The jeans from before time began and from before the eighties as well

BY TAHI MOORE

I've been looking at Levi's, because they were quoted on a number of occasions as being the best jeans. I haven't been looking in shops, just at what people wear. Now except for a cuople of times, every pair of Levi's that I saw were absolutely not what I would wear. Not that they were bad, but most of the time, they were mid-blue, that's like baby blue, stones washed, eggshell blue, sky blue. Essentially I'm talking about an eighties technique for prefading that is from the time of drum machines as a geniune attempt to replicate an actual drummer.

Okay, so these jeans were eggshell sky baby blue, flecked with white and shapeless, which is fine, it's a particular type that's endured for a while, I suspect because when you want to buy the basic no-nonsense jeans that don't cost an extra ten or five hundred dollars, that's what you get. When I went to Farmers, this was the basic model, NOT plain dark blue actually kind of fits but isn't skin tight.

Other Levi's I saw had silver dots on the back pockets, not being satisfied with having the back pocket art that nearly all other jeans replicate, these Levi's replicate Levi's. Okay so a lot of people obviously buy them, but this detail highlights the idea that the original can only be brought into existence through look alikes, and when you become aware of having the original product, it probably is simply copying itself, or something quiffy about how jeans are jeans and names are names. But what I really wanted to get to was that there are so many kinds of Levi's that there has to be a kind that's right in there somewhere. So I'm no longer saying Levi's are the best jeans. The best jeans are now the ones that work for you, and watch out for the back pocket art. You might be able to live with it, but it is evil, and can turn on you at any moment.

So where do you go to get Levi's? I have been told that there is a Levi's shop in Dressmart at Onehunga that might stock the mythical plain jeans. Due to warrant of fitness circumstances, this pilgramage to these jeans before time will have to wait till next week.



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Chess

BY KATE NEWBY

Chess.

Depends on how you feel and what you’ve got available to work with.

Somehow it seems to work best for me in the mornings. As much as I like getting on with errands in the a.m. (it is my ‘peak time’ of the day) it is also when I focus on the game a lot more. I think about 8.30 would be my pick if I had to name a particular time. It gives me enough time to make breakfast before leaving the house and then I can also coincide it with my morning coffee.
I seem to always go to Alleluia for it. This is a convenience thing but I also like the space up there because you can sit at a table, be in the daylight and also have lots of room around you from the other patrons.
Also, the staff are friendly and not bothered by the fact that I will sometimes sit there for long periods of time only ordering one or two coffees.
Recently I have being thinking that there are 3 kinds of chess in my life. There is a ‘Normal game’ when you met your opponent and have a game. Then there is ‘Speed chess’ which is also when you met your opponent and play but you end up playing several games with ‘Speed chess’ because depending on what time you set your chess clock; the game never lasts more then 10 minutes. That’s five minutes each to put someone in check.
Then there is ‘Internet chess’ when the game lasts sometimes up to several weeks. A good place to play this is on Facebook or another one I like a bit better is www.realchess.com. ‘Internet chess’ is funny because you can take days to make a move. For instance in my current game of ‘realchess’ I have not moved since Saturday as my opponent just put me in a tricky check-fork position and took my rook and so I have exploited the fact that I can sulk and prolong the inevitable. Playing chess on the Internet is good but it can drag out. You headspace can vary so much from the morning to the evening and then from day to day that I sometimes find this irritating and not a benefit. I also get a bit lost with it in the way that it can also feel like an unwanted text-message that you feel obliged to answer, if you are playing in person you have made a commitment for that game and you just get on and play.



***

There is Nothing Good on T.V. (I'll Love You Forever)

BY HENRY OLIVER

From: Viewer Correspondence
To: henryoliver@gmail.com,
Date: Aug 23, 2007 2:11 PM
Subject: RE: Complaint - A Programme - Seinfeld

mailed-by tvnz.co.nz

Aug 23


Reply


Hi there,

Sorry for the delay getting back to you.

Thank you for your feedback, we love to hear from our viewers what they enjoy watching on TV2. We will most certainly take your views into consideration for future programming decisions around this time slot. Many New Zealanders enjoy watching Friends and the ratings on this run are higher than the previous run. 6pm on TV2 must always have broad appeal for non-news watchers and must also be G rated so it limits us for the programmes that are available to be screened in this slot. Unfortunately Seinfeld was proving problematic in that many of the themes were too adult and so we were unable to screen future seasons of this in this early slot. It will screen in a more suitable slot

Thanks for your email.

Kind regards



Christine Wilton
Communications Executive


-----Original Message-----
From: henryoliver@gmail.com [mailto:henryoliver@gmail.com]
Sent: Wednesday, 22 August 2007 11:47 p.m.
To: ViewerCorrespondence
Subject: Complaint - A Programme - Seinfeld


Name: Mr. Henry Oliver

Email: henryoliver@gmail.com

Age: 25-29

Gender: Male

Location: Auckland

Subject: Complaint Regarding A Programme

Programme Name: Seinfeld

Comments:
Hey TV2,

What happened to Seinfeld?

Put it back on and I'll love you forever.

Yours,

Henry.

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***

Good Radio

BY FIONA CONNOR

It is Sunday and this morning I was lucky enough to listen to the radio in bed, The National Program and it was awesome.

I am living above my parent's garage at the moment which is great (at the moment). I hear them arrive home daily, sit in their cars and wait to catch the end of the show they are listening to. I think this means it is good radio.



The other day I too found myself outside a friend's house sitting in the car listening to the National Program waiting for the segment to end. I think it was an interview with the New Zealand pop sensations Garageland who have decided to reform, the interviewer was challenging: when Mr. Garageland compared himself to the driver of Pavement she said "can you really make that comparison" and he answered intelligently talking honestly about the funny situation that it is being in a band and touring extensively.



This morning I lay in bed trying to rationalize missing out on the peak nesting season of gannets at Muriwai because I was glued to the radio. There was a panel of ministers talking about what it is actually like working in parliament- a kind of day in the life of a cabinet member- they were all actively engaging with the story and each other and it really felt like it was coming from behind closed doors. After this piece of illuminating journalism they played this totally exotic sounding a cappella song that nicely put the whole thing in perspective.



I used to listen to it a lot. Like a lot a lot, but like any radio station you do this to it went from being completely transparent to completely opaque, I went off it. Now after a break I once again set the dial in my errand wagon to 101.4 FM and am treated sporadically to funny music and broad national reporting, a cup of tea for the ears and I'm back on it.



***

Savour and Devour - 478 Richmond Rd, Grey Lynn

BY AMBER EASBY

Admittedly, I was in a bad mood when I arrived - deathly hung over after two bottles of vino and a marathon Scrabble sesh the night before. I was hoping for a quiet brunch, ideally at an outdoor table. I wanted food that would heal me. I guess it was the wrong morning to try somewhere new.

First sign that I was not going to enjoy my brunch

They were playing Massive Attack. The last time I enjoyed Massive Attack was in 1994 and I was on magic mushrooms.

Second sign that I was not going to enjoy my brunch

The outdoor ‘garden’ was completely covered. It was a beautiful day and it was fucking freezing out there. I opted to sit inside.

Third sign that I was not going to enjoy my brunch

They use swivel chairs. It felt like Monday morning and I was eating breakfast at my desk.

Fourth sign that I was not going to enjoy my brunch

The café was full of parents ignoring their screaming children. One eight year-old boy was talking on his cell phone while his folks sat at ANOTHER TABLE!

Fifth sign that I was not going to enjoy my brunch

The menu was a little too ‘funky’. Normally, I am a fan of the twist-on-an-old-favourite but not this morning. I ordered Baked Eggs with bacon and creamed spinach ($14.50). The meal was nicely presented – a small fry pan, containing the said ingredients, and two slices of toast. Unfortunately, the spinach ‘creamed’ the rest of the dish. It was like eating a bowl of chunky Carbonara sauce. Gross.

The one redeeming element: counter service. As soon as I was done with my meal, I was able to leave. Not even the selection of baked goods could tempt me to return.



***

An Open Letter to the Men of Auckland

BY SALLY CONOR

Dear Auckland Guys,
I’ve known you for a while now and one thing has become clear: you need help. In so, so many ways… but mostly in the way you dress.
It’s just not that hard. It’s actually pretty easy to look okay and get girls to like you. We are base and mostly quite shallow and we talk about your butts at least as often as you talk about ours. Probably more. Seriously. Here are some foolproof tips just in case you’re finding it all a teensy bit confusing.

WEAR MORE CORDUROY
I was in the queue at the Grey Lynn Woolworth’s with a friend recently and we were distracted mid-sentence by a particularly fine pair of green corduroy trousers. “Look,” my friend whispered urgently, “Hot Dad in cords!” The fact that he was a Dad didn’t have much impact on his hotness but the corduroy sure offset his nice butt.
Corduroy is good for a number of reasons. Firstly, it isn’t denim. Jeans are cool and generally look good but they’re the lazy option. We all wear jeans when we can’t quite be bothered. Like jeans, corduroy looks better the more you wear it, BUT it comes in more than one colour and feels nicer.
Which brings me to reason number two: corduroy is pretty much velvet, but in stripes. Chicks like things that feel nice on their lady fingers. Just watch a man who is wearing a velvet jacket and see how girls like to run their hands all over it. Corduroy achieves this soft effect but without the risk of making you look like a pimp.
The third thing in favour of corduroy is its associations. Cords evoke images of wooden shacks, forests, fireplaces, pinecones, bears, whittling, pipes, etc. They are worn by nice homely guys who are good with their hands, have perfect stubble and smell of sawdust. The Diet Coke guys probably wear them when they’re not lowering themselves into elevator shafts or cleaning office windows. Even if you like computer games, smell of cheese and have trouble squeezing out a few weak pubes on your upper lip, you will benefit from corduroy’s inherent earthy manliness.

WEAR A SUIT
Seriously. I cannot overstate the effect of a good suit on a susceptible girl. She will be putty in your well-tailored hands. I have a collective crush on everyone that works at Crane Brothers because they always look so goddam amazing. Structured clothes do everyone immeasurable favours and whatever imperfections you have or are in denial about will be compensated for by a sharp dart and a well-proportioned lapel. Guys, it’s official: it’s okay to wear suits again! We don’t mind! Really! We like it! And I haven’t even gotten started on the three-piece yet. Ohmigosh.

CHOOSE YOUR SHOES CAREFULLY
Ask any girl: shoes are key. You can tell EVERYTHING about a man from his shoes. Your shoes are probably the first thing we check out, after hair, eyes, teeth and butt, all of which you can’t do much about (more on hair later). In general, sneakers are good. It’s pretty difficult to get this wrong. And yet, so many seem to. It doesn’t matter how state-of-the-art the little see-through gel bit is in the sole, running shoes are bad bad bad! Any sneaker that looks like you might actually use it to exercise, does not belong on your foot in public, unless that public is the gym. They always look ugly and stupid. Don’t argue with me on this. I have done surveys. It’s The Truth. Even better than a well-chosen sneaker is a good lace-up leather shoe. The laces are important – slip-ons are almost always a terrible idea. Particularly if they are shiny and black and good for wearing to The Viaduct. Slip-ons make you look like you are wearing something huge and oblong on your foot, like a toaster.
You can’t beat a cool brown leather lace-up brogue for top marks in the footwear department. Or a nice boot with a bit of a heel. It makes a cool noise and you will look a bit like Wyatt Earp. Which brings me to:

WEAR A GUN-BELT
Has anyone seen The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford? Holy Moses, there’s something about those gun-belts. The way they slant across the hips and stuff… I don’t know what it is. It’s primal. Primally HOT.

WASH YOUR HAIR
It’s hygiene dudes! No one will think you are gay if your hair isn’t caked with a week’s worth of sweat, dirt and laziness. If you run your hair through it and your hand feels defiled, it’s already WAY past the moment to wash it. Now go out there and work out which Herbal Essences product is best for you, and use it! Regularly! Rinse and repeat! This should be your new mantra.

FACIAL HAIR
Is a tricky one, but it basically goes like this:
- Little beards look ridiculous. Like a giant hairy mole under your lip. Be assured, people ARE laughing at you.
- Beards without moustaches are also out, unless you happen to idolise Abraham Lincoln, in which case it’s intellectual and sexy.
- Stubble is good so long as you keep it tame and don’t allow it to blend into your chest rug. See Queer Eye for the Straight Guy for more on this.

IT’S NEVER OKAY TO WEAR ‘LYNX’
Would you spray mustard gas on yourself? Or roll in skunk roadkill that’s been left to rot in a puddle of petrol? Of course you wouldn’t. Take note: as you walk past we aren’t losing control and ripping our clothes off while miaowing, we’re dry retching into our handbags.

I could go on. But I think these few helpful tips are enough to keep you going. If we work together, things are going to be okay. I believe in you.

Yours truly,

Sally



***

Browns Bay

BY SARAH HOPKINSON

Browns Bay quietly muddles along in its sunny corner of the North Shore unbeknownst (or purposefully ignored) by the majority of Auckland city dwellers. Ostensibly it boasts no glittering attractions; the beach is ok, the sights mediocre, it is very middle-class but not entirely without charm. Elderly drivers congest traffic, sidewalks are roamed by bored youths that haunt the $2 dollar shop and messily eat ice creams on the promenade. Yet to be railroaded by malls, the main street is peppered with the family businesses and boutiques usually confined to small towns and yester-year; including a knitting store (not the trendy type), a Christian book store, pet and pie shops. It is very white, noticeably so. High percentages of British and South African immigrants frequent multiple nationally themed stores such as ‘The British Shop’ (where you can buy those delicious marmite flavoured crisps) and a traditional South African butcher (for the boerworst connoisseurs). On Sunday mornings there is a market where you can select form a vast array of succulents for not much more than 50c each. All in all Browns Bay is a friendly place, perhaps a little backward, familiar and a touch unsettling.

The suburb also boasts a large elderly population and, despite the ghoulish implications, there isn’t a surer signpost for good opportunity shopping. The solid good taste and practicality of our grandparent’s generation, coupled with do-gooder middle-class-ness makes Browns Bay a kind of second-hand store haven. To my knowledge, as well as several furniture outlets, there are 4 stores that stock chiefly clothes and bric-a-brac. It is for these shops that I frequently take the trip to the Shore.

For me good thrift-ing is all about the ratio, you see. For example, a Savemart can be disheartening because the bad monstrously outweighs the good. An inner-city vintage store on the other hand can be too easy; the scales are purposefully tipped in the good’s favour. Browns Bay strikes a near perfect balance: it is hard work but it pays dividends. It offers the thrill of the chase. In Browns Bay, among the usual garish floral synthetic full-length dresses, dime novels and old misshapen men’s shoes that clutter second-hand stores, the discerning eye can find treasures of insurmountable quality. The pure lambs wool cardigans, tapered well-cut trousers and linen sundresses of my Antonioni-inspired dreams, have all been spotted here. I once bought a Harris Tweed, not dissimilar from one my grandmother owns (and probably purchased on from some discerning stockist on Bond St or the like) for the price of Sunday brunch. (I often equate op shop spends with food; the mental use/exchange value comparison is very rewarding.) This I added to a long list of acquisitions that includes everything from sturdy hand-knitted woollen hot water bottle covers to an alcohol cabinet with mirrored shelves and martini glass hooks.

However, it saddens me to say that while the treasures at Browns Bay have never, by any stretch of the imagination, been in abundance there has been a perceptible downturn in the last year. I am not sure whether my tastes have changed, some astute businessperson has cottoned on or simply that the generation that supplied the stores is slowly dwindling. Perhaps all of the above. In saying that it remains a worthwhile trip, if only to take half a day off, cross the bridge, chat to the lovely volunteer ladies, eat a tasty beef and mushroom homemade pie from the local French Café, and immerse yourself for a moment in sunny suburban stupor.


***

Fair Go

BY AMBER EASBY

The Auckland Vinyl Record Collectors Fair took place at the Polish House, Morningside on Saturday November 3rd. The fair ran from 10am to 3pm. Henry and I were driving down McDonald Street at 10.05am, when I saw a fat, bald, middle-age man running to his car with a stash of records. We had arrived.

There was a $2 entry fee into the hall. The doorman asked if we were looking for anything in particular. We answered, hoping he might point out a few sellers. Nothing. He asked how regularly we bought records. We answered and he responded. “Really?” The $2 token was also a raffle ticket. “Make sure you hold onto that. There are some good prizes.”

The Polish House is a small hall but there was a decent amount to look through. I was surprised at how many people there were, though I was only one of three women. I saw a friend flicking through some magazines. “Its all fucking junk. Same shit as last year” he said. I asked what he had looked through. “Nothing. I can’t fucking be bothered.”

Henry and I split up - Henry was on LPs, I was on 45s. My first purchase was a lot of fifteen singles – mostly Motown and Disco, all in good condition - for $20. The seller was eating a sandwich and took a good ten minutes before he noticed me. I later saw him staring into the distance, picking his nose, while another customer waited to pay.

My next purchase was from a nice elderly man. His singles were expensive but when I showed him what I wanted, he cut the price in half. I bought six 45s for $10, including a great Marlene Dietrich E.P and a Dolly Parton/Porter Wagoner (R.I.P) duet.

The proceedings were interrupted by the first, probably last, competition of the day. There was a small stage and the doorman had a microphone. If you guessed the record playing, you won a $5 lunch voucher. Not a single person tried. I could hear my friend calling “turn it off” until the song finally ended.

My third transaction was a mistake. Riding high from my previous scores, I hastily chose some 45s from the stack. I misheard the seller and ended paying twice as much as I wanted. I was too shy to say anything, having just been introduced to the seller by another friend. I am still suffering from post-purchase remorse after spending $20 on three singles I wasn’t even that excited about.

I bought another sixteen singles in my fourth and final acquisition. 1960s Beat, Rock and Pop – all for a buck apiece. Three grumpy men sat behind the table. They were like Statler and Waldorf, the guys who heckle form the balcony in the Muppets. I overheard them critiquing my browsing technique. “At that rate, she is going to be there all day.“ Annoyed, I called for back up. Henry checked the condition of each record as I flicked though more.

I was down $66 but had nearly forty good records to show for it. Henry found five LPs he considered to be a bargain. In true Henry fashion, he spent $40 dollars but saw a $50 return on an HDU album he sold on TradeMe later that day. Maybe we should have stayed for the raffle. GRADE: G+/VG



***

My Review of O’Connell Street Bistro (Alternative Title: Why You Should Never Date Outside Your Comfort Zone)

BY KELLY GIBNEY

I went to O’Connell Street Bistro on a date.

As a result of the evening, I have a little advice for the lads. Do not under any circumstance, mention that drunken foursome you had while on holiday in Mexico years ago and do not ask your date to rate from one to ten how attractive she thinks she is. Trust me, neither topic is charming. That out of the way, I may be in love.

Located at number 3 O’Connell Street and housed in a former bank vault, the restaurant feels like old Europe. High windows and thick walls with strong artwork. The dining room has just 12 tables so reservations are essential.

Our table isn’t ready when we arrive so a drink at the bar is in order. The bartender is friendly and offers us olives to snack on since our table will be another twenty minutes. I should have gone with my first instinct to cancel tonight. At least the wait is a good opportunity to enjoy the effects of alcohol on an empty stomach. From the bar I check out the other patrons. This Friday night it’s filled with small groups of older well-to-do types and some younger couples. I lose myself in the people watching while my date points out how lavish he is, ordering the $25 a glass Veuve Cliquot. The waiter comes to let us know our table is ready. We are lead into the dining room and seated at a street-side table for two. The dining room is smugly refined but cosy. I love this. I feel like a proper grown up just being here.

I read over the wine list to keep focused on what lies ahead. O’Connell Street Bistro is well known for its superb wine selection. Cuisine Magazine awarded them ‘Best Wine Experience’ in its recent restaurant awards. They have a large selection of New Zealand wines as well as plenty of French and Italian drops to choose from. All styles and varieties are well represented. The wine list is well laid out and with bottles starting at $40 it’s not at all intimidating. Champagne born sommelier William Morvan is on hand to make suggestions and guide you through food and wine pairings. Our waitress encourages us to seek his advice.

My date scoffs at the idea of needing any help choosing and selects a bottle of Ch de la Cour Grand Cru (St Emilion). He makes a joke about how lucky I am to be out to dinner with him. I think he is joking. I hope so. There is apparently a crowd of females who would like to be where I am right now. I would like them to be here too.

William delivers the wine and enthuses in a charming French accent about the choice. He has a warm manner and a contagious energy as he speaks. He stays just long enough for us to feel pampered by the attention. Our wine is delicious. I have to give my dinner mate full credit here. It was an excellent choice and worthy of the $120 price tag.

Now for the really fun part. I turn my full attention to the menu. I easily choose my entree: Seared Scallops on grilled black pudding with frisee lettuce, garlic crisps and champagne vanilla syrup ($24.50). As a recovering long-time vegetarian, I’m perpetually seduced by mixing meats. The combo of scallops and black pudding sounds divine. For my main course I’m tempted by both the Roasted Duck Breast with chestnut tortellini, orange, micro watercress and apple cider buerre blance ($35.50) and Pappardelle of Braised Rabbit with rimu-smoked bacon, walnut watercress pesto and parmigiano reggiano ($32.50)

My date is English and conservative about flavors. Yawn. He has decided on a risotto entrée with seared prawns, broad beans, pine nuts, basil and pecorino. His main course will be Oven Roasted Cambrian Beef Sirloin on confit potatoes with wilted kale, bordelaise butter and red wine jus ($34.50).

Our waitress returns and I ask her advice about choosing between the Rabbit or Duck dishes. She absolutely suggests the rabbit. It is the restaurant’s signature dish. She commends my choice of the scallops and black pudding, her favourite. We also order sides of Pommes Dauphinoise ($8.00) (Englishman needs more potatoes) and Roasted Root Vegetables with saporoso balsamic.

Our entrees arrive promptly. My scallops are excellent. The creamy scallop pairs perfectly with the slightly crunchy, rich, salty black pudding. The champagne vanilla syrup ties the whole dish together beautifully. I inwardly high five myself for my choice. Across the table, the risotto is great but after the flavour revelation on my plate, it’s hard to get excited about rice, no matter how good. Date won’t try my entrée (doesn’t like scallops). Another high five.

Between courses we enjoy awkward conversation. I will spare you the details.

Main courses arrive. My pappardelle looks delicious. Wide ribbons of homemade pasta with a rich glossy sauce. Our waitress grates Parmigi Reggiano over my meal as well as cracked pepper. I’m very excited. The portions of the mains and sides are generous. No tiny art food here. My meal is absolutely sublime. Its incredibly rich but the flavours are well balanced. The smoky bacon, braised rabbit and the salty walnut pesto are a heady combination. Bliss.

Back to reality and my date is enjoying his sirloin. Though he doesn’t think it’s as good as the beef he had at Clooney’s last week, I throw out the idea that perhaps he could one day order something aside from beef and potatoes. He might be pleasantly surprised. He laughs. I think that means he doesn’t agree. The Pommes Dauphinoise and Roasted Root Vegetables are excellent. I wish I had room to eat more. I sincerely don’t know the last time I enjoyed a single dish more. I’m thrilled with my meal. Again my date won’t try my dish. What a curse it must be to have a conservative palate. I feel some sympathy for him.

Our waitress checks in on us and I resist hugging her. Instead I thank her for the nudge in the right direction. The wait staff is friendly but polished and professional about everything they do. I have enjoyed every interaction with them. I had read that during the Cuisine magazine restaurant award judging, that this Rabbit Pappardelle was the dish enjoyed the most by the judges. No surprise.

I am so full after dinner that dessert is out of the question. I check out the menu though and am drawn to the baked Tahitian Vanilla crème brulee with macadamia sable biscuit ($14.50). Also stand out is the Vairhona Dark Chocolate fondant with nougat ice cream ($15.00). All desserts are helpfully listed with wine pairings. There is a selection of cheeses and plenty of port and sherry to choose from.

It’s time to wrap things up date-wise. He suggests a drink somewhere else. I make noises about a long day tomorrow and how tired I am. Part of me hopes he sees through this and I can avoid awkward talks at a later stage. We pay our bill and part ways.

I’m in love. If the O’Connell Street Bistro was a man, I would have slipped my number into his pocket and suggested we get together really soon. Instead I’m already planning my next visit, this time with some friends. I want to show off my new crush. 9/10



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Burger Report (after Meltzer): The Cheeseburger Vol. I

BY HENRY OLIVER

N.B. The Burger Report uses the burger rating system of music critic Richard Meltzer. In addition to his prolific musings on rock music, aesthetics, golf and Los Angeles ugliest buildings, Meltzer reviews burgers using a self-devised rating system. The over-all quality of the burger is shown by the amount of letters it achieves from B to B U R G E R. B being a terrible burger, B U R G E R being an amazing burger, and B U R somewhere in between. Got it? Great. Moving on...


McDonald’s (260 Queen St, Auckland City. $2.00)

Pure nostalgia! The McDonald’s Cheeseburger must be a founding nutritional document of any child not raised by hippies. I certainly remember many a friend’s 7th birthday party and a sympathetic McDonald’s treat after I ran right into a wasp’s nest when I was a youngster. But since taking up meat again after an eight-year absence I haven’t been too impressed with McDonalds. Despite changing to a make-it-as-you-order system (not to mention the options of bacon and avocado) their burgers remained soggy and flat. The fries tended to overshadow the burger most visits.
Why I think the Cheeseburger excels where other McDonald’s burgers often fall flat is simple ambition. The Cheeseburger knows what it is, knows what it is capable of, and does it well. Nothing more.
The bun was light, sweet and fluffy. The ketchup and mustard well proportioned, the pickle an acidic surprise and that finely cut onion topped the whole thing off.
While almost too sweet to be considered a savory food; this Cheeseburger was everything I remembered it to be. Nothing more, but thankfully nothing less.

B U R


Wendy’s Old-Fashioned Hamburgers (290 Queen St, Auckland City. $2.20)

The Wendy’s Cheeseburger was definitely not the freshest, but certainly the hottest. It made it’s way from the ‘kitchen’, to the tray, to my table, and to my mouth so quickly that it verged on burning my tongue.
The bun was sweet, but not too sweet. A little doughy though.
The beef patty tasted beefy enough to avoid complete flavorlessness, without the chemical sting of that ‘flame-grilled’ approach.
What I love most about Wendy’s Burgers is the mustard: tangy and pungent without over-powering the other flavors.
And the onion! I love Wendy’s onions. Thin, crisp, and crunchy. And in rings! Basically I would order this burger again for the onions and mustard alone.
What gets me though is all this trademarked square-patty business. Sure, in theory it works great; the corners spill over the side and you get both a better looking burger and more beef. More beef! And who doesn’t want that? But what you end up getting is a scrawny patty that doesn’t quite cover the bun and the inevitably disappointing last bit of dry, sugared bread. A bad finish to a merely decent burger.

B U



Burger Wisconsin (453 Mt. Eden Rd, Mt. Eden. $8.40)

This burger was definitively the best of the lot:
The beef (AngusPure no less) was well seasoned and perfectly proportioned.
The cheese was generous enough to retain a strong cheddar flavor without being too thick as to not melt sufficiently.
The bun a light sourdough that was light enough to avoid doughy-ness while still remaining a stable platform for the sauces and beef.
The lettuce was fresh, crisp and ample.
The burger struck a great balance between the components and was generous in its flavors and proportions without falling apart on itself in an excess of sauces and toppings.
A complete meal in itself.
So good, I have nothing more to say about it.

B U R G E



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