Modest Mango

Location: 240 Ponsonby Road, Auckland

Scran: Big on flavour, forgiving on the wallet, lean on the paunch – that’s pretty much what Little Doric’s opinion of Fatima’s was. Pretty succinct, pretty spot-on. And best of all it was one of those serendipitous gastronomic discoveries that so often lead to the best meals. We had only ended up under its glowing outside radiators because the ostensibly better Turkish shack on Ponsonby Road was fully booked.

So you have picked up the crux of this review: Fatima’s was great. From the friendly girl behind the till with tattoos all the way up her arms (you know the ones I mean, the ones that look like sleeves) to the guy who brought out our food, all the staff were welcoming and smiley. The pitas were hot with succulent lamb and the mezze? Like a Turkish equivalent of a Pringles advertisement – served with crispy pita tortilla chip things, sprinkled with parsley and a few sesame seeds, we physically could not stop. The dips themselves were a fresh hummus and then a sweet carrot blend loaded up with what we think was cinnamon, garlic and possibly more chickpeas. The L&P was cold and refreshing. Everything was pretty good basically. And for a very reasonable price.

Rick Stein would have been proud of us. We didn’t quite feel like Asian food and we didn’t quite feel like European food so instead we went for Turkish, a cuisine and a country that literally straddles the two.

Price: $33 NZ for two filled pitas, one mezze dip with ‘pita chips’, and L&P.

Website: nada

Burr: 4

PS I just wanted to say ‘straddle’.

Basically because the thought of jam got me onto thinking about other stuff…

∼MJ out.

Mmm. Cream!

Like a well researched Tim Dowling article this post is informed mostly by a quick Google about the Lamington. One .pdf titled ‘New Queensland Icons’ tells me what I need to hear. Amidst a series of articles about cows, frogs, rugby shirts and hills, the local publication from somewhere in Queensland informs me that the Lamington is named after Lord Lamington and his wifey, Lady Lamington, Governor and Lady Governor of Queensland around 1900. The language gets pretty strident towards the end of the article with regards to claims that New Zealand invented this cake. Whatever Australia, Wikipedia tells me that the cake is probably named after the town of Lamington, South Lanarkshire, Scotland.

Three words for you. Typical. Fucking. Scotland. TV, electricity, the telephone, the microwave, the automobile, cakes dipped in chocolate and desiccated coconut… The Scots claim all of them and more as their personal inventions: ’Aye, we invented that, eh.’ Regardless, it sounds like the tastiest Lamingtons are found in New Zealand, who favour a Lamington (stale sponge, dipped in chocolate and dusted in coconut shavings) split in half and served with runny raspberry jam and thick whipped cream. (The Aussies like a bit of lemon curd in theirs.) And since I’m in New Zealand let’s call it a Kiwi thing.

The story behind the Lamington is that it used up any stale sponge cake on the go. However, although I did enjoy my Lamington today on Ponsonby Rd I couldn’t help thinking it was a bit dry. A tad… stale? Ah well, I’m going to put this down to charming authenticity as opposed to guff baking… Out of interest my special lady, who I’ll call Little Doric, would love Lamingtons, except she hates desiccated coconut. But as a proud, annoyingly patriotic, little Scot she will probably still lay claim to the sponge. After all, ‘pâtisserie‘, that’s a Scottish term, eh?

∼MJ out.

I have never wanted to sound like Alexander Chancellor but, at the risk of sounding curmudgeonly, I really, really hate coffee culture. I love coffee but I hate coffee people.

Maybe it’s because everybody is really buzzed about the series finale of FRIENDS airing next Wednesday night but Auckland is really obsessed with coffee. It’s a ‘coffee town’. Like Seattle. Which is good. I like Seattle. And I like coffee as much as the next guy. But when everybody is so fucking au fait with coffee types and I know jack shit I start to run into problems. Like today, my consultant asks me, ‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘Sure, just a regular black coffee.’

‘As in a short black?’

‘Sure, a short black coffee.’

‘So an espresso?’

‘No espresso, just a regular black coffee.’

‘But short? Okay…’

‘Yeah.’

Granted I got an espresso twenty minutes later.

There’s something wrong with food or drink when its nomenclature becomes so goddamn byzantine that the words you are speaking are no longer intelligible. Breaking it down, I see where I went wrong. I should have said americano.

‘Regular americano. Black.’ Boom. Done.

But I didn’t. Karl Pilkington thinks there are too many words in the English language. I would be more likely to disagree with him if this was the only time this had happened to me. But it’s not, it’s like the third or maybe fourth time it’s happened to me. And one of those times I think I did ask for an americano. And one time I asked for a filter coffee. For none of these occasions have I gotten a regular black coffee in return. Come to think of it I’m pretty sure the right answer is ‘long black’. But then that just sounds like it’s going to be massive… I don’t want a gargantuan coffee. I just want a regular black coffee.

I guess I’ll try again tomorrow…

∼MJ out.

Location: 128a Ponsonby Road, Auckland

Food: Hell Pizza, Burger Fuel, Murder Burger… New Zealand seems really keen on names that are tough and manly. Also, like many New Zealander references, I just don’t get a lot their stuff. Like the cat/kitten logo. Is it ironic? Is it like a devil cat? Is the cat a murderer? Do they use cat meat? Maybe it’s because The Shining just came out last year in New Zealand so demon children and the like are really in vogue. Beyond that I can’t think of any other reasons.

I wonder how English Glen would fare in this country. Or P! for that matter. I mean, at least there’s the internet but other than that it’s like popular culture doesn’t exist. People wear regular clothes, rarely with any references or logos. I don’t know if they go to the movies. TV is very non-descript. Maybe it’s a healthier way to live, leading a life based more on personal experience than superficial impressions from media… Whatever, I think I’d get cabin fever if I was born here.

All the more surprising then that they have so much great food. Or maybe not. Maybe the Kiwis are less amenable to any form of westernised franchisement be it clothing, media or food. Come to think of it, I haven’t even seen a lot of helvetica on the streets… Regardless of why it exists the fact remains that Murder Burger would be an institution in Manchester. There would be a permanent queue outside and it would adopt a reputation like that of The Sphinx in Belfast town. Scousers would begrudgingly come to Lancashire for venison burgers and fish patties. Its quality would be wasted on the miscreants that splurge out of Tiger Tiger every Saturday night onto the wet Manc pavement but still… it would be great nonetheless. It would be epic. Sadly though we are left with pubs, chippies and chain franchises for our burgers.

Question then: Where to go for a great burger in Glasgow or your current home-town?

Price: $13 for a Jalapeno Burger & Fries

Website: http://www.murderburger.co.nz/

Burr: 3

∼MJ out.