I love my food. Life is a tussle between my waistline and my vanity. I am a gourmet and a gourmand. Just call me: I’ll take you to Brixton Pop, for amazing food inside a world of shipping containers. Vietnamese noodle here, pizza with truffle there; soft plump gyoza here, perfect sushi there. Washed down with a glass of Chardonnay from my own NZ wine importer, Mel. Or let’s go to Mildreds for great veggie food. Or buttermilk chicken and a pisco sour at Chick’n’Sours. Or tapas with brilliant sherry at Jose in Bermondsey. Or a summer’s day lunch at Rochelle Canteen in the playground of a Victorian school in Shoreditch. I know them all. All.

My favourite area here in Auckland is Ponsonby Road: my Mecca. Something for every meal, every taste, every budget. Eggs and salmon on toast (with microherbs, salsa verde and avocado) with a long black? Dizengoff. But if you like your eggs poached and a flat white, Bambina two doors away is better. Chicken Caesar at Bird on a Wire is the best in the world. There’s white chocolate macadamia and pomegranate ice cream at the new Duck Island – wow! I love the sharing tables at Orphan’s Kitchen…. yes, sharing a meal with strangers at a communal table. It’s amazing.

There’s another – let’s call it Lullaby Lulu. A boisterous place with tables spilling on to the pavement, music blaring, the cocktails knocking you for six. I’d read about it so often: time to try it. It is heaving at 7.30. ‘Certainly sir, we keep tables aside for just one person’. He takes me to the back, between the kitchen and the toilets. I say no. So he takes me back out front to the only one left: ‘But I don’t think you’re too tall for it.’ There’s a giant palm, fronds dropping over the table, over the chair. I take it. ‘I’ll have the salmon sashimi please and then the pork belly’. I order a gin and elderflower cocktail. Fifteen minutes later the main course arrives. It looks wonderful. But where’s my starter? ‘Oh that will be along soon’. I send the pork away, and thirty seconds later both courses arrive at once. They’re obviously turning tables, but I give in. And the food is wonderful. The sashimi is super fresh, with a crunchy shrimp popcorn, a drizzle of a herb oil, and some microherbs. It tastes divine. But when I get to the pork belly I have entered heaven! It’s been thrice cooked I reckon: simmered to render some of the fat, steamed for hours to drive the flavours through including the Thai spice rub, and then flashed with a torch maybe to get the skin perfect and crisp. It comes with a fine Asian slaw with just a hint of a herb oil, and some beautifully judged red chilli. And microherbs. It’s the best I have ever tasted. Wow. I forgive the service – until the bill comes. I never got my cocktail. ‘Oh sorry, we forgot’. It’s OK, just take it off the bill. ‘Sorry, I can’t do that. You ordered it’. Er, what? We argue, it comes off the bill, I’m angry and I don’t leave a tip. Zero stars for service, 5 for the food!

A few days later on a Sunday I’ve walked another 15 miles. I’ve hiked up Mount Eden, the extinct volcano that overlooks Auckland. I’ve not eaten. It’s 5.30 and I’m famished. I give Lullaby Lulu another chance. It’s half empty. They let me sit on a street table that’s definitely not for one. Great. A bearded hipster type comes up and introduces himself. ‘Hi, I’m Edward! I’m the manager here, and I’m delighted to see you this evening!’ I say ‘ Actually I’m delighted to see you too, Edward!’ He looks at me quizzically. ’Well that’s just great then’. Well no, I want to tell you about my visit the other night. I tell him the story. He strokes his beard, sits down. ‘I’m really sorry to hear that. You must have felt awful. It is my personal determination and wish that every one leaves here with their life enhanced. I cannot condone our behaviour, though yes, the owner does request that we help single people to eat and vacate. However, from a values perspective (here I can’t help but roll my eyes) I cannot concur with this customer strategy. In fact I concur with your experience which I would like to be exemplary. Allow me to make this visit the best you’ve had anywhere: we will be attending on your every wish.’ Erm, yes, OK….

The ‘attendant’ comes over, and I place my order carefully. I’ll have the sashimi please, followed by the goat curry. And to drink I’ll have a beer please. Natalie goes away. 15 minutes later the curry appears. But where’s my starter? ‘Oh I didn’t realise you wanted the starter FIRST!’ So when I said sashimi followed by curry, what do you think I actually meant? I would like to see Edward please. ‘Edward’s on his break’. Did he say anything to you about last time I was here? ‘Oh yes and he said we were to treat you really well and make your experience exemplary’. Look, I said, I made it very clear why I wasn’t happy last time, and you make exactly the same mistakes again. I am leaving.

And I get up, I walk away, leaving Natalie holding a great looking green Goat curry on the pavement. I eat at some Italian place. An hour later I’m walking back home, past Lullaby Lulu and Edward leaps out. He looks disgruntled. ‘Sir you need to pay your bill’. What, for food I didn’t eat, with some of the most inept service I’ve ever had anywhere? ’Sir, it’s not my policy, in fact I fully concur with your premise, but the owner says…’ Fuck the owner! I’m not paying you a penny! As I make off, he fondles my shoulder and says ‘Sir, can we just sit down over a drink and talk about it?’ I give in – I’m a sucker for a free drink. He finds us a quiet table, and he tells me about his family, his parents’ struggles and illnesses – and how I have to pay the bill. The conversation lapses. In the Auckland evening sun, Ponsonby Road hums with traffic, with the shrill bleat of young people coming out to have fun before the working week. There’s a siren. It’s getting closer. It stops outside the restaurant. Maybe they’ve come in for takeaway.

Edward beckons them over. I don’t believe this. I’m outside myself, hearing him tell officers Tom Rubble and Eva Reddy the story. Rubble looks at me seriously and says ‘You know, he’s right – you have to pay’. I say, no frigging way – officer. ‘Don’t take that tone. It’s the law.’ What, paying for services and goods you don’t receive or consume? ‘The law states when you order food, you enter into a contract – how much is the bill?’ Edward tells them. ‘Lets all be reasonable – what are you willing to do?’ Edward knocks $10 off. I laugh. I have one shit experience here after another, you feign concern, you lull me in under fall pretences, you deceive me by telling some heart rending story about your mother’s conjunctivitis – and you call the Police!!! You are not getting a single penny from me’. Rubble looks at me solemnly. ‘Is that your final answer?’ I hesitate. Where on earth is this going? Then Reddy opens her wizened mouth for the first time ‘Then we will have to ask you to come with us. Sir.’

What, like I’m being…. Arrested? ‘Oh no sir, we would just like you to come with us’. I get up, Edward is grinning malevolently. I say ‘And you can stick your green curry!’ I wish I hadn’t. Anyway, they lower my head into the cop car. Shadowy bits of Auckland drift past me slowly like I’m in a movie. My life whizzes past in double quick time. We get to the station and of course I don’t have any ID. They check me in, lead me down a cream coloured 1950s corridor, and unlock a door. They push me in. Christ almighty – it’s a goddamn cell! Are they actually putting me in jail? It’s grey, bare except for a loo, a single lightbulb, a steel framed bed and a coarse hairy blanket. It smells of iodine.

I scream. Just what the hell are you playing at? Let me out! They say ‘Simmer down. Sir. We’ll see you in the morning’. But I’m a British Citizen! I was born in Hampstead! I’ve never been in trouble in my life!’ And they slam the door. It echoes down the hall. And then the key goes in the lock. I feel like a total jerk, but completely in the right. I pace around. I mark the hours on the wall with my biro. I don’t sleep. The silence of the city is deafening. And there’s no air conditioning.

But this story does have a happy ending. In the morning, Eva Reddy unlocks the door, leads me out and sits me down at a table. ‘You’ll be needing some breakfast’. And she brings me a bowl of porridge.

Now, this is not any usual sort of porridge. It’s special Down and Under Porridge. It’s made with local organic oats, goat’s milk, blueberries, a dash of grated ginger, a dribble of soy maple syrup and topped with a dollop of double cream and of course chia seeds. And microherbs. Pure heaven! Without question, it’s the best bowl of porridge I’ve ever had. I thank them. I want to leave a tip – but maybe that’s inappropriate. After all, the food might have been great, but the service was terrible.

I leave the station with the warm early morning sun on my face, and with a spring in my step. Life is wonderful! Especially after a great meal.

Note: On your behalf I have had this article checked and independently verified by http://www.factchecker.org.nz who have been unable to confirm the majority of ‘facts’ in this article. Which is unsurprising as it is in part a work of fiction. The food descriptions however are all true. Apart from the porridge