In Auckland's insane property market, Te Atatu North, reinvented as Te Atatu Peninsula, is the new front line of upward mobility. But eating out options are only gradually moving to match the community's aspirations. Thai and takeaways predominate.
Open more than a year, Et Tu, which styles itself a bistro,is looking to raise the bar, but to judge by our trio's experience on a recent Friday night, it has some way to go.
The Professor and I took along a mate of hers from Melbourne, who has had some god-awful meals at our invitation over the years. At the time of writing, I still owe her a good one.
Our nervous young waiter, whose charming sweetness compensated for his evident inexperience, recited a list of specials that seemed longer than the Gettysburg address and left us to look through a menu on which several of the aforementioned specials appeared, which was slightly confusing.
In the interests of sampling widely, we ordered three entrees and three mains. This decision did not seem unreasonable but turned out to be foolhardy because almost everything was sized for a trencherman's appetite.
A small jar of duck liver parfait came with a lovely beetroot relish and a full dozen slices of various breads. Most of the breads presumably had to be thrown out. If we had used them all, each would have had only a smear of parfait and we would have been full.
Remarkably bland squid had a nasty fish-and-chip greasiness that was only just rescued by the juice of a char-grilled lemon and a labneh dip flavoured with lemon and capers.
The pallid filo cigars, filled with feta, ricotta and spinach were like finger food at office drinks in Te Kuiti, but mercifully the serving size was small.
Our Melbourne mate thought her Scotch fillet (porcini jus, garlic mash) was perfectly good, though again she could finish barely half of it. My dish of seafood pasta was generous with the fish and shellfish, but cloyingly sweet, as if a tablespoon of sugar had been stirred into it.
Meanwhile, the Professor's snapper fillets were overcooked and marooned, like a couple of beached whales, on a huge mound of what we were assured was a risotto, though it had the consistency of something from a garden centre. To her credit, the waitress noticed it was barely touched and comped us a (pretty good) dessert.
Inside every bad restaurant, there is a good one crying to get out, I always think. Perhaps there's one here, too, if they halved the serving sizes and doubled the ingredient quality and attention to detail.
While they are about it, some pepper grinders that work would be good.
