Cooking is about embracing the seasons. This is never more obvious than when we herald a new one in.
A point in case is the start of whitebait season tomorrow.
Nets mended, stands built, the whitebaiting ilk emerge like they've been hibernating for most of winter to descend on our rivers for the finest free fare.
Bluff's oyster season finished two weeks ago, just a few days after duck-shooting season wound up.
There's something breathtaking about how these delicacies are staggered throughout the year, like it's all part of a gastronomic plan.
Come to think of it there's no month in the year where my tiny Hastings section doesn't yield something we can eat.
As we speak, fat oranges are dropping on our lawn. They fall, then roll to one biased side like a lawn bowl on its final rest.
Two weeks ago a neighbour's feijoa tree, which leans heavily over our fence, relinquished the last of an extended season.
A little before that, passionfruit peppered our concrete path with a "thwack" all hours of the day and night.
After the oranges, my spinach will be ready, which will take us all the way through to the heady days of summer, with its basil, coriander and tomatoes.
Before I moved back to this province I was jealous of other New Zealand regions, the likes of Bluff and the West Coast, that boasted their own notable culinary seasons.
But while the Bay can't claim exclusive naming rights to seasons of stone fruit, grapes, lamb, paua, limes, crays, truffles, apples or ducks - there's a generous flipside.
Given the all-year-round produce from my backyard, paired with whatever I care to supplement it with courtesy of the Farmers' Market, I say Hawke's Bay isn't seasonal at all. It's perpetual. Beat that Bluff.
Best of luck to all you whitebaiters - here's hoping Tangaroa smiles on you this season.
