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Confession: I used to have no idea how to cook. When I first moved out when I was 17, I used to subsist mainly on toast and I thought that putting every vegetable I had in the fridge in pasta sauce was a good idea. I could just about manage to make misoshiru.
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People in the various countries where I have lived have often asked me what constitutes a classic example of New Zealand cooking and though I have a very strong idea of what New Zealand cooking means to me, I find it difficult to articulate in a single phrase, which I think perhaps is a good thing, a sign of the complexity of our food culture.
There are the old favourites that we share with Britain of course: fish and chips, roast meals and baking and also the style of cooking we have in common with the Islands – steaming meat and vegetables for a crowd on hot rocks in the ground – the Maori hangi or Pacific Island umu.
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I’ve always been, to my slight chagrin, a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. I can sing a bit, write a bit, dance a bit and cook a bit but I don’t think I’ve ever done any of those to the point where someone was so impressed I could have knocked them over with the proverbial. I always thought it was because I lack that thing called stick-to-it-ability, because I guess sheer persistence is what makes a person great, rather than merely good, at something but now I know it’s because those things are incompatible with my superpower. Yes, my superpower.
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