Cin Cin On Quay, Auckland City

By EWAN MCDONALD for viva

As soon as the ferry cast off from the Devonport wharf, she gazed over to the city skyline. It would be the first time that Vivienne had walked around the Auckland streets in five ... no, it was six years.

She'd been hanging out for this day for months, since the afternoon she'd looked out of the London office window and realised she'd be fighting her way home in the dark, and that was after she'd got out of the Tube.

The temping contract was almost over. There was no reason to extend her extended OE. She could be on Cheltenham Beach for Christmas.

The plane had landed at Mangere just last night, her sister had been there to pick her up, hugs and tears and throwing cases into the boot and heading for the city, the bridge, and home. Well, Jan's home, Vivienne thought: she could doss down in her niece's room for a couple of weeks but a flat was a priority. And a job. The pounds would go further here, but only so far.

Even on the night-time ride Vivienne noticed that things had changed, and as she walked off the wharf and into the downtown square on that first afternoon she began wondering, "What's happened to my city?" Queen St (she'd read some of the letters on the Herald website and been shocked at the attitudes of some of her fellow New Zealanders). The Viaduct. What on earth was "Britomart"?

Vivienne fumbled for her cellphone and rang Jan. "Get the next ferry and meet me at some place that hasn't changed so I'll recognise it," she begged. Her sister struggled to think. "Okay, give me an hour. I'll see you at Cin Cin."

Yes, thought Vivienne. It was only five minutes' walk. She could recover herself before the ferry arrived and the first bubbles would be poured as her sister got there.

Well, it hadn't changed so much, they agreed. There was a new, long bar in front of the kitchens ("full of smokers, just wait till the new law comes in," grumbled Jan to Vivienne, who'd stubbed out as her sister walked in), a dark wooden floor, tall rattan chairs.

Friends had emailed that the place had gone off, had become some kind of Italian or South American pasta banquet-style eatery in the past year, but when they opened the menus the chef's name was familiar (that's right, Cin Cin had been one of the first restaurants in the city to print the chef's name on the menu). "It's changed hands and the new owners have brought him back," Jan remembered reading in Viva.

The food was definitely not Italian. Even the signature dish, the favourite warm chicken salad for a business lunch, was finito.

Vivienne recognised the major players _ eel, duck, pork, lamb, seafood. What on earth was horopito? Piko piko? Peri peri oil? Kawakawa, apart from a town up north?

The young European waiter - in white shirt and tie, full-length black apron, something else that hadn't changed, Vivienne approved, although he took a little too long to arrive beside their table - was only too happy to educate the two Kiwis about the chef's determination to introduce spices and flavours from New Zealand.

After five years in London, Vivienne felt quite able to educate her older sister as they chose between dishes like hot smoked eel fillets with shallot and sweet potato tartlets and truffled eggs; Akaroa salmon with crushed freekeh (Moroccan wheat, apparently) and caperberry salad; seared veal liver with pancetta bacon, parsnip puree and chorizo and fig salad. "Contemporary, without a hint of fusion in sight," she stated.

In Auckland's January humidity, starters like cashew-crusted goat's cheese with baby beets and a truffled peach salad, or a forest mushroom tart with feta crumble and asparagus essence were heavy going.

"A meal in themselves," sighed Jan.

"Yes," agreed Vivienne, "and you can pick out each flavour."

The new signature dish was a lamb plate: a sausage in rich gravy, tenderloins wrapped around tomato, racks and asparagus. Pork ribs are slow-cooked and served with a solid mash, set off with pickled black cherries.

"We should have tried fish or chicken or something lighter tonight," admitted Vivienne. "I think that's what I like about this food," suggested Jan. "You don't get the twice-cooked duck or the lamb shanks or the sirloin like everywhere else in town."

They'd left the wines to the waiter, and he'd presented them with gorgeous choices from New Zealand vineyards that hadn't budded a grape when Vivienne left. Bilancia pinot gris without the flavours and subtleties chilled out of it; the sweetness and lightness of a Vynfield riesling; two pinot noir, Greenhough and Akarua, one tart and cherry, the other smooth and plummy.

"I think just about everyone else here is going back on that cruise liner or back to the Hilton," Jan remarked. "Time for us to get the ferry," said Vivienne.

Open: 7 days 11am-late

Owners: JP Singh and partners

Chef: Keith McPhee

Manager: Peter Allen

Food: Contemporary NZ

On the menu: Cashew-crusted goat's cheese with baby beets and a truffled peach salad $15; Hot smoked eel fillets with shallot and sweet potato tartlets and truffled eggs $24; Caramelised peaches with pan-roasted chocolate bread $12

Vegetarian Options: on menu

Wine: Impressive NZ-oriented cellar

Noise: Frank, Dean, Van, Bob ... old white guys

Smoking: At the bar. Too close for comfort

Disabled access / toilets: Street entry, convenient facilities

Parking: Take a cab

Bottom line: New owners (they own Takapuna's icon Killarney St, too), new look, the return of chef Keith McPhee from Devonport's Esplanade and the Skytower's Orbit, a menu of contemporary style spiced with fascinating indigenous ingredients. It bodes well but several weeks after re-opening the service and atmosphere is still uneasy and some dishes come across as great ideas rather than assured and accomplished executions. Give it time.