We drove the last leg of our Aotearoan road trip today, back down the Coromandel Peninsula and up to the largest city in New Zealand, Auckland. It was very strange to find ourselves among motorways and traffic jams again after four weeks spent driving along the quiet roads which cover the rest of New Zealand. The guide book reports that Auckland is twice the size of London with just 6% of the population, and we found that this puzzle resolves itself in the form of a huge amount of suburban sprawl.
The city centre itself comprises some fairly low-rise buildings choked by an orbital motorway, with just one small cluster of high-rise buildings serving to create the iconic skyline which is broadcast each week – repeatedly and from different angles – on The Apprentice New Zealand. Our hotel, the Mercure Windsor, is right in the middle of town (next door to Deloitte, conveniently enough) and after checking in we wandered around the town to buy some long sleeved shirts and sufficient insect repellent to permanently clear Cambodia of malarial mosquitoes. We found that most of the historic buildings still survive, now housing trendy shops and cafés, and the result is big city streets with a friendly small town feel.
For lunch we went to a food market described by the Rough Guide as 'salubrious', but after our meal arrived we both wondered whether we'd misunderstood the definition of 'salubrious' – confusing it with 'salacious', perhaps – as the atmosphere and food were both dreadful, with light relief provided only by the indoor sparrows (in New Zealand, sparrows play the role which Europeans reserve for rats and pigeons). The ginger chicken and summer rolls made up what was without doubt the worst Vietnamese meal we've ever eaten, and I doubt the honesty of the waitress who recommended it by claiming she eats it every day (if this is true, I am surprised she is not dead – by suicide if not food poisoning).
After a nap we went to the Tepid Baths down by the harbour for a spot of exercise. This pleasingly old-fashioned swimming pool was built in Edwardian times and reminded me of the Goose Green baths I used to visit in Dulwich, although we were less pleased that the majority of the lanes were taken up by a women's polo team, with the paying public left only to choose between the 'Aqua jogging' and 'Slow' lanes.
We wanted an extra-special blow-out meal for our last big dinner in New Zealand, and so ended up at Simon Gault's restaurant Euro on the Princes Quay, which in London terms is like dining at Claridges (or for New Yorkers, equivalent to three Russian Tea Rooms). We were very excited since for the past three weeks we've been following Mr Gault's superb new television programme Masterchef New Zealand. However, while the food was delicious the restaurant concept struck us as a rather muddled experience. A good example is my starter of tuna tartare, which was served with a plume of wood smoke. Heston Blumenthal might have served the smoke under a silver cloche to be whipped away as served, or at El Bulli they would perhaps have served it in a hollow ostrich egg, to be cracked open by the eager diner. Mr Gault, alas, just poured the smoke into a bowl and then stretched cling film over the top, balancing the tuna tartare on top of the cling. It was all rather cheap and, as the waiter didn't explain the dish, I didn't even realise at first that there was smoke inside the bowl and so went to great lengths to eat the tuna without piercing the plastic, figuring it would be unpleasant for my meal to tumble through torn plastic into the bowl below (which Mr Gault should appreciate, especially as next week's episode of Masterchef apparently includes a contestant berated for getting shreds of cling film in their food). When the smoke did finally come out at the end I felt as deflated as the cling film.
The relaxed atmosphere was also inconsistent with the fairly formal service – more fine French dining than relaxed Italian socialising – and this formality all clashed with the upmarket pizza chain décor and 80s-cum-Spanish-cum-Grace Jones soundtrack. We also struggled to understand why the menu emphasised local produce and sustainability, only to be told overly-laboured stories about ciabatta bread flown in each day from an artisan baker on the South Island (I suppose we should be grateful Simon stumbled across this apparently unbeatable baker, otherwise he might have had it all airlifted in from Umbria). The 'good food served well' concept was also lost in the complexity of the dessert menu of which we only understood about 30% (“Spoons of 2012” was especially esoteric, comprising “mascarpone ice cream w feijoa jelly, organic yoghurt & gorgonzola honey egg, berry fizz & honey sphere w lychee air”).
However, we can't dis the poor man too much as – despite his fame and fortune – he was still there at the rock face running the kitchen, and even had the good grace to send us a complimentary portion of garlic fries when he saw us waiting at the bar for our table. I might even go so far as to recommend Euro to friends visiting Auckland, even if Simon did betray me on Masterchef this week by eliminating handsome Andrew Spear merely for making a duff meringue.
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