Eating my words: Ewan McDonald

SIMON and Ross and that other bloke? Small time. The biggest name in reality TV – okay, the slightly smaller world of reality food TV in New Zealand is … ahem. Pause for modest cough and look down, blush … Me. Well, me and Matt from the Westmere Organic Butchery and Tom from the Auckland Seafood Market and Andy from the Cable Bay Winery and Wouter from the Sofitel in Queenstown.

You won’t find us on the covers of the glossy mags or the gossip pages of the Sunday papers or the recipe pages in the food sections. But the five of us held the future of five Dutch couples in our hands – or our knives and forks – on a hot summer’s afternoon at a Waiheke winery.

It started about six weeks ago when an email dropped into my inbox from a very nice chap called Wibke at Tourism NZ.

Wibke was co-ordinating an arrangement between our tourist promotion folk and Endemol, the hugely successful Netherlands machine that creates reality TV programmes like Big Brother and I’m A Celebrity – Get Me Out of Here! , and approximately 7000 similar concepts that I’ve never seen but you may have.

Wibke had asked around and a woman who I’d worked with about 30 years ago on another planet (Hamilton) had suggested a bloke called Ewan who might be able to suggest some people in the cuisine trade around Auckland, or have some ideas about food and wine.

I do have many ideas about food. I also have many ideas about wine. So, when the Dutch end of the arrangement flew to New Zealand a couple of months ago to do a recce (see, one afternoon and I know all the terms), we had a pleasant chat in a flash hotel about Kiwi cuisine and wine and places to film the contestants cooking NZ-style meals and who would make good judges.

Jo from Tourism NZ’s London office, came with them, and we briefed the Hollandaise about Kiwi cuisine: sausage rolls, shepherd’s pie, shrimp cocktails, roast leg of lamb, pikelets, scones with jam and cream.

We spoke about the bespoke food shops in Auckland where the contestants might buy ingredients for the meal they’d have to cook on camera. And then Jo shouted a round of drinks. Mac’s Gold, I said. The Dutch – four of ‘em – went for mineral waters. Which is not what you’d expect from television folk, if you believe the gossip pages and glossy mags.

I should tell you what this show was to be about. I’ve pointed out it was a Dutch reality TV show. And I mean Dutch. Not English. I have a handle on French, a smattering of Italian, and a morsel of Turkish, but slap a Dutch menu in front of me and I’d starve. Not to mention the winelist. What’s Dutch for chianti?

It was to be called – and for the next few paragraphs I am quoting from the official Tourism NZ official here – Herman’s Kookieland. The translation supplied was “Herman goes to New Zealand” but I suspect they might have been taking the proverbial, or whatever they call that in Amsterdam.

“Herman Den Blijker is described as a mixture of the hardness of Gordon Ramsey, the kindness of Jamie Oliver – but with the knowledge of a real head chef. He has been a judge on a programme similar to Hell’s Kitchen in the Netherlands , and is a regular face on tv – as the main personality on nine different tv series since between 2006 and 2010. He also has authored several cook books, and has two restaurants in Rotterdam.”

For this show, “More and more Dutchmen and women are playing with the idea of leaving Holland behind for a completely different life somewhere abroad. Among them are many people that dream of living and working in New Zealand .

“Herman den Blijker and hotelier Mr. Reimers meet up with 10 such enthusiastic persons (5 chefs and 5 maitres) and gives them some mouth-watering news: he’s found a beautiful hotel that looks for a chef and a maitre at a wonderful location in New Zealand , the country so many people want to emigrate to. The candidates that show the most talent apart, but also as a team will win the jobs.

“For the contestants the trip will be a tough and intense battle, full of twists and turns but also a journey of culinary discovery, with produce and recipes unique to New Zealand tried and tested along the way.

“The couples/persons compete against one another in a series of different tasks. They’re tested on all aspects of the business, from cooking ability to business instinct, teamwork, customer knowledge and hospitality. They get to know this beautiful, but to them unfamiliar, country. And we’ll be testing them on their ability to make themselves at home here, to adapt to the local customs.”

The winners, of course, get the green cards, or whatever we call them here.

You can see the attraction for our tourism folk. Money couldn’t buy several weeks of exposure for our food, wine, adventure and luxury tourism industries on primetime TV in Europe. Especially our money, against the euro.

I was involved in the first episode, an overview of Auckland and its food, and wine, and gourmet shops. The couples were given a couple of days, an envelope of cash, and several likely addresses. They could go to this fruit and vege place, or that seafood market, or an organic butchery. They had to buy the ingredients in Auckland one morning and cook their Kiwi-style meal for the five judges on 0Waiheke that afternoon.

It was supposed to be a gentle warm-up. Not an Elimination Challenge. No one would be voted off the island (neither Waiheke, nor the North Island). That would start on the next day, and Carly from Tourism NZ would have to ferry the first losers from the Coromandel to Auckland Airport. Two hours in a very small car with a lot of gear that they would have been expecting, or at the very least hoping, to use over the ensuing (or, as it would unfold, not ensuing) four weeks.

Which is what brought me, and Matt, and Tom, and Wouter, and Carly, and Wibke, to the Waiheke ferry dock on a Wednesday afternoon. Carly had made a sign which said, “Dutch Reality TV Show, Meet Here”, to avoid that embarrassing moment when people who’ve never met one another are milling around on a wharf looking for people they’ve only spoken to on email and don’t have a clue what they look like or how to contact them.

Unless they have one another’s cellphone numbers and txt the person standing right next to them. Which is when I discovered that Wibke is not a boy’s name.

TO BE CONTINUED