Having received a message from my father today that we haven’t blogged or bothered to call recently, I felt compelled to do so. We are in the midst of autumn here. That means cool weather - nothing like home - but in the 50’s and without central heating! In addition, autumn means rain and even hail, and we have had a lot of it recently. Speaking of hail, a few weeks back there was so much hail it covered the streets, causing cars to get stuck and kids to go out and make “hailmen” in the yard (no joke). The weather is really spotty and unpredictable. The hail storm came and went in a matter of an hour. So quickly, in fact that Erin didn’t believe me when I called to tell her.
Fortunately the weather doesn’t stop the locals from getting out and enjoying the great outdoors. I was invited to go shooting clay pigeons with a group of guys from work. I have never been too accurate with the shotgun, but I thought what the heck. So we headed about 45 minutes south of Tauranga to a beautiful estate owned by a well-off Austrian businessman who built it so he could have a place to hunt once a year. We weren’t allowed into the mansion, but the grounds were spectacular with a mixture of manicured beds and native bush. The clay pigeon course was interwoven through the native bush with hidden traps that launched the fluorescent discs at what seemed like light speed. In addition to the flying pigeons, there were also rolling discs (i.e. rabbits) that bounced their way along the turf and were particularly difficult to nail. We all carried 12 gauge over-and-under shotguns (2 shots each) and had a contest to see who could get the most targets. Bryce would have been in heaven. I, on the other hand, am not the marksman my brother is. Needless to say, a great deal of lead now lies in the bark and dirt of that estate, having missed the little round target. I managed to get second to last out of seven people so I wasn’t too upset having not touched a gun in 5-6 years.
The most impressive part of the compound was the number of pheasants roaming the estate – in the order of hundreds. The day before we arrived, they had a huge pheasant hunt for some European tourists. Being tourists, however, they were not able to take the birds back with them. When we arrived, the man running the trap shooting offered up the birds to one of my bosses who accepted – all 45 of them. As I stepped out of my boss’ truck I was told I had to take some pheasant home, so I reluctantly took a pair of dead pheasants, strung together by a rope around their necks. It is not that I am against hunting, on the contrary, I was glad to see that all that pheasant wasn’t going to go to waste. What concerned me more was what was Erin was going to say as I opened the door with two dead birds in my hand. As I rode up the elevator to our apartment, I dreaded the thought of someone getting on the lift and me having to explain myself. Fortunately that didn’t happen, but then I was left standing at our front door picturing the look on Erin’s face. As I walked in I hollered, “Erin, I have a surprise for you.” She loves surprises. She turned around and the smile immediately shifted to a look of bewilderment, and she asked, “Are those dead birds?” This was followed shortly by, “What are you going to do with those?”, and then “We don’t even own a sharp knife!”
These were all valid comments, and as I thought about things a little more, I realized I didn’t have much of an answer. What was I going to do with those birds? Would the semi-sharp glorified steak knife we have in the drawer equate to the trusty scalpel? Alas I retreated to the balcony with knife in hand, prepared to do . . . something.
My gun-toting colleagues had suggested plucking the pheasant to save the skin for roasting purposes. So I donned my surgical latex gloves and got to plucking. It was a matter of seconds before I realized that was a crazy idea. Not only were my hands covered in feathers, but I was making a bloody mess of this bird. I soon reverted to the surgeon within me, brandishing the glorified steak knife. Soon that bird was like the Thanksgiving turkey, and I was dishing out breast meat. The carcasses were handily discarded down the garbage chute. Having extracted the breast meat, I was now confronted with the culinary dilemma of how to prepare this wild game. I promptly emailed my brother who was quick to provide a number of tried and true pheasant recipes as well as some advice for cleaning the birds next time I happen to shoot a few. (Unlikely to happen - sorry, Bryce!)
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Growing hungry
It’s feijoa season here, and every one I eat is flavored with a tinge of sorrow when I remember that we don’t have these delicious fruits in Iowa. Feijoa fruiting season is a short one, but it makes up for that with bounty. People bring them into work, anonymously leaving them, hoping that they will disappear. Neighbors drop them off by the bagful at the doors of those who don’t have a tree. It’s a little like zucchini season in Iowa, where someone once joked that you don’t leave a car window down in August or you’ll end up with a bushel of zucchini in your front seat. Except, unlike zuchinni, you can slice through a fruit, scoop out the milky white flesh, and polish off a half-dozen in one sitting if you tried!
Missing feijoas gets me thinking about other foods I’ll long for upon our return to Iowa. The abundance of seafood, though I’m not brave enough to prepare it, will be sorely missed. New Zealand scallops, which for unknown reasons look different than any scallop I’ve had elsewhere, are rich and delicious. Mussels, oysters, rock lobster, crayfish, and a variety of sea fish are all frequently seen on menus, always fresh and well-prepared. The strange but delicious whitebait dishes will be missed, too.
Another item that I’ll grieve the loss of will be hokey pokey ice cream. I know I’ve written about it before, but it really is deserving of a second mention. The creamy, butterscotch-y base, with small but perfectly dispersed hokey pokey bits that crunch appealingly with each bite… Surely someone would import it.
Another little change, which was commented on by a New Zealand visitor to the Midwest, will be the lack of wine in all but the nicer restaurants. Here, wine is available at most little cafes, thus providing a light, inexpensive meal but still offering the pleasantness of a good drink for your evening out.
Cory is probably less worried about the wine than I am, but he will be sorrowful for the loss of Peachee. Peachee is a carbonated, sweet drink, flavored with peach nectar. He could drink one a day if the bottles came in something other than a four-pack. (He does, often, ask me to buy more than one pack when I grocery shop.) Again, someone must be willing to import this.
Venison and other game is more often seen on the menu here in New Zealand as well. While in Iowa you might have a hunter in the family to provide you with some deer meat, it is easily available at butchers and in restaurants here.
But while game might be common, turkey is not. Cory will be making turkey sandwiches for weeks on end upon our return. He has longed for a good sub. We’ll no doubt be visiting Big Mikes (I know, it’s Milio’s now) soon after we get back.
Another place we’ll be visiting in Iowa City will be Wig ‘n Pen. Pizza, and especially pepperoni, is a little different here. A good slice (or three) will be gleefully devoured once we get back.
We’ve missed sushi this past year, too. I read somewhere that, initially, to get Kiwis to accept the concept of sushi they used many familiar ingredients in the maki rolls – things like chicken and canned tuna. The result was that while sushi caught on, they never really branched out beyond chicken and canned tuna. This is pretty disappointing considering the availability of fish here. So, a trip to Oyama back in Iowa City will be required.
Similarly disappointing is the lack of crab rangoons here. I just really love crab rangoons and haven’t found a Chinese restaurant that offers them. Cory has made some, and they are good, but you can’t beat a true deep-fried, cream-cheese filled, crab rangoon from Aoeshe or Yen Ching.
Having re-read all of this, I now have to go eat one of the feijoas that we brought home form the Farmer’s Market today! Have a piece of pizza for me, okay?
Missing feijoas gets me thinking about other foods I’ll long for upon our return to Iowa. The abundance of seafood, though I’m not brave enough to prepare it, will be sorely missed. New Zealand scallops, which for unknown reasons look different than any scallop I’ve had elsewhere, are rich and delicious. Mussels, oysters, rock lobster, crayfish, and a variety of sea fish are all frequently seen on menus, always fresh and well-prepared. The strange but delicious whitebait dishes will be missed, too.
Another item that I’ll grieve the loss of will be hokey pokey ice cream. I know I’ve written about it before, but it really is deserving of a second mention. The creamy, butterscotch-y base, with small but perfectly dispersed hokey pokey bits that crunch appealingly with each bite… Surely someone would import it.
Another little change, which was commented on by a New Zealand visitor to the Midwest, will be the lack of wine in all but the nicer restaurants. Here, wine is available at most little cafes, thus providing a light, inexpensive meal but still offering the pleasantness of a good drink for your evening out.
Cory is probably less worried about the wine than I am, but he will be sorrowful for the loss of Peachee. Peachee is a carbonated, sweet drink, flavored with peach nectar. He could drink one a day if the bottles came in something other than a four-pack. (He does, often, ask me to buy more than one pack when I grocery shop.) Again, someone must be willing to import this.
Venison and other game is more often seen on the menu here in New Zealand as well. While in Iowa you might have a hunter in the family to provide you with some deer meat, it is easily available at butchers and in restaurants here.
But while game might be common, turkey is not. Cory will be making turkey sandwiches for weeks on end upon our return. He has longed for a good sub. We’ll no doubt be visiting Big Mikes (I know, it’s Milio’s now) soon after we get back.
Another place we’ll be visiting in Iowa City will be Wig ‘n Pen. Pizza, and especially pepperoni, is a little different here. A good slice (or three) will be gleefully devoured once we get back.
We’ve missed sushi this past year, too. I read somewhere that, initially, to get Kiwis to accept the concept of sushi they used many familiar ingredients in the maki rolls – things like chicken and canned tuna. The result was that while sushi caught on, they never really branched out beyond chicken and canned tuna. This is pretty disappointing considering the availability of fish here. So, a trip to Oyama back in Iowa City will be required.
Similarly disappointing is the lack of crab rangoons here. I just really love crab rangoons and haven’t found a Chinese restaurant that offers them. Cory has made some, and they are good, but you can’t beat a true deep-fried, cream-cheese filled, crab rangoon from Aoeshe or Yen Ching.
Having re-read all of this, I now have to go eat one of the feijoas that we brought home form the Farmer’s Market today! Have a piece of pizza for me, okay?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Road Rules
We’ve been doing quite a bit of driving here in New Zealand. We’ve mastered the whole left-hand-side-of-the-road-driving thing; we can zip through a traffic round like a true Kiwi; we can even read the sometimes amusing road signs… But there are still things that surprise and delight us about driving in New Zealand.
The curvaceous roads never fail to disappoint as we introduce visitors to the area, and they never fail to bring out Cory’s inner race car driver. Because of these windy roads, the maximum speed limit in New Zealand is 100 kilometers per hour. This often feels plenty fast, but, remember, that is only 62 miles per hour. As a five-year veteran commuter on I80, I was used to traveling around 80 miles per hour as I made the trek from Iowa City to Cedar Rapids every day. Now, 62 often feels frighteningly fast.
There are a few stretches of straight, flat, two-lane, divided highway in New Zealand. All are along Highway 1, which stretches from Cape Reinga in the Far North of the North Island to Bluff at the southern-most tip of the South Island. Such stretches are mainly in the Auckland area, and they help zip ¼ of New Zealand’s population through its largest city.
Even here, on these few stretches of gorgeous flat highway made to drive, no one speeds. I commented on this to Cory, as I drove a rare section of such a highway. It was then that he reminded me of a recent news item on speed cameras. A recent press report identified general locations of speed cameras and listed them in order of most profitable. And, yep, right there along Highway 1 in Auckland are the speed cameras that catch the most speeders each year!
Not so long ago, the efficiency of New Zealand’s speed camera system was demonstrated when, a few days after a weekend trip, we received a speeding ticket in the mail, along with a notification that we had been caught going eleven kilometers over the posted speed limit. I will say it has acted as a deterrent.
Another pretty effective deterrent are the mandatory drink driving stops where they breathalyze every driver of every vehicle. Cory has been stopped probably four times; each car is shunted to one of the waiting officers, where the driver is asked to state his address into the machine. Those who haven’t been drinking are able to quickly continue on their way. They usually do this on Friday or Saturday, and they often set up their station on the Harbour Bridge, which is one of the only two routes between the Mount and Tauranga. Evening revelers can figure that there is a good bet that they’ll meet with the local police on their way home.
However, as long as you aren’t driving, you can enjoy your evening to whatever extent you’d like. And if that means tipping back a few cold ones as your sober driver safely escorts you across town, then by all means, do so. There is no Kiwi version of the open container law.
So as your driver is slowly navigating the undulating scenery of New Zealand, keeping ever-mindful of those speed cameras, you, the passenger, can sit back and enjoy a beverage. Just don’t share any with your driver…
The curvaceous roads never fail to disappoint as we introduce visitors to the area, and they never fail to bring out Cory’s inner race car driver. Because of these windy roads, the maximum speed limit in New Zealand is 100 kilometers per hour. This often feels plenty fast, but, remember, that is only 62 miles per hour. As a five-year veteran commuter on I80, I was used to traveling around 80 miles per hour as I made the trek from Iowa City to Cedar Rapids every day. Now, 62 often feels frighteningly fast.
There are a few stretches of straight, flat, two-lane, divided highway in New Zealand. All are along Highway 1, which stretches from Cape Reinga in the Far North of the North Island to Bluff at the southern-most tip of the South Island. Such stretches are mainly in the Auckland area, and they help zip ¼ of New Zealand’s population through its largest city.
Even here, on these few stretches of gorgeous flat highway made to drive, no one speeds. I commented on this to Cory, as I drove a rare section of such a highway. It was then that he reminded me of a recent news item on speed cameras. A recent press report identified general locations of speed cameras and listed them in order of most profitable. And, yep, right there along Highway 1 in Auckland are the speed cameras that catch the most speeders each year!
Not so long ago, the efficiency of New Zealand’s speed camera system was demonstrated when, a few days after a weekend trip, we received a speeding ticket in the mail, along with a notification that we had been caught going eleven kilometers over the posted speed limit. I will say it has acted as a deterrent.
Another pretty effective deterrent are the mandatory drink driving stops where they breathalyze every driver of every vehicle. Cory has been stopped probably four times; each car is shunted to one of the waiting officers, where the driver is asked to state his address into the machine. Those who haven’t been drinking are able to quickly continue on their way. They usually do this on Friday or Saturday, and they often set up their station on the Harbour Bridge, which is one of the only two routes between the Mount and Tauranga. Evening revelers can figure that there is a good bet that they’ll meet with the local police on their way home.
However, as long as you aren’t driving, you can enjoy your evening to whatever extent you’d like. And if that means tipping back a few cold ones as your sober driver safely escorts you across town, then by all means, do so. There is no Kiwi version of the open container law.
So as your driver is slowly navigating the undulating scenery of New Zealand, keeping ever-mindful of those speed cameras, you, the passenger, can sit back and enjoy a beverage. Just don’t share any with your driver…
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