So, here the thing: I was invited to CQ Hotel’s Midwinter Medieval Banquet. Tim was happy as ever to be squired along also.

The pitch: CQ Hotel was holding (the first of what they hope becomes their annual) a medieval banquet, the ruse being that everyone had to wear costumes and no-one was allowed cutlery. I do enjoy a good ruse, and also the chance to dress up. Tim and I went to this last week, but between earthquake-sleeplessness and after-work busy times, it’s only now – on a sick day, of all days – that I’ve found myself with enough time to recount the evening.

What happened: Tim and I (he in this draped black creation that made him look awesomely sinister, I in this long gold dress I found in my closet that seemed suitable enough) were listed on the seating plan as The Minstrels of Vincent, which pleased me greatly. On account of his being referred to as Mr Vincent at another dinner we once went to, in front of a large crowd. The banquet was held in one of CQ’s conference rooms, and the table was wonderfully impressive – covered in sackcloth, dotted with wax and stains, with candles grouped on slabs of wood with fruit and leaves. Soup was brought out to us, but the accompanying spoon was the last time we got cutlery – after that, generous piles of food appeared and we simply had to reach for it and eat it. The menu ran like so:

Leek and potato soup baked in a cob loaf
Beer-braised ham hocks
Roast chicken with garlic and herbs
Pot-roast beef rump with Yorkshire puddings
Roasted beetroot, carrot, parsnip and apple with honey and rosemary
Baked potatoes with cottage cheese
Lemon tarts, nut tarts, pumpkin pie, bread, fruit and cheese.

Impressive, yes? I admit, less impressive are my photos of the evening, due to the authentically low lighting – imagine how hard it must have been to be a food blogger in actual medieval times, though! (Not to patronise you, but in case you emitted a horrified gasp, I do know they didn’t have food bloggers back then. Why, it wasn’t mainstream till Edwardian times! Okay, I don’t even know where I’m going with this joke.)

The coolest bits: Look, dressing up and waxing medieval requires some suspension of sensibilities, which luckily comes very easily to me. Maybe we’ve been watching a lot of Game of Thrones, but it really was hugely fun to be wearing ridiculous clothes and tearing apart meat with our bare hands (thank goodness for the finger bowls.) And the food, dumped unceremoniously on the table by our servers – in keeping with the theme, not because they’re actually bad at their job, I hasten to note – was just excellent. So good that I was almost thinking I could’ve handled living in Ye Olde medieval times, until I reminded myself about things like stretchy fabric and feminism and Instagram and penicillin. The meat in particular was perfection. Enormous ham hocks, stickily salty and ridiculously tender, beef that fell to pieces, richly garlicky chicken. The vegetables, tender and caramelised, were studded with caraway seeds and provided necessary cut-through to all that rich protein. It was all just so, so good.

Probably the only thing that didn’t sit right with me was how the staff serving us were referred to as ‘serving wenches’ – something like ‘minion’ would’ve sounded medieval but not been so awkward? But that aside, the staff themselves were great, throwing themselves into the theme with varying levels of aplomb, and kept everything moving along calmly.

I am terrified of audience participation, so didn’t take part in the dancing that ended the night, but it was certainly a nice way to wrap it up, watching people do-si-do-ing to Greensleeves while I nibbled on wonderful spiced pumpkin pie, pleasingly sharp lemon tarts, and welcomely clean, crisp melon slices.

On a scale of 1 to Is This A Dream: This edges towards a 7. Not that it wasn’t a wonderful and extravant experience, but more because it was really quite surreal and literally dream-like, wearing flowing robes and tucking into food with one’s hands and drinking wine from metal flagons and so on.

Would I do this for not-free? We had a really fun time at this dinner. I do suspect though, and I’m not just saying this to try make myself feel more relevant, that it’s the sort of thing that might have flown under my radar if I’d simply seen it on a list of upcoming events. However, if I’d read someone’s account of it – oh, say, like the one I’m writing right now – I’d be a lot more interested. I certainly recommend keeping an eye on the CQ Facebook page for any upcoming events though.

Earnest thanks for making me feel fancy to: CQ Hotel, 233 Cuba Street, Wellington. See also CQ Restaurant, Cafe and Bar.

The story behind this occasional segment on my blog goes a little something like this: though I’m not actually terribly fancy (as I type I am wearing disintegrating trackpants, a jumper of Tim’s, socks stained with the red wine I just kicked over) occasionally fanciness is thrust upon me. For I…am a food blogger.

As I’ve said before, I initially felt like I never wanted to talk about the nice things that happen to me on account of this blog, in case I came across as a self-congratulatory dick (or at least, more so) and in case people were entirely put off by such stories of good times for free. But eventually I decided it might be an even better use of my time if I tried to write about them anyway, in spite of my awkwardness. It’s a good challenge to do so and not sound awful, plus I’m not entirely ungracious, plus there’s the chance that people are interested in what ideas and events are happening at restaurants and so on. And really, it doesn’t happen that often, so the occasional diversion from my usual recipes adds crucial novelty value! Or so I like to think. Finally, I named this segment for a quote from the shrewd and endearing Jimmy James of the wonderful and underwatched 90s sitcom NewsRadio.

With that overwritten and defensive prelude concluded, here’s the thing: I got invited to Boulcott Street Bistro to try their T-Rex Burger. Tim, my ever-affable plus-one, was delighted to come along too.

The pitch: Boulcott Street Bistro know a thing or two about the fancy life. Not least because this T-Rex burger won the Visa Wellington on a Plate Burger Wellington competition last year. Chef Rex Morgan is on top of his game, or at least this is what Tim tells me. Tim has been to this restaurant about three times already with his work, whereas I’ve never once walked through its adorable heritage doors. Not that Tim works in the Long Lunch 80s, but let’s just say his employers aren’t at the mercy of the scrutiny of the spending of taxpayer’s dollars like mine are. Not that either of us couldn’t have gone there under our own steam either, had we put our mind to it. But anyway: Boulcott Street Bistro are proud of this burger’s big win, and so are offering it for $20 every lunchtime for the whole of July.

What happened: I know weather is so boring to talk about, and yet it also unites us in conversation quite safely in a way that politics or religion can’t. So, confidently shall I disclose that it was raining wildly on the Friday that Tim and I went to BSB, absolutely gale-force-bucketing down. Fortunately the restaurant itself provides warm, glowing sanctuary from the outside world, and I was instantly drawn in, like a death’s head moth to a light source. Tim and I were presented quite quickly with our burgers, resplendently stacked upon the clean, smooth shoulder bone of an erstwhile cow. A neat pile of fries and a small dish of tomato sauce completed the meal.  Despite burgers being relatively modern it really has a rather prehistoric look to it, hence the name – although its earthy decadence wouldn’t feel entirely out of place on Game of Thrones, either. (Tim: um, did it occur to you that the T-Rex name might also be to do with Chef Rex Morgan? Me: omg…no. For shame.)

The coolest bits: I, for one, was impressed by the imposingly large bone-as-plate conceit.  It just looks reeeeally cool. But that aside, the burger was disarmingly good. Beef upon beef, in the form of a chuck steak patty with BBQ short rib on top, celery mayo, lettuce, tomato all in the clasp of a substantive sesame seed bun. The beef was…sublime. The patty thick and rare, tasting properly of steak, undiluted real steak. The short rib – which I initially thought was brisket, since it had that shredded, falling-apart consistency – was ridiculous. Almost, I want to say, creamy? Just soft and tender and hinting at smoke and tomato sauce and vinegar without distracting from the pure beef flavour at hand. The pile of hand-cut fries didn’t look enormous, but were happily the ideal quantity. I like my fries a little crisper, but they were certainly the hot, goldenly salty accompaniment you want with this kind of food. The eye for detail extended to the tomato sauce, cooling, tangy and thick, and tasting of very recent construction. It was a spectacularly hearty thing to be eating on such a bleakly cold day, and it was quite clear how it managed to win last year’s competition.

On a scale of 1 to I Don’t Belong Here: 6. On the one hand, this is a relatively tidily priced lunch. On the other hand, I’d never been to Boulcott Street Bistro in my life before because I had this feeling it was slightly out of my reach, and made only for Rich People and Tim on his occasional 80s-style long lunches. So, it was exciting to be able to get through the doors finally, but I wouldn’t call this lunch unachievable in real life. Which is super!

Would I do this for not-free? I definitely would. I mean, I couldn’t quite insouciantly drop $20 on a lunch casually every day of the week (especially not Payday Eve), but if I framed it as a weekday-improving treat yo’self treat: sure! Achievable as. Last month they had a $20 T-Bone steak lunch, so keep an eye on them for what fun will unfold in future months. And you really do taste every last penny. In fact I’d pay a million bucks to just get that swoony short rib recipe.

Earnest thanks for making me feel fancy to: Boulcott Street Bistro, 99 Boulcott Street, Wellington. Ph 04 499 4199.

“It’s also something I’ve felt really awkward about disclosing. Oh sure, I’ll post the occasional instagram or tweet or passing mention, but I’ve never quite been able to reconcile the joy of free extravagance with the fear of making lots of people hate me by talking about it. I mean, I’m the type to immediately assume people would sneer and be resentful if they read about me writing about fun free dinners and events, rather than being interested in the dishes and so on, since, in all honesty, I tend to roll my eyes at such writing myself. Unless it’s really good writing – which it often isn’t.

So what made me change my stance? Guilt! No, I’m kidding. I like to challenge myself, and I think it is a decent challenge to write about this kind of thing without sounding like a dick. Also there’s the fact that it may actually be of interest to some people – hearing about what ideas and innovations are happening in restaurants, about exceptionally delicious food, about my stumbling-baby-deer attempts to describe the wine I drank. And I do like expanding on this blog’s scope every now and then. 

I’ve decided to dub this segment Fancy Pants and Plans To Match, a quote from the woefully underwatched but utterly brilliant 90s TV show News Radio, spoken by the character Jimmy James. I could let this devolve into a ranty essay about why you should watch NewsRadio but I will instead say this: it’s a better title than my original idea “Sometimes I get free stuff PLEASE DON’T HATE ME.”

What happened: Tim and I arrived, mingled a little awkwardly, as is our wont, and then made our way down to the back of the restaurant to find a place at one of three large tables. Marianne Elliot started us off with an overview of what was going down, and Lucas Putnam (her partner, co-owner of the place with her, El Jefe and Master of Tequila – what a title!) followed that up by telling us about the journey to get to this point, including collaborating with villages in Mexico to get their amazing ingredients out here in New Zealand while simultaneously supporting their local industry. Then affable head chef Will Michell gave us a brief cooking demonstration, saying “If I can cook Mexican food – and I’m from Bristol – anyone can”. He mixed organic masa (a rough flour made from corn) into a pliant dough, then squashed balls of it, heated them, then chopped them up and fried them to demonstrate how quickly you could make both tortillas and corn chips. Food was then brought out to each table – addictively sweet-salty lime-tinged roasted sunflower seeds, and punchily hot roasted peanuts. Bowls of corn chips made from white, yellow, and blue corn masa, bafflingly creamy guacamole, zingy salsa verde, and smoky, mild salsa ranchero. Bowls of poblano cream chicken, shredded beef, slow-braised in their master stock, and pork that – damn it x a thousand – I can’t remember what they did with, but it was faint-makingly good. We were then given a product catalogue which lists all the things you can buy – the salsas, the hot sauces, the spices, and so on.

Coolest bit: Firstly, Marianne is one of the coolest, most interesting people I know (seriously. This woman.) So it was great just to be there and to talk with her and hear her speak and support La Boca Loca and so on.

Also: I only drank a chargrilled pineapple and black pepper margarita like it was no big thing.

Pineapple’s sweetness, especially when intensified by heat, can handle a lot of spice. As can tequila’s sinuous robustness. It was an excellent update on an already mighty concept. The food was exceptionally good, and I liked the convivial nature of it – passing bowls around the table, everyone filling their own tortillas exactly how they fancied, exclaiming over how utterly drinkable the salsa verde is with complete strangers. And it’s always good to be reminded of that there’s not just heat or an absence of chilli when it comes to, well, chilli. From tiny as a Christmas tree light and fierce, to large, disconcertingly floppy, and sweetly smoky in flavour.

And finally, I was given a bottle of banana vinegar! Those two words feel like they shouldn’t go together, but in fact it’s bizarrely good. Made from the abundant platano muchas of the Mexican State of Veracruz, it has a delicate, rounded fruity sweetness and I can’t wait to try and use it in something. I feel like it might be quite amazing with avocado, but also maybe in a ceviche with lime?

L-R – Salsa Verde, Salsa Ranchero, Guacamole. Don’t make me choose a favourite, I can’t.

Freshly made yellow corn tortillas

 My dinner. Very artistic.

Salsa!

Wild herbs and dried chillies. Yes, I know. The photos got worse. 

From a scale of 1 to “Is This A Dream?” 5. On the one hand, the dinner was very fun and relaxed, but on the other hand, I was at a product launch and got a bottle of banana vinegar and a bag of beautiful, leathery chillies. Thrills!

Would I do this for not-free? Any day of the week. I adore La Boca Loca. And it is very reasonably priced, which is good because plain adoring a place is not always enough to feasibly get you through the door.

Earnest thanks for making me feel fancy to: La Boca Loca, 19 Park Road, Miramar. Ph 04 388 2451 

So…sometimes I get to do fancy things. By virtue of being a blogger. And, let’s not be naive, my old-media leanings through being a newspaper cafe reviewer/freelancer. It would be stupid to lie about how great it is: it’s the greatest.

It’s also something I’ve felt really awkward about disclosing. Oh sure, I’ll post the occasional instagram or tweet or passing mention, but I’ve never quite been able to reconcile the joy of free extravagance with the fear of making lots of people hate me by talking about it. I mean, I’m the type to immediately assume people would sneer and be resentful if they read about me writing about fun free dinners and events, rather than being interested in the dishes and so on, since, in all honesty, I tend to roll my eyes at such writing myself. Unless it’s really good writing – which it often isn’t.

So what made me change my stance? Guilt! No, I’m kidding. I like to challenge myself, and I think it is a decent challenge to write about this kind of thing without sounding like a dick. Also there’s the fact that it may actually be of interest to some people – hearing about what ideas and innovations are happening in restaurants, about exceptionally delicious food, about my stumbling-baby-deer attempts to describe the wine I drank. And I do like expanding on this blog’s scope every now and then.

I’ve decided to dub this segment Fancy Pants and Plans To Match, a quote from the woefully underwatched but utterly brilliant 90s TV show News Radio, spoken by the character Jimmy James. I could let this devolve into a ranty essay about why you should watch NewsRadio but I will instead say this: it’s a better title than my original idea “Sometimes I get free stuff PLEASE DON’T HATE ME.”

With that defensive preamble out of the way: Arbitrageur, and their Summer of Riesling Avec Menu.

The pitch: Arbitrageur, one of your unarguably more ritzy Wellington restaurants, has what they call their Avec Menu. Avec being French for “with”, it pairs several courses with a particular wine, in this case Riesling. European and New Zealand examples are served alongside the dishes – and that’s it really. Just well-considered food and wine pairings to get you questioning your tastebuds and providing some new stances on the delightful drink that is Riesling.

What happened: The menu was five courses, each with a half glass of a European and a New Zealand Riesling. The Riesling itself was divided into categories. So the first course had two from the Soft and Fruity category, the second course had two wines from the Crisp and Tangy category, and so on – Luscious and Exotic, Fresh and Aromatic, and Rich and Sweet making up the rest. So as well as being generally matched with two fitting rieslings, each course was matched with an overall genre. I think I may have overexplained this, but hopefully you get the idea.

The coolest bits: Firstly, everything was incredibly delicious. But the highlights easily included the market fish (pictured below), with its delicately crunching surface and texture as tender as mashed potato. You might think seaweed on fish bordering on shuddery overkill. But nay. It was punchily flavoursome in a deep, briny way, freshly salty, and perfect with the olive oil-rich soft eggplant and tomato that it rested upon. Tim and I decided that the New Zealand riesling – F Series Old Vine ’11 – was our preference of the two offerings. We also decided that tangelo was what we could taste in it, and that said element brought out the caramelised element of the crispy-skinned fish. The thing about trying to work out what you’re tasting in your wine is that it becomes easier to throw around statements like that the more you drink. Wheeee!

The other stand-out was the cheese course, featuring Over the Moon brie. Based on this experience, I should like to buy myself a pallet of their cheese, take a week off all work and socialising, and to quietly eat it all while watching a really good quality TV series in its entirety. Actually even without the cheese that sounds kinda blissful right now. But then I am, as ever, underslept. Uh, anyway, the cheese:  sublime. It tasted like butter, good homemade butter – soft and richly creamy yet clean with a mildly tangy finish. It was served with figs, quince paste, grapes, and walnut raisin bread. Each of which provided their own obvious complementary services to the cheese. The wine that went with it – we opted for just one option at this stage, Kerpen Wehlener Sonnenuhr Spätlese ‘10 from Denmark – was possibly the best glass of wine I’ve had in my life. Admittedly, most of the stuff I buy is in the $9-$12 category (oh okay, $9 – $9.50) but still. Like the cheese, it was somehow clean and rich at the same time, with luscious crisp hints of melon and cucumber and honeyed sweetness. Tim and I both felt genuinely a bit forlorn once our glasses were drained. And then we told ourselves to get over it, because: free.

And finally: I appreciated that restaurant manager Gary was friendly and relaxed. Dinners out can be a little intimidating in their own way – well, I sometimes get nervous I’m going to select the wrong fork and have every bourgeois person in the restaurant suddenly stand and point at me and cry “imposter!” or something. There was no chance of that here with Gary, who explained what was happening with each dish and wine without micromanaging our dinner in any way – more of a casual discussion whenever a new course came out. The menu itself was also substantial enough to be exciting but the courses weren’t so heavy and enormous that I felt like my lungs were starting to fill up with food. It was also kinda nice to not end up incredibly drunk from all the wine on a school night – half glasses were perfect.

From a scale of 1 to “Is this a dream?”: 6 – The menu was impressive but not intimidating or inscrutible, and the staff were friendly. On the other hand – one of the wines we had: a bottle of it would’ve put us back $161. We drank it verrrrry slowly.

Would I do this for not-free? Well, it’s not a particularly good time to answer this question, considering our bank balance is forcing us into not buying anything, let alone dinners out. If it was a special occasion, and spiraling credit card payments weren’t hanging over my head like credit card payments that had learned to fly, I think…yes. Honestly. All up, five courses and ten half glasses of occasionally-shockingly-delicious wine would come to around $180-ish, and if you choose one half glass per course, around $120. Which in Wellington at least, seems very comparable. Five courses. Considering plenty of places will charge you at least $30 for a main course, I mean, you do the maths. (Seriously, you do it, anyone do it, just not me. I hate maths.)

Earnest thanks for making me feel fancy to: Arbitrageur Wine Room and Restaurant. 125 Featherston Street, Wellington. 04 499 5530.