Sunday, April 01, 2007


479 New North Rd, Kingsland

Decor: Kitsch-rustic French.

View: Of the other cafes in Kingsland I wished I had gone to instead.

Clientele: A contingent of mothers arrived with a battalion of strollers stuffed with screaming children. Despite the restaurant being otherwise empty, they thoughtfully decided to sit right next to us.

Poached Egg Barometer: T'est completement fucked! The eggs arrived on a crepe! A crepe! Just because it is a French restaurant, that is no excuse for destroying the classic culinary combination of eggs on toast. A measly crepe cannot mop up the lovely yolk. Zut alors! The combination is wrong wrong wrong.

Coffee: I can’t remember. The horror of poached eggs on a crepe extinguished whichever neurons took note of the coffee.

Service: Authentic French sourness in the suburbs. A refreshing change from boring Kiwi rudeness.

Metro gave this place the thumbs up. “You’ll love it,” they wrote. This only goes to prove what utter cunts the Metro writers are. With their cringing fascination with the French Café, and complete inability to recognise good food, I’m beginning to wonder if they were all born and raised in some execrable country town where rolled-up luncheon sausage on a toothpick was served as cocktail nibbles, and the annual wine and cheese evening in the school hall was the highlight of the social year. I hope the new Metro editor fires them all, and hires people with higher thresholds of quality.


unPC lesbian said...

Oh Mrs Smith, there's nothing worse than a botched poached egg, especially on a Sunday morning when they are so vital to ones well being and recovery from the night before. The childs current athletic career means no brunch funds, however I have been to the market and am now about cook my free range poached egg hangover absorbing treat. I have 3 types of bread to choose from tho, and it's all too hard to decide.

Forget that nasty little fake french place, I mean having those little Parisienne tables and chairs is just so pretentious, non? Foody heaven in Kingsland can be found at the Canton Kitchen in a dish called "hot and spicy sizzling squid". Ooooh just the thought of it makes me want to hop on a plane.....

Robyn said...

I was at my fave cafe in Mt Eden earlier today, when a family unit entered, Dad pushing a gigantic off-roader double stroller with two bored tots in it.

Mum went ahead to order, while Dad attempted to find a space. He managed to not only bump almost every table and chair along the way, but actually scraped a lady's calf, causing her to exclaim "Bloody hell!" and leave immediately.

This cafe has decent width aisles and welcomes children, but these parents were really testing everyone's goodwill with their impromptu monster truck rally.

Oswald Bastable said...

With all the splendid breads that the French produce- a friggin' crepe!

Bloody peasants!

Mrs Smith said...

UnPC! I can not agree more! Eggs on toast is the best cure for hangovers - I swear by it.

Robyn - 'monster truck rally' made me laugh out loud. Very good.

Bastable - a damn travesty. I shall never forgive them.

d-man said...

They fucked up poached eggs?! Could they at least boil water properly?
Oh. They probably used oil...

David Slack said...

You described the place of my birth perfectly. My favourite place to eat in Auckland is, swear to God, the Middle East Café. Do I get the Metro job? (Because just between you and me, I get the sense you could pull some strings there.)

The Bouchon onion soup was undeniably French when we were there before Christmas. The cider was nice and I believe I had duck of some sort for my main, which I may have enjoyed. It’s all a blur though, because our quiet evening came to an end when a white Escalade Limo of fuck-off proportions pulled up and disgorged about sixty braying partygoers, some in berets, all in white. My guess was an advertising agency, but if they were, why were they not having the party in Paris, or at least Papeete? If I worked for Metro, I daresay I would have been obliged to find out, so perhaps the food writing’s not for me.

Captain Crab said...

All those jokes about the French are true. We were at Cheltenham Beach the other weekend and feeling hungry went to buy something from the Pyrenees Boucherie and Charcuterie. My son asked for a sausage roll. To our delight the waitperson behind the counter feigned total ingnorance as to what a sausage roll was.. It was so funny but unfortunately given the presence of my family I couldnt unleash the tongue which has been known to strip wallpaper with five words. Pretentious cunts.I might go back just for fun....

Mrs Pitt said...

Mrs Smith, please email me.

Mrs Smith said...

Monsieur Slack - Fear not. Your pithy review bettered that of the Metro writers. The Middle East Cafe, you say? Alright. I shall try it sometime then.

Captain Crab - Pretentious, indeed! Go back again and ask for a Saucisses Feuillete (sp). If they produce one, wave it in their face and say, "This is a sausage roll, you cunts."

Mrs Pitt - Monetary bribes happily accepted.