City Eats: Big Bad Wolf (Charcuterie)

 

When I go and see art, particularly dance, I like to see some fireworks. That doesn't have to mean they're doing the splits on top of a pile of squirming cats surrounded by dry ice (though, come to think of it, that might be cool) but too much subtlety and in-jokiness is completely lost on me - I'm a total pleb, mmkay? Which is why I was so impressed when I walked into Big Bad Wolf - they had a pig on a spit! Just casually rotating in the corner, as you do.

Their main focus though, is charcuterie, which as a food genre is pretty poorly represented in New Zealand - sad, because cured meat particularly (though they also have sausages, rillettes and terrine among other things) can really enhance your life through convenience, and give me convenience or give me death I say. Think about it; it can go with you on a roadtrip, camping, on picnics - hell, you can probably post cured meat and it would be okay (pleasedon'tsuemeifyoudieoffoodpoisoning).

When I went to Big Bad Wolf with the Gingerbear, I ate the pig on a spit sandwich and he had meatballs in tomato sauce off the blackboard lunch menu, both of which were a bargain considering the size and deliciousness of them and the baguette was just right - crisp and shattery on the outside and soft but substantial within. Later the same day skinny meat - so called by Team because it is generally sliced thinly - was purchased; the jamon iberico was slightly chewy with a background of melty fat and the soppressata was pleasing also. I don't particularly love jelly in its savoury incarnations but the terrines were rather intriguing; they have things like alligator and wallaby which, if you're a seeker of novelty foods like me, is a thrill.

The service is also awesome, especially if you like to be called "darling" by strangers and regaled with stories of the provenance of the food. I'm going back soon, hopefully for dinner - the two-course menu is $50 and three-courses are $60.

Big Bad Wolf's website is here and they're open for lunch Tuesday to Sunday from 12-2pm and dinner 6-10pm but the shop is open Tuesday to Friday 9-5.30pm and weekends 10-3pm. You can call them on 04-382-9111 and they are located at 262 Wakefield Street, Wellington Central, Wellington next to Commonsense Organics.

Climbing the Ladder

It never occurred to me that I would have to have a career when I grew up. I don't mean that I imagined I would be a lady of leisure or a stay-at-home mum or anything - that's pretty much the opposite of what I thought - in fact, I started telling anyone who would listen that I didn't want kids when I was about seven. It just...never occurred to me really. Which is weird, because I got my first job when I was 14 and have worked on and off in kitchens and teaching English in various countries ever since, which is two parallel careers of sorts, I suppose.

But only retrospectively - it's not like I planned it; I'm always amazed at people who have like, career direction. And when they talk about it I think "god, I should get some of that" and then I forget and go eat a feijoa or something. Maybe it's just one of those things that people kind of want but not enough to do anything about (visible abdominal muscles, an encyclopaedic knowledge of music from the last 50 years). 

I guess we all have different priorities and I'm starting to feel okay with that, or at least less anxious about it, except sometimes in the middle of the night. I mean, I don't care about getting rich. Or even owning a house, particularly. And I'll never have to support kids, which is always something that's made me feel like I have plenty of time. 

Prioritising the thing that is most important to me which is leading a life that allows me to have control over where I am and what I do most hours in the day and working backwards from there instead of choosing a job I want to do and submitting to its vagaries makes sense to me. It's not like I don't have goals, I just don't have a five year plan.

And having a career direction is such a thing in our society, isn't it? It's quite embarrassing if you don't know what you want to be when you grow up, especially when you're 32. Some people seem quite affronted if I say I'm happy doing what I do right now, and I'll see what develops out of that as I go along, they look at me like I'm broken. But I'm not broken. 

A Miscellany of Bibelots: The Ninth

Since I ought to be frantically designing a study to measure whether or not curriculum change in New Zealand schools has impacted on food literacy and food security, I am (naturally) writing posts instead. 

This episode of bibelots is brought to you by the strange bedfellows food...and economics. Don't worry, the latter of the most pop variety, I promise.

I made these okonomiyaki t'other night. Well actually, I made the mix and left it on the table with a gas burner so my people could eat them hot off the griddle. They were perfect; shrimpy, spring-oniony and delivered a little vinegary heat surprise from the sriracha in the mayonnaise. I served them with tonkatsu sauce as well and upped the amount of shrimp by half again - okonomiyaki, then the sriracha mayonnaise (made with kewpie, natch), tonkatsu sauce, toasted sesame seeds and bonito flakes = major food joy. Making again, soon.

I get my news from my Twitter feed, which means I get a very strange mixture of things indeed. Recently: The Guardian on an economic revolution. Gawker (I know, I know) on an economic apocalypse. And so, why not put your money into cheese? And I mean that literally - that seems to be what they do in Italy (ha! and just as I write I realise that is no shining endorsement since that country is not, shall we say, entirely solvent). 

And lastly...I hate to admit it. I have insisted, flying in the face of all reason as is my wont, that this doozy of a summer shall last until May. But the mornings, they are a-colder (happily, the days are still warm so I only have to suspend disbelief for a few hours a day). Eating this porridge helps keep me cosy, but also makes me feel a little bit like I might be able to face reality. Because if this is what reality tastes like, I miiight be persuaded to accept it.

Ethnic Food in the 'Burbs: Sri Puteri (Malaysian and South Indian)

 

We went to Panmure, you guys. Pan. Mure. That is some dedication to the cause, amirite? I mean, we had to get off at that horribly confusing offramp and drive through acres of industrial wasteland to get there - but it was worth it, mostly.

Sri Puteri is one of those places that have pictures of people like Peter Gordon and Rachel Hunter on the wall but as I've said before and will, no doubt, say at least another hundred times in my lifetime because I just love repeating myself and also because I can't remember what happened three minutes ago, let alone what I said days and days ago - you don't go to south-east Asian restaurants for the ambiance. Or you shouldn't because it will suck. Ambiance is overrated anyway; I'm here for the food.

The service, however was lovely - we asked for more plates, and bowls and cutlery. They brought them, promptly. I asked a lot of questions. They smiled a lot and answered them. They read the order back. I love it when they do that, it's the little things.

We ate roti chanai (the seafood and chicken versions - if you only get one, choose the latter) and the roti were thin and crisp and buttery. The satay chicken, nasi goreng, beef rendang and char kwayteow were good but the coconut butter prawns, ohmygod. I could plunge my face into that every day of the year if I weren't too vain to allow myself to become a clone of Jabba the Hutt.

The laksas and mamak rojak I was less convinced by. It must be said I have a bias against any laksa that does not spring forth from the Selera kitchen (because really, I don't believe it is possible for another as good to exist in the space-time continuum without it warping) but the noodles were soft. Too soft. They should have heft. Chew. The mamak rojak wasn't bad...it's just that it was only okay. Not as good as the version I'd eaten the week before at Little Penang in Wellington but even that...well, I always wish it tasted more like a Thai yum, to be honest. I know that's unreasonable but I never promised I would be reasonable, did I?

So overall, I liked it and think it's worth the somewhat traumatic trek. Some of my dining companions seemed less convinced and we basically ate everything on the menu so no need to revisit I suppose. Onward and upwards, I think, but FYI, it was less than $15 each - it would have been a bargain at...maybe not twice the price but close.

Sri Puteri is open Tuesday to Friday 10.30am-2.30pm for lunch and 5-9pm for dinner and 10.30am-9pm on Saturday and Sunday at 59 Queens Road, Panmure, Auckland. Call and book if you have more than a couple of you dining - it's not a big place. There is also a room available downstairs for parties of more than about 10. Their number is 09-574-6775.

Happy Birfday, Bruvver

In the last ten years, I've missed a lot of my brother's birthdays, which makes me a little sad because I love him, and I love birthdays and it seems wrong that the two have not co-existed in the space-time adjacent to me more often. Today, he will be thirty.

Our relationship has changed a lot over the years; when we were small, he was my sidekick and I used to fill his head with all manner of half-baked ideas. I recall particularly a time when I was about eight and, convinced that I had a handle on how the stock exchange worked, I kindly proceeded to explain it all to him. When we were teenagers we were less close, although neither of us would have dreamed of not having each others' backs in the constant, and often secret, battles we waged with authority. When I left home, things changed again but our big sister and little brother dynamic did not, much. In the intervening years though, the two year age gap between us has come to mean little - which isn't to say the changes happened without any teething pains - it can be disconcerting at first when you realise someone who has unquestioningly believed you when you spout nonsense like "pock marks come from smoking cigarettes" has their own thought processes quite distinct from your own and sometimes, ne'er the twain shall meet. Perhaps it's also disconcerting to realise that your heretofore unimpeachably correct big sister does not, in fact, have it all worked out. 

I so much enjoy that we have such different areas of expertise and that not only can he explain esoteric concepts succinctly and compellingly but that he is always so genuinely interested in my stuff too. He helps my ideas coalesce by asking the questions that it doesn't occur to me to ask. Being Team Hashimoto is awesome but what makes me inordinately happy is that we make space for each other in our other teams too.

I'm grateful for all the good times we have, and the new ideas and perspectives I wouldn't have seen without you but most of all the quiet knowledge that I'll never be alone with you in the world. Happy birthday Mark-Musashi, you're my favourite.

PS: The metric equivalent of a buttload: it exists.