WCC 6: Dining with Ducks

Written by Molly McCarthy

I’d never really thought of food as being particularly associated with New Zealand culture. Our perceptions of almost every foreign culture are rich with images of their exotic cuisine. But in New Zealand, aside from Watties’ attempts to nationalise their sauce (“You’ll always be a kiwi...”), we don’t really have a cuisine culture. Of course I love pavlova/marmite/weetbix/jaffas as much as the next person, but I don’t go to a restaurant to enjoy these delicacies, nor are they foods I would consider defining of our national identity.

My brief for this column was to discuss Wellington’s culture. I’d envisaged this to include gigs, exhibitions, theatre – of which there is an abundance in this fine city. Very recently however, I have discovered that, although we may not have a defining national dish, our capital city has quite the cuisine culture.

Perhaps it is simply because going to cafes and restaurants wasn’t something I did before moving to Wellington. Ask me about eateries in Auckland and, despite my 18 years of local knowledge, I would tell you that my favourite restaurant is Mt Albert’s '$1.50 Hamburgers’, where (you guessed it) you can get a delicious burger for just $1.50.

In Wellington however, I find I am never short of ideas on where to wine, dine or just perve on the waitstaff. Boutique beers? Head to cult beer bar Hashigo Zake. Delicious gelato? It has to be Kaffee Eis on Courtenay Place. And pizza? Cuba St’s Scopa. When I first went, I’d heard more about the hot guy who worked there than I had about their famous pizzas. Both lived up to my expectations.

But don’t get me wrong: I am not - and never will be - a ’foodie‘. I don’t go into raptures over fresh ingredients, would never religiously watch cooking shows and I’m certainly not known to spend hours planning my meals. I like processed cheese slices, can’t cook an omelette that holds its shape and last night I had a toasted sandwich for dinner.

I do however, enjoy experiences – I like atmosphere, ambience and I’m a big ol’ sucker for gimmicks. And on this front, Wellington most certainly delivers. Wasabi features a sushi train from which you pick and mix your dinner as the many plates of tasty Japanese fare trundle past. The nocturnal Midnight Espresso has an excellent selection of vegetarian food and drinks, for those times when you crave a milkshake and gluten-free chocolate cake at 2am. Fidel’s on Cuba St is entirely decked out in military decor, with its delicious pizzas also named after aspects of the Cuban revolution. In Wellington going out for dinner isn’t just about the food. It’s the place, the people, the everything. It’s something to get excited about.

But despite this plethora of choices available to us, last weekend a friend and I traipsed the length of both Cuba St and Courtenay Place for about an hour, unable to settle on a place where we both wanted to have dinner. Our hopes of finding somewhere quiet where we could enjoy a tasty meal and a fine beer seemed to be slipping further and further away. Eventually, having found Flying Burrito Brothers, Wasabi and Sweet Mother’s Kitchen all completely full, we settled on an old favourite. New World. Yes, as in the supermarket.

Armed with a small container of Rogan Josh, a glad-wrapped focaccia roll and a large bottle of Emerson’s Pilsner, we headed to the waterfront. Settling down in a sheltered alcove by the water’s edge, we ate our dinner off our laps and enjoyed the company of a large group of ducks. To the left of us, the lights from the city danced on the surface of an unusually calm harbour; to the right, Courtenay Place prepared for the Saturday night swarm to hit its many bars and clubs.

And as the ducks eyed up the last mouthfuls of our supermarket feast I mused that despite having the finest restaurants at our very fingertips,  sometimes it’s best  to just dine with a duck.