Mango Tango in Jervois Rd. Photo / Babiche Martens
Herald rating: * * * *
Address: 204 Jervois Rd, Herne Bay
Phone: (09) 376 2001
Open: Tues-Sat, 4pm-late
Cuisine: Latin American
From the menu: Empanadas (smoked salmon, potato), mango salsa $13.90; Slow-cooked wild hare, chorizo, mushrooms, potato puree, Crema Catalana $9.90
Vegetarian: Plenty of plates
Wine list: Above average
He got the idea during six months in Cuba. Tony Matches would come back to Herne Bay, revitalise his tiring French and Italian country-style restaurant and start living la vida locally.
Just a few weeks later, Villa d'Vine has become Mango Tango. The plates of pate and pasta have been
put away; it's now "Latin American cuisine", a catch-all term for the sud-continent's Spanish and African-originated food. Piaf and Pavarotti have taken their bows, Santana and samba hold sway. Once mellow yellow walls are simply blood red. Who reckoned that Havana is a place where nothing ever happens?
There's even - tucked behind plush ruby curtains when it's not needed - a dance floor. You could go along for tapas, like Spanish meatballs, and a jiggle. I know, it's only ceroc and rissoles, but you might like it.
Matches has been a fixture on Jervois Rd for way more than a decade. Anyone remember Copacabana (is there a theme here?). He donated half the floor for Vinnies, opened Mosso in the other half. Then Villa d'Vine, just down the road, six years back.
Mango Tango does things by threes: streetside bar, restaurant, dance floor. Three parts to the menu: tapas, small plates, mains.
The name comes from a cocktail but the wine list has evolved from Villa d'Vine, which offered only French and Italian bottles. It now presents reasonable Kiwis at more than reasonable prices. Chilean and Argentine appellations beckon.
"Latin American" may be a concept rather than a genuine genre of cuisine, but our quick run-through the large orange menu (it sets off the colour of the walls nicely) gives an idea.
We began with Brazilian street bread, baking soda replacing yeast, stuffed with chicken, and coxiha, piquant chicken croquettes. The big hit came in the next round, Cuban black beans. It's one of those slow-cooked, tangy concoctions of down-home ingredients, best slurped-up with a wodge of tortilla, that you want to go back to a restaurant for. And back for.
There's a twist to the mains, but we'll get to that. Jude chose pork pastor, which does not involve broiling the vicar. "Al pastor" is a Mexican dish, developed from shawarma or spit-grilled meat by Lebanese migrants: think doner with pork, not lamb. It's a lovely sweet-sour arrangement of meat, caramelised pineapple, herbs, spuds and garlic.
For me, Argentinian beef. I don't know if the heifer was raised on the pampas, but it was braised long and slow in red wine, tomatoes thrown in and reduced to a point past sauce. Almonds roasted and tossed in too. Sticky red rice completes a country confit. When it comes to this dish, don't fry for me, Argentina.
If you do the whole menu, there is crema catalana and churros. Then you front the boss at the checkout.
And he says, "What do you think your main course was worth?" because there are no prices alongside the pork or beef or slow-cooked wild hare. You have to tell him what you're willing to pay. I said, "$35 for each."
He bargained me down to $30 and I zapped the card before he changed his mind. He told me someone rated their meals at $40, someone else at $10. If someone chooses the lower figure, he asks, "So what did we do wrong?"
We didn't stay to see the dance floor rumba into action. For me, salsa is piquant sauces, not saucy pirouettes best performed by women young enough to be my stepdaughter.
