eleven meals with mom

When someone comes to visit, you go out and eat and drink.  When someone comes to visit when you’re living in a foreign country after no one has visited you for six months, you go out and eat and drink A LOT.  This is what happened when my mom came to visit for eleven days.  Food didn’t stand a chance.  My liver was played by Sandra Bullock and was blindsided by Pinot Noir.  It may have won an Oscar.  I’m not sure.  I probably ate it.   

Back in the 80s when I was so very small, I had this beach towel with this scantily clad hippo in a bikini on it.  Below this sexy fat mammal were the words, “If you got it, flaunt it.”  I don’t know where I got it or why I had it or why my mom would let me, a so very small girl in the 80s, have such a beach towel but I had it.  And I never really understood it.  I used to think, “If I have what?”  “What am I supposed to flaunt?”  I was clueless.  Not anymore.  New Zealand is that sexy hippo and it is totally being flaunted out here.  The fresh produce.  The clean food.  The just-caught fish.  The smaller portions.  The endless vineyards.  And a real nice proper cup of coffee. 

And Mom and I had it all.  Seems only right that I now flaunt it.  Unbutton your pants.

1.  Prawn risotto with zucchini and topped with rocket.  Friday lunch at Alphabet Bistro.  Mom flew in from LA this morning and this was her very first meal in New Zealand.  It was important that it didn’t suck.  So I took her here and ordered the prawn risotto.  Even though I was at this restaurant the day before for lunch with my husband and ordered the very same thing.  He thought it was redundant.  I knew it was a sure thing.  It was.

 

2.  Steamed New Zealand green lipped mussels in chardonnay, garlic and fresh herbs.  Saturday night family dinner at Iguacu.  Which we call Iguana because we’re not quite sure how to pronounce its actual name even though we’ve only eaten here about five hundred times since we’ve moved here.  The mussels were unbelievably fresh with sauce you would drink out of the bowl if people didn’t judge you for drinking sauce out of the bowl.  (Please note this picture was taken about ten consumed mussels and a bottle of wine too late to properly represent this yummy dish.  Sorry, Iguana.)

 
3.  Smoked chicken, brie and caramelized onion panini with some sort of relish.  Sunday afternoon lunch stop on our way to Piha beach.  The most beautiful beach ever.  Just a sandcastle away from the beach where “The Piano” was filmed.   We bought this sandwich at a dairy.  Tiny little market with a little bit of everything.  Including a delicious smoked chicken, brie and caramelized onion Panini with some sort of relish. It didn't win any beauty contests but it did win our $9.50.  Food is not cheap, did I mention that?

4.  Salmon and avocado on a sunflower roll with tomato chutney.  Monday lunch at Milk.  This is a little café in my husband’s office building.  Which is down the street from the school where Mom and I volunteered all morning in Max’s class.  They were making masks for literacy week.  Everyone had to pick out a character from their favorite book and then make a mask to parade around in front of the whole school on Friday.  Max chose the blue penguin from Club Penguin.  Club Penguin is not a book.

5.  Waiheke Snapper with mussel croquette, butternut, pine nuts, broad beans and FLOWERS!  Mudbrick Winery on Waiheke Island.  This restaurant is described as one of the most romantic places on earth.  And it was.  But since Mom and I aren’t romantically linked, we choose to describe it as one of the best drinking places on earth.  And it was.  I ordered the Waiheke Snapper and not only was it awesome, it was beautiful.  It was stacked and arranged and drizzled and flowered and topped with a pile of foam.  I’m sure the waiter told me exactly what the foam was but the Mudbrick Sauvignon Blanc refused to let me bring home that information.

6.  Breakfast salad with bacon, poached egg, tomato, avocado and mesclun dressed in fresh herbs, extra virgin olive oil and lemon juice.  Wednesday lunch at Café People.  Charlie turned four on this day.  Mom and I celebrated by sending him to school and having this amazing salad.  If the breakfast salad could’ve ordered lunch, it would’ve ordered the breakfast salad and ate itself. 

7.  Nachos with homemade tortilla chips and everything that’s good in the world:  cheese, guacamole, margaritas, the Pacific Ocean.  Thursday lunch at Dos Amigos in Mission Bay was perfect.  There is not much Mexican food in New Zealand but what they do have is off the charts fresh and mighty.  Hola.

8.  Ravioli with Jerusalem artichoke, sage and walnut brown butter.  Friday night dinner at Coco’s Cantina.  Coco’s Cantina is one of those places where adjectives such as hip, dark, small, cool loiter about like the people standing at the bar waiting for a table.  If you want to eat here, you will have to wait.  A long, long time.  But if you can stand it, literally, you will be rewarded.  With this dish.  Because.  Oh.  My.  God.  C-razy good.

9.  Dinosaur cake.  Saturday birthday party for Charlie 4^th at Seedling.  A super cute kiddy craft store that sells super cute kiddy crafts.  This making of this cake involved a lot of assistants.  Mixer lickers (Max and Charlie), homemade frosting whipper (Mom), dinosaur body carver (me), expert froster (my husband).  This delicious quadruped was reduced to crumbs as the last verse of the Happy Birthday song still lingered in the air. 

10.  Trim flat white.  Sunday morning coffee from Mink Café.  This little brown takeaway cups may not look like much but the coffee from here – Mink and the entire country of New Zealand – is THE coffee.  I know other places say they have the best coffee in the world but they’re liars.  I’ve been to Spain, France, Costa Rica, Starbucks.  The moment the first New Zealand trim flat white hit my lips, I was besotted.  

11.  Maketu Prime Beef and Blue Cheese Pie.  A random meat pie Mom and I picked up at the grocery story eleven days ago.  Mom took the 1:05 pm Quantas flight from Auckland to LA on this day.  At 1:06 pm I realized we never got around to that pie.  It had 2,095 kilojoules (kilowhat?) of energy.  I decided I couldn’t consume all that energy without her so I didn’t.  Plus, it expired sometime between meal one and the 1:05 pm flight. So instead of using a picture of an old expired meat pie, here's a baby goat.  We went to a farm after we dropped Mom off at the airport.  We didn't eat the baby goat.

And there you have it.  Eleven meals with Mom.  I hope I made it very clear you have to come to New Zealand.  With or without my mom.  If not for the in-your-face beauty and the clean air and to visit me and the relentless hills and the ridiculously cute baby goats and the kind people and the charming accents that make you sound like you belong in a barn and the way “man oh man, is it pretty here” feels rolling off your barn tongue then come for the food.  And the wine.  And the COFFEE!

Someone please tell Starbucks we're through. 

the other me

I am not alone.  

That's what I discovered yesterday at Max's first soccer game.  I was standing on the sidelines in the mom zone, in yoga pants and a ponytail, watching my very red-faced seven-year-old while wrangling my very energetic three-year-old.  Next to me was another mom, in the same yoga pants and a ponytail, watching her very red-faced seven-year-old while wrangling her very energetic three-year-old.  A ball was passed or a kid ran by or something sporty happened when this went down.

Other Mom:  "GO, FINN!"

Me:  "GO, MAX!" 

She looked at me so I smiled at her.  You cannot call me unfriendly.

Other Mom:  "Where are you from?"

Never sure if I'm supposed to say America or Los Angeles or the States so...

Me:  "America--  Los Angeles--  The States."  

Other Mom:  "Oh, so you're new here?"

Me:  "Yeah." 

Other Mom:  "Me, too.  We just moved from Brisbane."

Hmm.  She just said "just."  I should probably correct myself.

Me:  "Actually, I don't know if I'm technically still new.  We've been here six months." 

Other Mom:  "Me, too!"

What?  Why'd she use the word "just" then?  Strange.  On a side note, if we're really counting...

Me:  "Actually we came at the end of September so eight months is probably a more accurate--" 

Other Mom:  "We came in September, too!  Has it been eight months already?"

She really has to get her story straight.  But she's right.  Eight months goes fast!

Me:  "I know.  So fast.  My husband came out before us in June--"

Other Mom:  "My husband came out before us in June, too--"

No.  Way.  Did my husband have a second family? 

Me:  "After just getting the job offer in May--"

Other Mom:  "My husband was informed of his transfer in May--"

She knew!  She knew my pain!  Misery, meet company.
Me:  "I was left alone with the kids for three months!--"

Other Mom:  "And I had to pack up the entire house!--"

I'm still mad I had to pack up the entire house and it's been eight months!

Me:  "ME, TOO!"

Other Mom:  "Worst time of my life--"

Me:  "The absolute WORST time--"

Awful.  Awful.  Awful. 

Other Mom:  "I fought with my husband on the phone across the pond all the time--"

Me:  "I picked Sky-ghts (Skype fights) with mine every chance I got and then walked out of frame."

Hmm.  I wonder if I can say across the pond?

Other Mom:  "That's so funny.  Are you all settled in?'

Me:  "I am.  Well, the kids are."

Other Mom:  "Same here.  It's time to for me now."

Me:  "Me, too."

And we looked at each other and smiled.  I guess I can't call her unfriendly either.  It was time for us now.  Even though we only knew each other for about three soccer plays, we were destined to be friends forever because of this moment, this bond, those three awful, house-packing months...

DING DING DING! 

And then someone rang the bell and the game was over.  All twelve games on this very large soccer field.  Mom zone was suddenly flooded with sweaty, red-faced seven-year-old boys in need of water and lollies and, I don't know, maybe some deodorant?  Next thing I knew there was a scuffle between my boys over who got the orange candy (Max) and who got the purple candy (Charlie), and she was gone. The woman who had been living my life in a different continent with a different man and different children and a different house and a different accent and a different hair color and yet the SAME yoga pants was gone.  I was confused.  How could she have left without saying goodbye?  Hadn't we made a connection?  Aren't we destined to share our war stories?  And that's when she tapped me on the shoulder.  She was still there.  With the other four thousand soccer moms wearing yoga pants and ponytails.  I really have to get a better look for soccer.

Other Mom:  "Hey, so, I'll see you next week."

Me:  "Yeah, I'll see you next week."

Dangit, I wish I had an Australian accent.

And that was it.  And that's when I realized that was all that needed to be said.  When you have a connection like me and whatsherface, names and words are superfluous.  I have no doubt we will be friends forever.  Or at least until next week.  When I am NOT in yoga pants and a ponytail. 

Me:  "G'day, Mate!"

She can't hear me -- partially because she's already in the parking lot but mostly because I don't say this out loud -- but if she could, I know she'd smile.  Me and the other me are very friendly. 

911 is 111 in NZ

You know what’s great about me?  I like to multi-task.  Make a list.  Get things done.  And when it all goes well and things actually get accomplished, I’m not going to lie, I feel pretty darn good about myself.  You know what’s not great about me?  I’m easily distracted.  By the lure of anything.  I wouldn’t be a good fish.  I’d have a hook in my gill as soon as I discovered I had free will and opened my mouth to bite the shiny thing.  And as I swallowed my own blood, I’d probably feel like a really dumb fish.  But I’m not a fish, I’m me.  And me plus multi-tasking plus distractions equals not good things.

8:15 am.  This morning.  I decided to make some hard-boiled eggs.  That way whenever someone wanted a light snack or a quick breakfast, the eggs would be there.  Genius!  Or it would be if I didn’t come up with this idea right as I was in the middle of doing five other things – all of which involved yelling at my two kids.  1.  Get dressed!  2.  Get your socks on!  3.  Brush your teeth!  4.  Well, find the sunscreen!  5.  WHERE ARE YOUR HATS?!  Not the best time to add to the list but I did it anyway.  6.  Put a pot of water on the stove with six innocent eggs, set the knob to high and leave…  the… room!

What could go wrong?  Ask Mrs. O’Leary’s cow.

This is where I blame New Zealand.  There are hills.  And houses.  And houses behind houses.  And houses down driveways behind other houses.  And lots of vertical living.  That’s our house.  A house behind a house sharing a driveway with another house and we have three floors.  You know what living in a house with three floors means?  You are invariably never on the same floor with what you need.  Watching TV on floor 1 and need slippers?  Floor 2.  Putting clothes away on floor 3 but left laundry basket by washer?  Floor 1.  This morning, getting kids dressed, socked, teeth cleaned, SPF’d, hatted (yes, Microsoft Word, “hatted”) and all of us out the front door on floor 2… and poor forgotten semi-boiling eggs?  Floor 1.    

8:35 am.  Walking my children to school is one of my favorite things to do.  It is a chance to spend time together, hold hands and take in the beautiful ozone-less sunshine.  It’s moments like these I’m sad we’re not on a reality show so a camera crew could capture this pure joy.  But then four deep breaths later when a squabble has erupted, I’m so thankful E! isn’t giving shows to non-Kardashians like myself.  Still, I love leisurely walking with my kids and lingering at their school. 

Back at my house:  six boiling hot eggs scream for help.  No one can hear them.

9:00 am.  After I confiscate a Lego Ninjago figurine from Max (for some reason he thinks “no toys at school” means “sneak toys into school”) and drop off both boys, I head to my husband’s work.  Back in LA, we had two nice new cars and always seemed to be driving here and there alone.  We never saw each other.  It was a horrible way to live.  So, in NZ, we decided we only needed one car.  A ’99 Honda CRV.  That is not a typo.  We own a twelve-year-old car and you know what?  It’s just fine.  It’s better than fine.  It’s shiny and comfortable and it turns left AND right.  We’re definitely being kinder to the environment now and I drove a hybrid back home.  If Leonardo DiCaprio knew we existed, he would probably bake us a thank-you cake.  But I digress.  So, every morning, this is our routine.  My husband drives to work in peace, I walk the kids to school in non-peace then I walk to his work to pick up the car and drive back home to work in peace.  End of day, we all pick up Daddy.  Good for the environment, my husband, our children and my ass.  Not so good for the eggs on the stove.

9:11 am.  Completely forget I have eggs on the stove.

9:12 am.  Pet a dog.  Dogs are irresistible. 

9:13 am.  Stretch out my hamstring. 

9:15 am.  Continue walking.

9:16 am.  Notice how hot the sun is so early in the morning.

9:17 am.  Turn the corner and see the Sky Tower.

9:18 am.  Notice how big the Sky Tower is.

9:19 am.  Think about stopping to get a coffee.

9:20 am.  Realize I don’t have any money on me.  Just my phone, my keys, Max’s Lego Ninjago and-- EGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGSSSSS!!! 

A series of expletives are then released.  Like doves at a wedding. 

9:22 am.  I fuh-reak out and start to multi-task like a crazy person.  1.  Reach in pocket to pull out phone and accidentally send it crashing to the asphalt.  2.  Reach down to pick up phone with newly shattered glass and Lego Ninjago flies out of my pocket, disassembles itself and pieces go everywhere.  3.  Start running like my house is on fire because MY HOUSE IS PROBABLY ON FIRE!  4.  Call husband to see if he turned off the burner only to find how he has no idea what I’m talking about so I hang up on him.  5.  Run down hill.  6.  Run up hill.  7.  Curse Auckland and its hills!  8.  Text my neighbor friend to let her know I think my house is on fire.  9.  Check the time.  9:30!!!  10.  Pray. 

When you think your house is on fire, you imagine the worst.  This is the worst:  My house is on fire.  All three floors.  My neighbor’s house is on fire.  The house in front of my house is on fire.  The hills are on fire.  The city of Auckland is on fire.  Leonardo DiCaprio is going to hate me for burning down New Zealand.  It’s a bad, dark place. 

I finally get to the car, buckle my bad, dark place in the passenger seat next to me and race home.  I am a complete and utter mess.  I pray to God but I’m sure He can’t understand me because, again, complete and utter mess.  All is interrupted when I hear the wail of a siren.  Waitaminute, that’s not a siren.  That’s silence.  I look up in the sky to catch the plumes of smoke.  But there are no plumes of smoke.  Confused, I turn down my street and-- Hey!  Where’s all the ash?  And that’s when I see it:  my house.  Behind a house.  Next to a house.  Not on fire.  At all.

9:42 am.  I burst through the front door on floor 2 and fly down the stairs to the kitchen on floor 1.  I gasp.  On the stove are six of the hardest-boiled eggs in a tiny puddle of water.  A tiny puddle of water that should not be there yet there it is.  I then do what anyone in my shoes would do.  Multi-task. 1.  Burst into tears.  2.  Thank God a lot.  3.  Call my husband to let him know I almost burned down the house BUT didn’t and then hang up on him.  4. Google what 911 is in New Zealand.  5.  Eat an egg.