A quarter-assed Google search didn’t reveal how long the show has been running for, but it’s well established. Last year the event managed to coax slightly fewer than 20,000 assorted individuals out to jostle with each other as they walked slowly around in circles in the outside ring of Westpac stadium. The food show claims to be “the undisputed market leader in consumer culinary events”, and certainly there’s a wide array of delicious foodstuffs available to sample, but predominantly it’s an excuse to get drunk and sweaty for an autumn’s afternoon.
This became apparent early. In the hustle around the first stall we went to, ‘generic-wine-brand’ wines, I struck up a conversation with a short, balding, middle-aged gentleman in a slightly greasy leather jacket. This exchange was a great chance to touch base with some of the “affluent, sophisticated audience” promised on the website. The gent was quick to enquire about my aspirations towards the “the 300 club”. Membership, I was informed, was to be gained by partaking in 300 alcoholic samples over the day. With such a wonderful prize up for grabs, we went straight into it.
Participation always starts sedately enough. People are still sober enough to use any manners they may possess. Sampling is just that – a small amount on the end of a toothpick, to give the would-be connoisseur a taste of what the gastronomic world has to offer. It’s the perfect time to try the delightful range of boutiquesque food products the New Zealand market has to offer – and all while never missing a wine or liqueur stop.
While insignificant details such as product and brand names are hazy, I do remember several such samples which enchanted the heart and the mind. One particularly impressive product on display was a full blown meat smoker, with samples of the tasty small meats that it could produce available. There were many different types of oils for sampling. I mostly went for those infused with chilli, and was rewarded with a variety of full, spicy flavours. Particularly good and quite different was a type of oil which was made out of macadamia’s. This oil was light and subtle. There was also a wide range of pesto and hummus type products which were particularly good, some well-crafted mango yoghurt, and a range of gourmet honeys which were very worthwhile. Of course, there was a whole lot more, but my memory was in no state to provide specifics.
On the alcoholic side of things, there was more wine than anyone really knew what to do with, a few beers, and several honey or lemon liqueurs. I tried Syrah, I tried Gewurztraminer, I tried Pinot Noir and Pinot Gris. It would have been foolish not to have some Rieslings, and I was anything but. I stayed safe with the Savs and the Merlots and the Chardonnays. There was a lot of wine to try, so I did. As to colour and type, I didn’t discriminate.
Now this quantity of wine made things increasingly sloppy. At the beginning, we were a tight knit group of five. We went to stalls together, we waited patiently for each other, and we went with the flow. Then the booze kicked in. We fragmented. We met new people, we saw old friends - we diverged and converged and reached the lost-control verge. Technology is always a boon in these situations, as it’s very enlightening to receive a text like “Phm lost1 wryou?” and have no idea where you are or they are, but anyways you’re so drunk the screen is swimming.
Our conduct also deteriorated. Queues were things to push through or ignore. Handfuls of samples were the norm. It was a challenge to see how much cocktail sausage would fit on one toothpick, and we were comfortable in shamelessly going back for seconds or thirds. I even got caught signing up to a web mailing-list multiple times, because each time earned me a ticket for a bacon butty. My (male) friend went and used the women’s bathroom, and didn’t realise he’d misrepresented his gender. He just thought it odd there were no urinals. Things were unravelling.
In Wellington, we are generally blessed with a wide range of attractive women out and about – the food and wine show is no different. However, part way through the show, with a strong wine filter, all of the women began to look pretty good. We were leering like depraved beings, pushing and jostling with the sweaty, urgent crowd. We stank of wine - it was spilling all over us. Strawberry daiquiri’s had appeared from somewhere. I had an extra wine glass, hung stylishly across my torso on its lanyard. Our endurance was flagging. We needed to sit down, needed to eat, needed more samples of wine; we pushed ourselves aimlessly around the stadium. We had a rest in the Hoegaarden beer garden, and I left with one of their pillows as a souvenir.
And then it was over for another year. The logistics of regrouping and getting home where mind-blowing, due to the states we’d all gotten into. We stopped for more wine at the railway station and I smashed my glass all over the floor. I had been pretending to present it to a friend on the stolen pillow. Some friends took a taxi; it had ticked up to $40 before they even left the railway station, while they waited for everyone to get there and get in. Others stumbled home in the rain, bleary eyed, in the early evening. The night was young and ripe with possibility. We weren’t quite sure what had happened, but we knew we had liked it. We would be returning next year.
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