The aunties rule the roost in the Anzac Day kitchen.
Yesterday was a particularly special Anzac anniversary, but Anzac Day has a special place in our family's hearts every year. We're away on our month-long book tour this year, but normally the day plays out this way: during the dawn service at the Maketu War Memorial Monument, we're in the wharekai getting breakfast ready. By getting breakfast ready, we mean buttering toast and chopping onions. Winning MasterChef last year means nothing when it comes to being in the kitchen with our aunties.
You have to do your time before you are allowed anywhere near the porridge or eggs, and that's how we like it.
While prepping, we can hear the Last Post being played from across the estuary. It sends shivers up our spines and there is always an eerie feeling in the air after the trumpet tune fades and we all remember. We had grandparents and great-grandparents on both sides of our family who went away in the 28th Maori Battalion and as nurses.
The best part of Anzac mornings is when the returned servicemen and women walk in through the door wearing their medals and poppies, with their cheeks rosy from the early morning air.