There's been a lot of flak directed at South Auckland lately. Here at Rogers Rabbits, we don't think its reputation for violence, crime, and more violence is warranted.
We went to south Auckland, to a cosy suburban restaurant, to report on not only the cuisine, but the ambience of this iconic New Zealand region.

Dining in South Auckland
Restaurant Review: The Mortis and Pistol
We had booked early, but were still impressed on arrival at the restaurant that despite the baseball bat bashing in the foyer, the management managed to have us seated comfortably. My wife even coped, in her short black skirt, to duck under the 'police line, don't cross” cordon and we were escorted to our table without fuss.
The Mortis & Pistol – run by a couple of guys (former room mates at another joint in nearby Mt Eden), Rick ‘Rigor' Mortis and Pete the Pistol – provides a lovely, quaint atmosphere for romantic dining, with the soft, revolving blue flashes from the patrol cars outside adding a delicate touch of ambience and mood lighting.
I could murder a drink, and what better way to start the night at Mortis & Pistol, than knocking back a couple of stiff ones. The Bloodied Mary and the Bashed Barcardi went down well.
Then we chose a Merlot Cab, which was very smooth but should have been left to breathe. So should the barman, however there appeared to be little air available in the chiller and its hard to know whether he expired from lack of oxygen or multiple stabbings to the torso with the ice pick.
Nevertheless, the pianist in the corner tapped out some catchy numbers, helped along by the rhythmic tattering of small arms fire from the colourful streets beyond.
The restaurant was full and the conversation and red wine flowed as freely and colourful as the pints of B Negative in the nearby alleyways. You'd think the odd muzzle flash and the sound of breaking glass and limbs would make some diners a little nervy, however there's nothing quite like the uncertainty of your future to bring people close. It's a unique sense of togetherness, huddled in a dimmed corner with the subtle hints of impending danger, the fragrant aroma of powder burns from close-range fire, wafting through the suburbs.
The waiter brought out the menu, with lovely choices, some to die for.

The menu
The entrée selection included such South Auckland favourites as Thoroughly Bashed Scone, Kidney Surprise and Wild Native fritters (only in season).
It was a tough decision, but I liked the sound of Wild Natives and, as luck would have it, one slumped over at the table next to us – apparently some kind of incident with a butter knife – so was immediately carried to the kitchen for processing. A fresh one! Just our luck!
My wife decided to try something a little different and ordered glazed coconut (smoked with Northland's unique wild herbs) and finished with the flesh of sliced palangi. Apparently there are many glazed coconuts going wild in South Auckland and you only have to take a wander in the balmy evenings to see them in wild bunches. Palangi, too, are plentiful and easy to catch, especially if they've been soaking in alcohol for the evening. They also cut easily.
Mains were an easy choice. While I opted for the Battered Brains I'd seen on the way in, my companion had a hard decision between the Well-kicked Rump and the Tenderised Ribs with Mashed Appendages.
When the mains finally arrived, the ribs seemed to be overdone. I asked the waiter to take it up with the chef, which he did amidst the sound of knife sharpening followed by some muffled utterances. That waiter never returned, but a new, nervous young fellow appeared, announced that he would be serving us for the rest of the evening and then proceeded to add chopped liver to the specials board.
We enjoyed our first two courses, although a great amount of time elapsed between them. But it didn't really matter – we were pre-occupied watching the pianist being laid on a stretcher and removed from the scene and the colourful display of lights on the street as a helicopter flew overhead with a brilliant spotlight dancing light all around the neighbourhood. What a quaint ritual! Some of the locals even took the opportunity to do the South Auckland Tango, a lively dance in which they run from street to street, trying to avoid the beam. If they're caught, they're out! They get partnered with one of the chaps in blue and the dance is over. But then they get to march! Marched off down to 'The Station” which is a sort of local nightclub, where the fun and frivolity continues deep into the night. Some of the best performances even make it onto a TV show.
I was little disappointed to find fragments of glass in my brains and my wife would have liked to have used the peppermill for her ribs, only it shattered in her hands as a stray 9mm ricocheted around the bar area. At this point we'd also hoped our glasses would be refilled, but it seemed unlikely as the bottle was being used to bludgeon a dark figure in a dark corner.
Dessert was taking its time, and as the chef was cuffed and led away for questioning, muttering something about the waiter and 'just desserts” we decided to skip the final course and follow the Armed Offender Squad members who had entered through the back door and were streaming out the front. They seemed to know their way around, we can only assume it's a regular for these guys. It was sort of comforting to know that we were sharing our eating establishment with well seasoned and experienced upholders of the law.
On the way past, we flashed a credit card to the still-smiling maitre d' who passed the chit to me to sign with a pen that had been embedded in his left temple, before he crumpled into a heap over the empty cash register, jammed open with a pinch bar, its cash long since removed.
Outside, a cab driven by a chap of Middle Eastern descent wouldn't stop, but blazed past. Literally, since its petrol tank and rear tyres were on fire. 'Flaming foreigners,” a passerby remarked. I thought it a little harsh. They're just trying to make a living for their families back home.

City ambience
We took a casual stroll through the streets, breathing in the ambience of this unique part of the city. It wasn't far to our hotel, however the constable at the cordon said we couldn't go within a block, due to the ram raid. We guess that must be when the sheep farmers come to town for a conference. So we caught a cab, driven by the extinguished looking foreign gentleman, to the airport.
A thorough cavity search left us feeling pleased we didn't have dessert, then it was a quick flight home to the peace and tranquillity of the Bay.
Below us, the flickering lights and odd explosion of colour was a subtle reminder of how different the cultures between us are. Thanks, Mortis & Pistol, for a memorable night out.
Ah, Auckland: City of Assailants.