Day 1

Māori art, a food tour, and a scenic ride in Christchurch

It’s morning in Christchurch, and, thanks to a truly surreal time change, I open the curtains of my room at Sudima Christchurch City to gaze out onto a bright future—literally. Back home in New York, my son is just finishing school yesterday. I realize my brain can’t handle this until I’ve had at least one flat white, so I take a 10 minute-stroll to Miró, an elegant cafe on the Avon River that’s located in one of the last remaining Art Deco buildings that survived the 2011 earthquake. Along with my coffee, I tuck into truffled scrambled eggs on a thick slice of sourdough, topped with herbs and local black truffles. I’m not used to such good food at 8 a.m.

To get my bearings, I walk a block over to Victoria Square and hop aboard one of the city’s historic trams. (Electric ones ran from 1905 until 1954; this heritage tram experience opened in 1995.) We roll past the colorful store- fronts of New Regent Street to Cathedral Square, where we see the plaza’s Gothic namesake still shrouded in scaffolding. The whole area bristles with cranes and construction. “This sums up Christchurch after the earth- quake,” says our conductor, Gordon Tramway (“Yes, as in tram,” he jokes). “Lots and lots of new buildings and lots and lots of demolition.”

A few stops later, I hop off at the Christchurch Art Gallery Te Puna o Waiwhetū. (The Māori name honors the artesian spring on top of which the gallery was built.) The soothing mantra, “Everything is going to be alright” glows from one side of the building’s facade, rendered in neon by the British artist Martin Creed. Inside, I take in modern works by Māori artists, including Robyn Kahukiwa’s Tena I Rula, a striking painting of women from her iwi, or tribe, per- forming a haka, a ceremonial dance of empowerment.

I want to linger, but I’m due to meet Ash Jefferys of Āmiki Tours at The Obser- vatory Hotel, located at The Arts Centre Te Matatiki Toi Ora, for a cultural food tour. Jefferys welcomes me with a beaming grin and a traditional Māori greeting— identifying herself not by her name, but by where she’s from. “Every new person is a new friend,” she tells me. “And every new friend is an excuse to eat.”

Our first stop is The Fudge Cottage, where I try pieces flavored with feijoa, a small, green-skinned tree fruit sometimes called pineap- ple guava. (To me, the taste is more flowery than fruity.) I spot a bar labeled Hokey Pokey that the shopkeeper says is made with honey- comb. “Why’s it named Hokey Pokey?” I ask. “It’s just named for the dance,” she replies, proceeding to do the hokey pokey and turn herself around. “I don’t know why!” I buy two.

From here, we walk along the river, and Jefferys points out paved artworks that represent whāriki— traditional Māori woven mats whose designs each tell a story. Jefferys is of Māori and Samoan descent but only started learning te reo Māori a few years ago, since it was discouraged when she was growing up. Now, she’s learning the language from her sister’s family. She prac- tices with the children: “It’s quite funny having language lessons with a 3-year-old,” she says with a laugh.

Our next stop is King of Snake, a Euro-Asian restau- rant in the Central Business District that Jefferys says encompasses the Māori ideal of manaakitanga. “It’s really welcoming and inclusive,” she says, “because it caters to all dietary restrictions.” She orders us a handful of dishes to try; the standout is a moong dal salad with avocado, pumpkin seeds, and a lime dressing.

We wander on through Riverside Market, a food hall where 32 stalls sell every- thing from manuka honey to ramen to souvlaki. As we walk, I ask Jefferys about the large, green-stone necklace she wears. “It’s pounamu,” she tells me. “It’s a sacred stone primarily found on the west coast of the South Island. You can’t buy it for yourself; you have to receive it, and you have to think about the intent of giving it.” At the design shop Hapa, I ogle the beautiful pounamu jewelry for sale, sad that I can’t treat myself.

I console myself with goat cheese croquettes, bone mar- row, and whipped ricotta with candied tomatoes at Bar Franco, a Mediterranean spot down the street that opened last September. I’m fit to burst—and grateful Jef- ferys doesn’t order dessert.

After all that eating, I need a long walk, so I hug Jefferys goodbye and head to the 161-year-old Christchurch Botanic Gardens. Dahl- ias, my favorite flower, are blooming, and more than once I have to run from the giant bumblebees that are equally smitten with the perennial (and, it seems, my hair gel). I may be in the mid- dle of the city, but I’m able to escape into “the bush” of the New Zealand Gardens, a veritable Jurassic Park set piece of lush silver ferns, towering kahikatea (white pines), and tropical-looking cabbage trees.

Dinner tonight is in Lyt- telton, a port town that’s basically the Brooklyn to Christchurch’s Manhattan. I hop a rideshare in that direction, making a stop along the way at the Christ- church Gondola. On the climb, I gape at the views of the city, the Southern Alps, and Lyttelton Harbor.

Back on the ground, I pro- ceed to Mapu Test Kitchen, a six-seat spot manned by culinary wizard Giulio Sturla. There’s no set menu—the only item that always appears is pan de yuca, a chewy cheese bread from Ecuador, where Sturla grew up. Instead, he’s driven by seasonality, by the availability of ingredients, and by how he’s feeling that day. “For me it’s not about cooking,” he says. “It’s cre- ating flavor with time.”

Today, the flavors on offer include kingfish with yuzu, finger limes, and 3-year- old miso made with corn rather than soy—something inspired by a recent trip to China. “I think, How can I create this product with something from New Zea- land?” Sturla says. “It’s not about bringing things from other countries; it’s about creating it myself, here.” The most exciting dish is a mystery—truly. Sturla asks the diners to guess which fruit he used to make the noo- dles in a dish of langoustine scampi. Apples? Peaches? Cantaloupe? He smiles big- ger with every wrong answer. “Bananas,” he finally divulges. It’s a gluten-free revelation.

For Sturla, a meal is much more than food on a plate: “With Taylor Swift, you pay $500 to listen and look at her. Two senses are involved. But when you are in a restaurant you hear stories, you see and taste and smell the food. There are so many senses.”

This will be controversial, no doubt, but I’d rather pay $355 NZD (about $217) to eat here than to see Taylor.

The final dessert seals the deal: purple peach gnocchi with rhubarb ice and yel- low kiwi fruit curd. I take a bite and let out an audible “mmmm.” Sturla smiles. “I know, right?” he says with a wink.