What do the rowing chaps want? The answer is Clare
THE scene is the Caffe Astoria in Lambton Quay, Wellington. ‘‘Caffe’’ is Italian for coffee and ‘‘Astoria’’ is American for obscene wealth, so right away we are in a strange world.
The cafe looks over some greenery where once the longlamented
Midland Hotel offered free counter lunches which would have Caffe Astoria customers choking on their calorie counters.
Popular with politicians, public relations hacks, policy advisers, public servants and private investigators, the restaurant has a reputation for pretentiousness rivalled only by American coffee empire Starbucks, which offers drinks in three sizes. Grande, venti and trenta.
In the real world, something like small, medium and large might do.
Back in the pretentious world, Astoria tells us its ‘‘handpicked, extensively trained baristas make between 900 and 1200 cups a day’’ and they use not just any old machine.
A ‘‘1950s, gasfired, 5kilo Vittoria Coffee Roaster’’ churns the stuff out. A macchiato (whatever that is) will set you back $4.40. A plague of fitness clubs and gyms is nearby and bookshops are a rarity so the setting is tailormade for the young trendies who infest the Quay.
Many are country kids lured to the capital by the promise of wellpaid but pointless jobs in yet another ministry or by the glamour and bright lights of a political career. But there are traps for these naifs from unsophisticated places like, just for instance, South Dunedin.
These provincials are drawn to Caffe Astoria like Australian bowlers to sandpaper. But such cafes are the haunt of prying eyes and waggling ears and many an idle chat could mean that things can get sticky, like a cricket ball in the hands of those same Australians. But enough of transtasman badinage. To our story.
It is early morning, and the beautiful people of Wellington are sweating their way from the gym to the cafe. The females, I should say, are ‘‘glowing’’. Sweat has been banned from the pretentious Wellington gyms. Here’s one of the early morning Quayites who looks familiar. She approaches this oasis of relaxation with not a care in the world. A waiter, for whom the word ‘‘smarm’’ might have been especially coined, oozes forward in the manner of a spider meeting a fly.
‘‘Good morning, Clare. Lovely to see you.’’
‘‘Not so much of the ‘Clare’, Luigi. It’s ‘Minister’ these days. In fact I’m Minister of Broadcasting, Communications and Digital Media, Minister for Government Digital Services, Associate Minister for ACC and Associate Minister of State Services.’’
‘‘My, my. Busy, eh? Congratulations, Minister. So many changes around here just lately. Sometimes I wish we weren’t on Lambton Quay. So many strange people.’’
‘‘I wish I wasn’t here either, Luigi. Give me King Edward St any day. I’m the only politician within cooee there and I’m surrounded by ordinary people who have actually voted for me. Well, they also voted for Michael Cullen and David BensonPope, so I suspect they’re all voting for the party rather than the person. Still, it’s nice to have a safe seat.’’
‘‘There’s a safe seat here for you in the corner, Minister.’’
‘‘Ha, ha. I love that whimsical Italian sense of humour, Luigi.’’
‘‘Actually, Minister, I’m from Ruatoria.’’
‘‘Really? Lovely town. We passed through last time I went to Florence. Now, what do you recommend? I’m starving?’’
‘‘Perhaps the sardines from the can with toast, chopped shallots, lemon, cracked pepper and paprika salt? It’s low gluten.’’
‘‘That’s OK, I’ve never been fond of gluten. It is fresh, of course?’’
‘‘Naturally, Minister, The chef insists on opening the can himself. He has one of those little opener things.’’
‘‘Sounds great. I usually have baked beans on toast in South Dunedin, so it’s really a treat coming here.’’
‘‘Oh, the only beans we have here are coffee beans, Minister. They come from Colombia, Brazil, Guatemala and Ethiopia so I’m sure there’s something you’ll like.’’
‘‘Coffee? Oh, some Gregg’s instant will do. It’s made in Dunedin you know?’’
‘‘Really? I’m not sure we stock it. But I’ll ask the head barista.’’
‘‘Thank you. I’ll just get on with my paperwork. I must say I get more mentions in the ODT than this Dom we get here.’’
‘‘I don’t read newspapers, I’m afraid, Minister. But I did see you on telly one day. Or was it Judith Collins? You all look the same to me, I’m afraid.’’
‘‘Just get the food would you, waiter. And forget the coffee. Water will do and if you think I look like Ms Collins something from the Fountain of Youth people, if you don’t mind. ’’
‘‘And put an extra chair at the table. I’m expecting to meet someone from RNZ. Though why anyone from
Rowing New Zealand needs to talk to me I have no idea.’’