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When you walk down the street in the center of Napier, a coastal town in New Zealand’s Hawke’s Bay, a wine-producing region, you nearly expect to spot Greta Garbo, in full flapper regalia, crossing the street. The town, a perfectly preserved Art Deco masterpiece, would make a fine set for one of her films.

In most cities, Art Deco buildings were built amid the architecture already standing, but in February 1931, an earthquake decimated Napier. The city was almost entirely rebuilt in the then-modern style, which borrows elements from around the world: thatched roofs from the Spanish mission style, ornate flourishes inspired by ancient Middle Eastern architecture, and chrome accents that nodded to the era‘s developments in technology, like speedy cars. And this being New Zealand, there was a heavy Maori influence in the buildings’ decorative motifs.

But the earthquake had a much more profound impact than the transformation of the cityscape. The tectonic plate shift affected the soil and viticulture improved. The region was already attractive to winemakers, who appreciated that the earth had little top soil. The grey gravel here absorbs the sun’s heat, so cabernet sauvignon and merlot grapes grow easily and ripen quickly, lending the region’s Bordeaux-style reds a full-bodied freshness. Some of the wineries that are thriving today were set up as far back as the 1920s. But the earthquake was the final coup that set the stage for Hawke’s Bay to become a prime dining and drinking destination.

Napier is home to restaurants that rival some of Europe’s finest and to robust reds and complex Chardonnays that have put New Zealand on the world’s wine map. And like Art Deco, which takes inspiration from all different cultures to form a distinct style, the culinary scene takes pages from other global traditions. Together, it adds up to something uniquely Kiwi.

I learned the hard way how seriously Kiwis take their food. Upon arriving at the airport in Auckland, a customs agent asked if I had any produce with me. Just the apple I didn’t eat on the flight, I told him. He instructed me to note that on my customs form. Immediately. If I didn’t, I’d be slapped with a $400 fine.

I came to understand and appreciate the reason for this severity during the Hawke’s Bay Food & Wine Classic, a 10-day festival that started modestly in 2012, and has grown to attract an international crowd to its summer and a winter events. Each encompasses cooking demos, tastings with winemakers, and dinners at the wineries with, of course, custom-designed pairing menus.

Twenty-five wineries have opened in Hawke’s Bay since 1995, bringing fresh enthusiasm to the region. Some pay homage to the area’s pre-wine-centric past, such as Mission Estate Winery, which features a stately building that once housed the French Catholic missionaries who came to New Zealand in 1851.

Others cast a more modern impression, such as Elephant Hill Estate Winery, which was started in 2003 by Roger Weiss, a German businessman. The sleek building that houses the cellar and restaurant has regal white furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that provide sweeping views of the Pacific. In the restaurant, Ashley Jones, a baby-faced Australian chef, has a relaxed approach to creating dishes that suit the ultramodern space, such as smoked venison with beetroot, grilled leek, shitake, and juniper. “Food has to be open and you have to be open and think about different lenses of interpretation for wine with food together,” he said. “Different wines allow you to figure out what kind of depth you want to create. But at the core of good food is good company.”

Forward-thinking fare is served with a relaxed vibe throughout Napier. Mr. D’s, a sleek, modern eatery with an open kitchen and a cafe vibe, has a rock ‘n’ roll attitude, not least because of the Rolling Stones posters that adorn the place. He formerly helmed the kitchen at Terroir, a posh restaurant at Craggy Range, a winery just down the road. Here he blends refined European technique with clever flavor combinations, turning out dishes that, to quote another Stones tune, are “like a rainbow.” My bone marrow ravioli, swimming in beef juices and salsa verde, packed a fortifying punch. The fresh pea risotto with goat cheese and crunchy raddichio was a fresh, bright signal of the imminent New Zealand summer. The culinary playlist gets edgier with Mr. D’s signature dessert, a warm donut served with three syringes filled with chocolate, berry jelly and custard. Inject them into the donut, take a bite, sit back and wait for the euphoria. One punk icon’s degenerate lifestyle is another chef’s inspiration, it seems.

The next night my companion and I hit Bistronomy, situated just off of Napier’s main drag. Bistronomy is a contemplative yin to Mr. D’s deliciously boisterous yang. The blond wood geometric decor at once evokes the clean design sensibility of Scandinavia and the wise minimalism of Japanese tea houses. Those styles are also expressed in dishes such as carpaccio made of trevally, a tropical fish. It’s vacuum-packed three separate times to intensely absorb the carrot and dill marinade and served with a scoop of piquant mustard sorbet. Local clams, adorned with saffron and pineapple, come on a bed of fluffy short-grain rice.

New Zealand consists of two narrow islands in the middle of the Pacific, closer to the base of the planet than nearly everything else. The nearest destination is Tonga, a cluster of South Pacific islands, a 2-hour flight away. In a nation this remote, “local” isn’t a trend, it‘s a requirement. And between the land’s rich natural bounty and what seems to be a universal entrepreneurial spirit among Kiwis, it’s a requirement that makes for thrilling nourishment, as I learned on a visit to the Hawke’s Bay Farmers’ Market.

Every weekend the market draws area chefs and swarms of cheerful regulars, such as the sweet 84-year-old former school teacher I met while I inspected a stand with more varieties of chives than I ever imagined possible. She self-consciously justified buying plants from the vendor, as her arthritis prevents her from growing her own. The locals browse hand-mixed mueslis, overflowing containers of ruby strawberries, and tangy vinaigrettes, jams and relishes made with local stone fruit by a small operation called The Damsen Collection.

By Liza Weisstuch

Tribune News Service