Married to a kiwi: Best meal and Fish!
Seeing that our trip to Stewart Island is approaching fast now and hubby has been talking about fishing....
So here is one of my fishing stories
I will admit that one of the best meals I have had in my life was provided for by my husband. I think it was on my second trip to New Zealand. We had decided to go camping in the Coromandel Peninsula. Well, he had decided to go camping. I on the other hand positively loathed the idea of going camping. I have never been a fan of camping, mainly because I always have memories of tents leaking and having to step outside in the pouring rain if you want to go to the loo. I obviously have camped, like the time in Africa when I met my Kiwi husband, but those were different circumstances. Basically, I only camp if there is no alternative or like in Africa, if it was the best way to discover a country.
You have to understand, where I grew up in Germany, people who went on holiday with a caravan or a tent only did so because they couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel. So before you call me a snob, think of where I grew up. It was only when I travelled to NZ that I discovered that camping can be a way of life, embraced by young and old, rich and poor, students and bankers alike. I understand that now but then I was not amused.
Anyway, so off we went in his brother’s red little hatchback, filled with his sister’s tent, sleeping bag, a bottle of Cloudy Bay (my absolute favourite and a must on any road trip in NZ), a fish smoker, lemons, some manuka shavings and sugar, lots of sugar. The first part of the journey was fun. We listened to music, talked, enjoyed the scenery and stopped at some giant Pepper Tree Café for a bite to eat. When we left, the weather started to change and soon rain and mist started to come our way. By five in the afternoon, it was pouring and there was nothing to look at as it grew dark. By now I was getting pretty tired of the whole driving thing.
“How much longer before we come to the camp side,” I asked.
“Just a little bit longer.”
“Well, how long?”
“Look, I don’t know, just a bit longer,” he said. “You’ll see it’s worth it.”
I was not convinced, as all I was seeing was water on one side, with the road so close to the sea, the waves were nearly crashing over our bonnet. Then the road started to climb and simultaneously the weather took a turn for the worse. By now, I couldn’t see a thing. The windscreen wipers were going furiously and around us everything went black. The road had run out of tarmac and I could feel the tires slipping on the gravel from time to time. Conversation had completely ceased. Then I heard thunder and the next minute lightening lit up the sky. I screamed when I realised that the road had narrowed to a single lane and that we were driving perilously close to a sheer drop of several hundred metres.
“What the hell? Stop! I don’t want to go on. Where on earth are we going? Is this the road?”
“Shut up, I need to concentrate,” my husband shouted with clenched teeth.
“Yes, concentrate on getting us back down this bloody mountain,” I shouted back. “I don’t want to go camping, I’ve had enough. We have been driving for hours without a break. What on earth is here that makes it so special?”
I was seething. And so was my Kiwi husband.
“Just be quiet and look somewhere else, we’ll be there soon.”
Shortly afterwards the road levelled off and I breathed a sigh of relief when I realised that we were no longer driving the pathetic excuse of a hatchback along a dangerous cliff, but were approaching what looked like a gate and a field. It was still pelting down with rain when we stopped next to a lone campervan and my husband got out to pay the fee for what turned out to be a camping ground. Not that you would know it. There was not a single tent in sight and in the black of the night it just looked like a giant field. Getting out of the car to pitch our tent, I was drenched in seconds, which didn’t add to my foul mood.
“I can’t believe you have dragged me here. What a stupid idea.”
My Kiwi husband just ignored me and after we had put up the tent we went to sleep, each in our own sleeping bag, barely having kissed good night.
I woke up a few hours later and when I checked my watch I saw it was only 5am in the morning. The rain had stopped, and I could see sunlight was creeping through the zipper that hadn’t really closed at the bottom. Without making too much noise, I wriggled out of my sleeping back und opened the tent zip.
What greeted me was a sight that I neither expected nor shall I ever forget. Right in front of me, just a couple of metres from the grass, white sand covered with little grey pebbles stretched into crystal clear water, so still that you could have used it as a mirror. The sky, so black and threatening during the night, was light blue and the sun was already gathering some warmth. The beach was shaped like a horseshoe, with rocks on either end reaching into the water. There was no sound, just the far away cry from a pair of seagulls. As unbelievable it may sound, we were the only tent on this big beach. A couple of caravans were parked up in the distance, but at that time of the morning there was not a soul in sight. It was completely deserted.
This is bliss, I thought. I turned around to see my Kiwi husband awake and looking at me with a knowing smile on his face.
“Yeah, ok, I admit it’s pretty awesome,” I said begrudgingly.
“See, it was worth it, no?”
“Yeah, yeah, it was, but it’s still too early, so I am going back to sleep.”
I wasn’t ready to admit that the drive to Port Jackson had indeed been worth it and so I climbed back into my sleeping bag for a bit more shuteye.
“Ok, you stay here, but I am getting up. I’m going to see if I can catch us a Snapper from the rocks.”
Off he went and I turned over, leaving the tent door open and enjoying the sunshine tickling my nose. After a couple of hours of peaceful dreaming, I got up, dressed and decided to go for a stroll on the beach. In the distance I could see my husband coming towards me, fishing rod in one hand and a bucket in the other.
“Look what I got us,” he said with a grin. He lifted two good sized Snappers out of the bucket. “Fancy some breakfast?”
As a German, well half German, my father is actually English, I am used to having a savoury breakfast, but I was regretting a little that we didn’t even have bred or tea. However, half an hour later, the aroma that was coming from the Smoker where we had placed the Snapper loaded with sugar and lemon juice over the Manuka shavings, made not only my mouth water, but also attracted the Camping ground keeper’s cat, followed shortly….by the keeper.
I have to say, on any given day smoked Snapper, which is how the Kiwis mostly eat it, is a delicious meal. But on that day, literally half an hour out of the sea, it was divine!
Even the keeper couldn’t get enough of it. I thought he would have been getting this kind of meal every day during the season, but it turned out that my Kiwi husband was quite the lucky fisherman, as they had had no bites for the past week.
Personally I think there was someone watching over us, making sure we were well fed after such an exhausting night. So there we were, standing around the smoker, eating fresh snapper with our fingers, while enjoying a glass of Cloudy Bay. It was truly one of the best mornings and definitely one of the best meals I have had in my life.
I have been told there is no Snapper on Stewart Island, but I'm hoping for some other delicious fish.....and obviously Cloudy Bay, although that might be harder to come by.....
