Perfect for fantastic food and food fantasies
The parodoxical and parodic Perfect Mike Hosking gives his verdict on boutique groceries.
If you’re like me, congratulations, you’ve made it.
But also like me you’ll be sick and tired of hearing the media moaning about the housing supply shortage in Auckland.
If only those jumped-up jingo jockeys bothered to do their research. There is a serious supply shortage in Auckland, but not for housing.
Unless you live under a rock, or in a Toyota Cressida in Ambury Park, you’ll know how hard it can be to source quality goose fat in Auckland on a consistent basis.
So thank heavens for the rise of the boutique grocers like Nosh and Farro where there’s not only a reliable supply of goose fat, you can also pick up your basics like truffle oil, Modena balsamic vinegar, Brie de Meaux, lavash flatbread, hazelnut macarons, and Iranian-sourced saffron.
It’s one of life’s lesser ironies that you’ll never find any of these basic items at the so-called supermarkets.
Put it this way, the missing letters in Pak’n’Save are a fair indicator as to what’s not on the shelves.
And if I’m ever forced to go back to Countdown-to-the-apocalypse, where the specialty shelves are generally as bare as the feet of some of the shoppers, I’m going to insist on a shopping trolley that has a built-in Purell floor sprayer.
It should come as no surprise that John Key is also a fan of boutique grocery shopping.
He’s known to pick up his poultry (not a euphemism) from Sabato in Mt Eden, otherwise known as the Holy Grail of quail that hails from just behind the jail.
I haven’t been grocery shopping with John but I do have a recurring dream in which we’re together at Nosh.
We’ve just tasted the Valrhona chocolate sauce with edible gold leaf and now we’re on to the Early Harvest Extra Virgin Colonna Grand Verde Olive Oil. As John brings the tasting cup to his Ecoya-balmed lips I’m drawn in irresistibly and nudge him with my bulging packet of thinlysliced Ibe´rico ham. He has a wee spill. As do I at the sight of the golden oil running down his chin, dripping into his freshly bagged morel mushrooms and splashing on to my Jimmy Choo loafers.
And with that image indelibly in your mind, do go and treat yourself to a Sunday brunch.