Taste, Up Close
What happens when we get close enough to feel it
The Kingfish Crudo at Londo in Christchurch, New Zealand
Wellington had promised to be an absolute foodie’s paradise sporting an inspired mix of complex flavors, origin stories and unique, innovative concepts. I had not only brought high expectations to Wellington but my trademark voracious appetite and the open mind and heart that shape it.
While Auckland may have had an illustrious line-up stacked with heavy hitters, Wellington’s was set with scrappy but graceful culinary masters and magicians.
I knew then that Margot would be a treat the moment I came across it. And I suspected any bar affiliated with it would be too. Luckily, I was right. Having arrived by design, before Margot’s doors opened, I saddled up to the aptly named adjoining bar, Next Door. Rain pounded the hipster neighborhood as I sat warm and dry inside.
Nothing about this unassuming waterhole cried out from the street but every aperitif and cocktail on the menu signaled smart and special. It was a tight but mighty offering and as New Zealand would come to teach me – these sensory-piquing little gems delivered in sneaky spades.
Easing my way through their riff of an Old Fashioned – everything at Next Door was craft and seasonally inspired – I overheard the young but wickedly talented bartender share imminent plans to move to Ireland, specific town to be determined. I was curious, a little jealous and a lot intrigued. I never grow tired of hearing tales of spunk and gumption.
This young man made following his gut sound so easy and inevitable. Not just easy, but freeing and further still revealing. Between sips of one of the best infused vermouths I’d ever had, I silently calculated it had to be the difference in years and accumulated obligations that made his leap seem so safe and stickable and mine seem so perilous and untenable.
Before I settled the bill, we talked vermouth and the trend moving through New Zealand to both sip and produce it. He sent me off with a taste of a local label and I wished him luck on his big adventure. I had yet to take my first bite, but my spirits were already soaring from two big hits off his story of purpose and this little bar’s outsized ingenuity.
Margot was even smaller than I thought it would be. It exuded a classic, casual elegance that wholly and warmly enveloped me. My meal there was one of many from a chef’s counter in New Zealand that I wished, before I ever got settled on the stool, could last all night.
Over the course of the next two hours I tasted one amazing dish after another. I started with the crudo and red plum. My mouth doesn’t just water in recall. It floods.
Crudo with red plum at Margot in Wellington, New Zealand
Next, I encountered a combination that would forever change my fixed opinion of green beans. Suddenly and finally, there was absolutely nothing boring about these edible pods. Margot’s chefs had tossed them with stracciatella, nectarines and crushed hazelnuts. Like the evening, I didn’t want this bowl of fresh crunchy discovery and goodness to end.
The green beans with stracciatella, nectarines and crushed hazelnuts at Margot in Wellington, New Zealand
Then came the beef tartare, a perfect combination of salty and savory with a touch of sweetness. I’m sure it tasted all the better because I could watch counter-side as the chef prepared it for me. I saw the passion, artistry and care that went onto every plate.
By the time I flash back to the sweet corn, a gluttonous add-on I couldn’t resist, and their decadent chocolate ganache, my chest tightens in bittersweet longing. I’m heartbroken at the idea that I may never have an opportunity to return.
As often as Taste inspires me, one might think this “after the fact pining” happens to me all the time. It does not. But it did surface without fail at four extraordinary small-format restaurants across New Zealand. It seems behind the infallible direction of Taste, my compass, I had uncovered and set my own little culinary niche and line-up – one that satiated my senses and connected my mind, body, gut and soul to the world just around me.
As good as Margot was, it would be Graze in Wellington and Londo in Christchurch that would go on to really shatter my heart in a most well-earned, worth every minute of the heartbreak kind of way.
I have to admit I sorely misjudged the pictures and vibes of both of these locations, which had in effect, kept them off my consideration list. So when I stepped into Graze, I was pleasantly taken aback by its uncomplicated charm and aesthetic. I took in the day’s menu on the chalkboard to my left and wondered how I’d ever narrow down the options.
The menu read like true vision in action. It was confident in its simplicity, showing restraint in scope and ingredients. It was creative and accomplished but not fussy or pretentious. Taking it in alongside the energy abuzz in the room – from the kitchen and diners alike – I gave myself permission to wonder if I had found a unicorn.
Then, I was read in on the best menu innovation I have ever come across in my travels, anywhere – the Snack Attack. Before even answering – sparkling, still or tap – Graze goes from just another chef’s counter to my favorite chef’s counter in the world. They had created a menu format, I had unknowingly longed for my whole life. It felt like it was designed just for me.
The Snack Attack: three snack-sized portions of almost any item on the menu, including the dessert menu, chef’s choice. Still hungry after one Snack Attack? There’s no frustrating, silly rules here – order another.
And I did.
Again.
And again…
Let me just say, as a solo traveler who loves to eat, try and taste, this was an incredible cover story and discovery. While I have noticed in the last year or so, a broader tolerance for half-portions for self-led travelers, this was different. This was innovation engineered for the curious AND insatiable.
The chef and his crew work their magic at Graze inside a footprint that couldn’t have been larger than a 16ft x 16ft kitchen on full display. They slide one plate – one masterpiece – in front of me after another. There is easy banter and conversation with the chef (he is from Eastside Chicago!), his staff and the other guests. An inspired wine list is expertly deployed by Graze’s gregarious co-owner who never misses with a recommendation and impressively appears just as one needs another pour.
Snack Attack #1: [Starter] Smoked Gouda Popcorn, Snack 1: Smoked Fish with Avocado Cone; Snack 2: Beetroot Hazelnut Tart with Grape Vinaigrette; Snack 3: Pretzel with Chili Beer Cheese & Salsa Verde. Paired with Pyramid Valley Orange from North Canterbury and a Alexia Chilled Red from Wairarapa
Snack attack #2: Snack 1: Creamed Greens Pierogi with Oyster Mushrooms; Snack 2: Butterfish Crudo with Cucumber and Chili; Snack 3: Honey Roasted Pumpkin with Smoked Ricotta and Pinenuts. Paired with Beach House, Hawke’s Bay Cab/Malbec
Snack attack #3: Snack 1: Cheese & Preserves with Crackers; Snack 2: Frozen Rosemary Cheesecake with Quince and Macadamia; Snack 3: Hot Cross Bun with Apple Custard & Miso. Paired with 144 Islands Bay of Islands Syrah/Petit Verdot.
It was pure joy to eat and simply be there. There was no uppity chef this and chef that. It wasn’t too quiet or self-absorbed. It felt like a microcosm, a slice of life – like it was the neighborhood’s kitchen. By the time the evening was over, I didn’t just want to come back, I wanted to throw on an apron and join the fun.
My travels would eventually take me away from Wellington on to Christchurch. Once there, I found myself blissfully captivated by a single city block remarkable by anyone’s standards for its concentration in Taste. I may have only been on the South Island for 48 hours but I took every meal in Christchurch without shame at the corner of Victoria St. and Bealey Ave.
I was only supposed to drop by Londo for a drink and maybe a small plate. I was due at Gatherings, located conveniently next door in less than an hour. I started with the anchovies figuring and re-figuring they couldn’t ruin my appetite too much. I was, after all, very much looking forward to an evening with the original reservation I had booked.
The anchovies at Londo in Christchurch, New Zealand
But as I watched this chef prepare plates of magnificent Kingfish crudo, I knew I couldn’t leave without partaking. The following day I was set to put in 11 hours on the TranzAlpine train. It was literally now or never. This was my only “free” night in Christchurch.
Crudo is light enough… I reasoned, feeling like a cheating glutton on the tastes that laid in wait on just the other side of the wall behind me. But no matter. The Kingfish was divine. There would be no regrets.
The magnificent Kingfish Crudo at Londo in Christchurch, New Zealand
The atmosphere at Londo was bright and artistic. The craft here felt more serious and subdued but not gratuitously or obnoxiously so. Wine bottles of all sorts of New Zealand vintages and varieties lined the wall at the ceiling. Once more I felt longing pierce my heart as deep-seated desire to stay and explore taste longer here gripped me. But alas it was truly now or never.
I peeled myself off the stool. I was doing it again, reaching for someday, my heart breaking just a little bit at the thought this might be my one and only encounter. I’ve come to recognize this aching, first as a clear signal and call back to the place in question. And second, as visceral proof that a place has in fact shifted something deep and real inside of me.
Before I ever left New Zealand I knew I would be back.
But now it was time to show up curious and hungry at Gatherings. And that I did. I walked into its quaint and cozy dining room draped in an inviting, golden glow. There was an easy and intentional simplicity to the décor betraying an appreciation for originality and the human touch. Everyone dined off elegant, bespoke wooden tables. Each tabletop was punctuated with a vase of wildflowers, and the walls were lined with serene but colorful oil paintings from local artists.
Underscoring the carefree mood which has been dressed to effortless, unfeigned perfection, are sensational bites and sips. I started with a purple peach and goat cheese salad. Then I tried the duck head sausage. I will naively admit that I didn’t think they really meant duck head when I ordered it. They did.
I capped off my two-timing, double dinner in Christchurch with a perfectly grilled leek. At the pleading of every sense in my body, dessert was ruled out as a matter of lacking capacity.
Gatherings had been a cornerstone on the itinerary of my first, failed New Zealand effort. As I more intuitively pieced the second – and the right – trip back in place, it was never a question if Gatherings would be my one and only dinner (okay… dinner reservation!) in Christchurch. I am so very glad it was.
Back home, the longing to return hasn’t subsided but neither has my infatuation with why these four places stirred up the collective intrigue that they did. I am certain whatever their meaning, it is an invitation to get closer.
I had leaned in and all the way forward when I sat at these tables in such close, unencumbered proximity to clarity and purpose.
Something in me had come to life.
My body simply sat differently as if my soul was suddenly and fully occupying it for the very first time.
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