Conch Kitchen and Bar
115A Ponsonby Rd Ponsonby
Ph: (09) 360 1999
conch.co.nz
To get to Conch Kitchen and Bar, you go through Conch Records, where there are bins of vinyl LPs. I'm not the target market for the record shop. I know this because I looked between Liquid Crystal and Little Kids and couldn't find Little Feat.
So I kept walking to the cafe, which is open Wednesday to Sunday for breakfast from 9 (8 on weekends); after some renovations are finished, they're opening seven days. Lunch is like dinner except it's not dark outside. We went for dinner, and stepped into what seemed like another world.
Beyond a pizza oven (which, I discovered on a return visit, turns out generous pies, though the crusts are slightly too spongy) are rough-sawn wooden booths, like large crates on their sides, on either side of a tiled alleyway. Dinky little windows of stained glass, and vinyl padding on the bench seats add colour. The whole area is (sort of) open air, though a camo tarpaulin under a larger superstructure was keeping the elements at bay that night and overhead heaters warmed the air.
The kitchen seems about as large and well appointed as a state-house one, and with a couple of cooks, a waitress and a dishwasher in there, it was pretty much at capacity. But what comes out the door belies the basic set-up.
The food has a South American vibe, though mercifully that's more conceptual than literal. Having spent several years in that part of the world, I feel qualified to say it is not a gourmet destination. Peruvians gave us ceviche and well, that's about it, actually.
Bolivia's best effort was chicharron: they take pork crackling and deep-fry it in pork fat. As you do. In Argentina they crucify sheep before barbecuing them (presumably to let them know who's boss) and they think salad is for sissies.
In the Andes, people bake guinea pigs, called "cuy", which is the noise you make as you bring them back up. Check "cuy" and "food" on Google Images if you want to see the trouble they go to with plating these critters.
I digress. There is no chicharron or cuy on the menu at Conch. There is ceviche, though. It comes in rice-paper wraps, like Vietnamese summer rolls, which no self-respecting cuy chef would be seen dead eating.
But I loved them. Chunks of fish were livened with lime and chilli to make succulent mouthfuls. If the same mixture didn't work so well in tacos, it was down to the soft shells, which purported to be freshly made but were cold and dry on the edges.
The menu comprises a selection of fillings pulled pork, lamb shoulder, and a delicious black-bean concoction with chipotle pepper, coriander and spring onion which come in tacos and arepas the second of which I had not heard of: the crisp-crust corn buns, like sliders but less doughy, are a popular street snack in Venezuela.
Elsewhere grilled chicken skewers come with labneh (strained yoghurt); beef short rib (a bit overcooked, I thought) comes with mash, and there is a decent vegetarian option by way of a cazuela (casserole) of quinoa and lentil.
Our (otherwise charming) waitress is not alone among her peers in failing to think laterally when a trio of diners order goodies that come as a duo. It seems simple to suggest upsizing for a few bucks more, but it's so seldom done.
But this is a good-value slice of Ponsonby boho chic, which will reward a visit as the weather warms up.
Plates $10-$24; desserts $12
Verdict: Backyard boho with a Spanish accent