HLM – Chapter 41 Wellington Cuisine

Where there is spending, there must also be income. Once five hundred thousand in cash flowed out, Old Wang’s cash reserves were instantly halved. So he urged Charlie to take him to Newfoundland to open a bank account for receiving government funds.

Charlie nodded, “Sounds good. I’ll rest for two days, then we’ll head out. After we return, we’ll get ready for Christmas.”

Hearing this, Wang Bo felt a bit sentimental. Time flew like water—he had already been in New Zealand for almost a month. It was now early December, with just over half a month left until Christmas.

Speaking of which, celebrating Christmas in New Zealand was quite interesting. There was no snow, no reindeer—on top of that, it was the height of summer, practically the hottest time of the year. Santa Claus would probably have to deliver gifts shirtless.

According to New Zealand’s seasonal cycle, it was now summer. Spring ran from September to November, summer from December to February, autumn from March to May, and winter from June to August.

After the weekend and a hearty breakfast, they boarded a helicopter bound for Wellington to open the bank account. Commander and the Zhuang Ding were left in Bowen’s care.

From Sunset Town to Wellington was over 800 kilometers. Even by helicopter, it took more than three hours. Fortunately, they could fly in a straight line over the terrain, and passing over the Southern Alps gave Wang Bo a chance to admire New Zealand’s tallest mountain from above and kill some time.

The helicopter zipped through the sky, gliding over snow-covered peaks and lush green forests like flowing water. The mountain landscape was almost untouched. Though the mountains weren’t very tall and the forests not very deep, the feel of the primordial wilderness was rich and refreshing in its own right.

In the first hour after takeoff, Wang Bo had already saved hundreds of photos to his phone. Such pristine wilderness was a novelty to him.

Crossing the Cook Strait between the South and North Islands, the helicopter entered Wellington’s controlled airspace.

Charlie reported the flight to the ground radar station. Once approved, they landed on the rooftop helipad of a five-star hotel in Wellington—the Green Olive Hotel.

As the political and cultural capital of New Zealand, Wellington wasn’t a large city, but it enjoyed an excellent reputation. In the Southern Hemisphere, it was affectionately known as a “dessert stop.” Not because it had many sweets, but because of its charm and beauty—New Zealanders called it “sweet.”

The city was a mountainous port, surrounded by green slopes densely covered in trees. Sea winds blew from three sides. Each hill had a scenic lookout. To the northwest were golden beaches perfect for strolling, and to the south, majestic and rugged coastlines.

However, the sea breeze here was a bit much. Wang Bo’s clothes flapped wildly as he walked the streets, and he grumbled in frustration. Charlie, however, ignored him.

Old Wang turned his head in confusion and saw that the guy was wide-eyed, scanning the surroundings. With the strong winds, the skirts of the girls on the street were also flying…

An emperor cannot mistreat his loyal ministers. Even though Old Wang was only a “local emperor” ruling over a dog and a bird, status was still status. He had to treat Charlie, this regent minister, to a proper meal.

Wellington, being a tourist city, was full of elegant cafés and luxurious restaurants. Some streets were permeated with the rich aroma of coffee.

Wang Bo picked a fancy-looking restaurant and was about to enter when Charlie stopped him with a mischievous grin. “No, not here. We’re having a Wellington-style feast for lunch!”

“Shit! You just eat till your belt bursts and you end up with diarrhea!” Old Wang snapped, knowing full well this guy was planning to rip him off.

Charlie hailed a taxi, claiming that strangers could barely get around Wellington, as the city had tons of one-way streets and pedestrian zones. Without local knowledge, one would take countless unnecessary detours.

Indeed, after getting in the car and giving the driver the address “Harbor Market,” the driver took a twisting route that soon left Old Wang disoriented.

Wang Bo had a major flaw—he had a terrible sense of direction. He could get lost even in his hometown. So his decision to strike out alone in New Zealand had taken remarkable courage.

As the driver drove, he muttered, “It’s hard to get to the harbor from here, especially at damn noon rush hour…”

Charlie asked Wang Bo for his police badge, slapped it on the dashboard, and said, “Fifteen bucks. No matter how far you drive, that’s all you get.”

“Shit!” the driver cursed and quickly turned down a side road. After weaving through four or five narrow streets, a seafood market filled with the scent of the ocean appeared before them.

After paying the fifteen bucks and getting out, Wang Bo looked dumbfounded. “Damn, if you weren’t leading the way today, I’d definitely have gotten ripped off.”

Charlie shrugged. “Young man, this is the real world. Let’s go. Don’t your Chinese people say that in life, eight or nine things out of ten go wrong? Well, now we’re entering the one in ten that goes right—it’s shopping time!”

Wellington had three famous food markets: a farmers’ market selling only fruits and vegetables, the Harbor Market specializing in seafood, and the City Market, home to outstanding artisanal food vendors.

Wang Bo followed Charlie around, who navigated the seafood stalls like a pro. They bought a lobster the length of a human arm, a tray of large oysters, some small silver fish, some shellfish Wang Bo had never seen before, and freshly smoked salmon.

These seafood items were expensive inland, but here they were cheap—only 120 bucks for the whole haul. Charlie didn’t let Wang Bo pay but took out his own wallet.

Wang Bo felt embarrassed and tried to stop him. “We agreed I’d treat you. How can I let you pay?”

Charlie waved generously. “Don’t be polite with me, Wang. I’ll take care of the ingredients. You just pay a bit for the cooking later.”

Since everything was raw, it naturally needed to be cooked. After finishing the shopping, they took another taxi to the City Market—Wellington’s renowned food plaza. There, Charlie found a stall and asked the owner to prepare the food.

The City Market was an open-air gourmet plaza. They found a seat by the viewing deck, and Wang Bo leaned back against his chair to admire the ocean view nearby.

The sun was shining, and the wind whipped up waves. Clear, glistening spray pounded against the jagged rocks with resounding “boom boom” roars. A flock of seagulls flew low along the shore, and their chirps added a melodious note to the crashing waves—crisp and pleasant.

The lobster was huge. The chef removed the tender meat, splitting it into two portions—one made into thin slices for sashimi, the other cooked into a rich soup along with the lobster shell and oyster meat. When the small pot was opened, it released a milky white broth with an irresistibly fresh aroma.

As for the salmon, Wang Bo only knew of sashimi as a way to eat it. But Charlie had bought freshly smoked salmon, which the chef turned into a salad.

The salmon slices were combined with coriander, basil, a touch of chili, and watercress. The red, green, blue, yellow, and white colors formed an artistic dish.

The oysters were more complex. When the large platter arrived, the oysters were prepared in various ways: steamed with seasonings, fried oyster meat, pan-seared oysters with vinaigrette, and grilled oysters with olive oil, fine noodles, and chili sauce. When served, the oil was still sizzling.

The small silver fish and shellfish were cooked more simply—the former deep-fried, the latter simmered in a pot and served with a sauce blended from miso and wasabi.