Headquarters

By LINDA HERRICK for viva

I'm not a lady who lunches a lot. Who has the time? But three of us had an aberration mid-week and decided we needed something classier than a sandwich from the staff cafe. We could have headed down the road to the Louis Vuitton-infested Viaduct Basin, but we opted for the heart of the yachting industry: Westhaven and its boulevards of boat businesses we don't understand at all.

We do understand food, though, and Headquarters - in an unlovely stretch of Beaumont St backing on to the Westhaven Marina - does food very well, if our lunchtime meal was any indicator.

Popular with a certain media crowd, and literally HQ to a hardcore boatie clientele, Headquarters has been around for quite a few years and recently attracted attention after being named on the BlackHearts' ``supporters list'' without permission.

HQ is a no-frills establishment, with a photo of Sir Peter Blake above the bar and an echoey interior that is practical (hard-wearing) and noisy. A mezzanine floor looks over the marina, but we chose to sit in the modest courtyard, despite a light breeze.

The lunch menu is the way we like it: succinct. There's a range of adventurous pizzas (confit duck with cardamom mayo, anyone?) at $19 each, and some hearty tucker like lamb bangers and eye fillets ($20.50 and $24.50) for the Captain Pugwashes of this world.

We ordered the pizza bread ($5 for a round) and a glass each of Goldwater Sauvignon Blanc ($7.50) as we perused blackboard specials which included a roasted buttercup, artichoke and saffron salsa for $10 and tarakihi with smoked salmon fishcake ($22.50).

We stuck with the printed menu, however: Mick opted for the entree-sized lamb rump on watercress with black bean and mango salsa ($13), which she pronounced tender and tasty before demolishing it at speed. Matty, who needs feeding up after starving overseas, had the main-sized warm scallop and bacon salad ($22, entree size is $15) and said, in wonder, that there were almost too many scallops, as if such a thing was possible.

Me, I was too busy drooling over my delectable crayfish and pumpkin ravioli in a clear tomato broth with just a hint of coriander ($14). It was heaven on an entree plate and I had to stop myself from slurping up the dregs.

Our desserts (all $9) were not so sublime: Mick felt the short pastry in her coconut tart with citrus icecream tasted a tad old; and my apple, prune and butterscotch compote was gum-witheringly sour with a topping of plain yogurt (our waitress didn't know if it was yogurt or not). Matty sucked up his white chocolate and Kahlua brulee in record time, but then he would eat - almost - anything in his state of post-travel emaciation.

Our only real quibble with HQ, however, would be about the service, which was somewhat desultory and amateurish; training is needed to lift the game to the standard set by the kitchen. There's nothing fancy about HQ - when we left, the staff were hurling chairs on to the tables inside with velocity; Lord knows what happens late at night when the place is really jumping. However, its chefs (oh, that crayfish ravioli!) could teach a thing or two to some of the Viaduct sharks. So, as we drifted reluctantly back to our keyboards, a resolution was reached: must lunch more often. It really does make a workday better.

Open: 7am-late, seven days a week

Owner: Paul Smit

Chef: William Foote

Food: New Zealand cuisine

Smoking: Outside courtyard and upstairs

Vegetarian: Pizza and a couple of specials; vegan dishes can be requested in advance

Wine: Small but adequate selection by glass or bottle, ports and dessert wines

Noise: Pleasant in the courtyard; bouncy interior acoustics mean you have to shout to be heard at peak crowd times. No discernible music when we visited.

Costs (mains for two): Around $45

Bottom line: Casual, longestablished cafebar in the heart of the nofrills nuts and bolts of the sailing industry. The excellence of the food let down a little by the waiting staff. A favourite with yachties and hangerson who eschew the poncier Viaduct Basin scene.

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