer range of honeys there is astounding, from oily, mechanical chestnut to buttery sunflower. More substantial snacks can be found in huge pans of creamy potatoes or racks of fresh breads and pastries.