Penguins and rabbits

Yesterday was Anzac Day in New Zealand. It commemorates the landing of their solidiers in Gallipoli. Nearly 3,000 were killed.

It was also World Penguin Day, as 25th April is the day the penguins in the Antarctic head up north. I didn't have any penguins to hand, nor a black and white suit (the day's required dress) in my wardrobe. Neither did I partake in the Anzac Day gunfire breakfast (coffee with rum) at dawn. Nevertheless, I marked both occasions with a latté and a freshly baked Anzac cookie at work later in the day.

I came home to an announcement in the letterbox that a rabbit had been found three times. I hadn't lost a rabbit so I didn't pursue it but it's nice to know some things are found alive and well.

Even if they've lost their owners.

Shots and chardonnay

I've just started a part-time photography course. My tutor's married to a radiologist. So he photographs people as he sees them and his wife takes care of the insides. Between them, they've got all angles covered.

My compact digital didn't cost a lot and has held out well over the past few months. It was dragged out here from the UK and, whether it likes it or not, spends most of its time at the bottom of my bag without any guarantee of sunlight or a glass of wine for days on end. Though it's seen some interesting things in its short life.

Since moving house last weekend I've discovered a potential diet tip: keep your fridge in the garage. Okay, so it's highly inconvenient - but that's the point! If retrieving a chilled bottle of chardonnay involves unlocking a door, descending five steps and repeating the process in reverse then it might make you think twice. Though, second thoughts, what's five steps and a door? And, besides, God didn't invent red wine for nothing. Nor peanut butter.

Who needs fridges or diets anyway...

Cake, wine and porky parcels

So - kitchen work. Fingers get cut and arms are burned.

And often they all belong to me.



Shifts might come with their hazards but I'm quite lucky really.

I get to scoff plates of staff food whipped up by five-star chefs as the first orders roll in for service and taste trays of freshly baked cakes (okay, so they're not necessarily created for me but quality control is a great thing). I sample wine off the shelf and top baristas put unbeatable cups of coffee down before my very eyes to knock back whilst scrubbing saucers.

And last night a friend, a Chinese barista and accountancy student, made me a hundred pork dumplings.

They weren't all for me, of course, though I did my best. Each was a prettily pinched parcel of minced pork and seasoning (soy sauce, rice vinegar and sugar), boiled in water until fat and puffy, then served in bowls with soy and chilli sauce and dark vinegar.

Chop sticks optional.

Depending on which part of China you're from, dumplings are eaten as a simple brunch or at special occasions.

In Auckland they're incredibly moreish anytime, but particularly on a dark, wet night.

Easter - and not an egg in sight

Today I left the city on the 199 westbound to a tip of Auckland, a place called Point Chev (it's short for Chevalier but no one calls it that) to see what life was like out west.

But not before a wake-up double flat white in the Strawberry Alarm Clock and Easter greetings to its resident animals. Today it was the tortoise and the octopus. The bunny was busy.

So, Point Chev. First stop's a cafe called Vicino, where I sit outside with a flat white and a reheated wodge of beef lasagne ($6.50) and the Dog has some water (free). At the table next to us a mobile rings It's Not Unusual and two women behind us talk leisurely about sewing and growing vegetables. They're all locals.

A lime green chevette chugs rustily by. Twice. Point Chev is a slow-paced place, even for boy-racers.

We walk down to the beach then up a hill where we pause at a bench in the sunny breeze and take in the city views across the shiny water. An ice cream van somewhere behind us belts out Greensleeves but when it stops the birds start up again and the grasses rustle around.

It's lovely.

But as the sun starts to dip, a cold beer becomes an inviting prospect.

A supermarket festival

I couldn't not go to Auckland's Wine & Food Festival. So I went. It cost me $20 to get in and was a bit like paying to go to an outdoor supermarket. That's because it was sponsored by Foodtown - one of the supermarket chains in New Zealand - and was held outdoors.

So what's new in the crisp world? Tzatziki. Call me a wet weekend at a food festival but if I fancy yogurt and cucumber then I might have just that - separately. Crisps optional, on the side, and preferably plain. Just so you know for next time.

Well okay, there's also best-sellers prosciutto and brie crisps too. That's posh smoky bacon and cheese to me and you. Vegetarians get the green light though, as the prosciutto is cleverly simulated by flavourings. Let's just hope they didn't mix them up with the Parma ham flavourings, which wouldn't do at all.

What else? A ready-meal delight of butter chicken with rice which made numerous appearances in small plastic cups, mountainous cubes of cheese from all types of milk-giving animals (mainly cows and sheep really - the odd goat thrown in for fetta measure) and there was a baker who I later spied turning prawn kebabs in the adjoining tent.

On the plus side - some amazingly huge (note wine glass for helpful proportionate guide) hulks of roman bread called casareccio, made by an Italian restaurant called Aquamatta, who'd somehow managed to bypass the Foodtown connection and snuck in through the back gate. Each loaf was the size of a pillow, though try plumping it up and you'll break your hand - its crust is as rough as a rock. Apparently after a couple of days, it makes great bruschetta and breadcrumbs. The Italians never being ones to waste a crumb of bread.

And there was Freedom Farms who pioneered the production of free-range bacon in New Zealand. Lots of freshly fried bacon bites to be had - though they should have teamed up with Aquamatta's loaves if you ask me.

The best thing I ate - hot-house cherry tomatoes on sticks. Orange-red mouthfuls of tangy sweetness that tasted like food. And you can't beat a stick for its functional woody simplicity. Especially when it's handed to you on a plate.