Redcliff, Te Anau

Monday February 4

Fiordland is a huge national park with a delicate rainforest ecosystem. It has rough impassable terrain and deliberately few roads in order to keep it lightly populated - and that works, because we've never seen such gorgeous scenery with so few people in our lives. The disadvantage is, if you want to go from a cruise on Doubtful Sound to one on Milford Sound, you can't go directly between the two, but have to overnight somewhere.

We spent the night at Te Anau, which is far quieter than Queenstown - indeed, almost geriatric. The only amusement (beyond walking around the lake, reading in the sun, and swimming in a hotel pool almost colder than Doubtful Sound) was watching the volunteer fire department run hose drills in Lion Park.

Of the restaurants recommended by Lonely Planet, we chose Redcliff for its imaginative menu and funky decor (the other two places were too Olive Gardeny). But first we tested it by lunching there. We had two "stacks," tall sandwiches like gourmet Dagwoods: one of greenbone, a new fish to us and very savory, served with pickled peppers and arugula on good white bread; and one of wild venison with tomato and pepper confit, roast peppers, and arugula on herb bread. Also, their dinner menu said they had wild hare. We were so there.

Redcliff doesn't take reservations, so when we came back from our do-nothing day we had a bit of a wait, only sweetened by a bottle of Dry Gully Pinot Noir 2005. Eventually we were seated out on the garden patio to watch some French children play patenque, and to split a billy of mussels - a traditional bucket full of greenlipped beauties, drenched in their own juices and creamy aioli.

Alas, they were out of wild hare, so in honor of the herds of beef cattle we'd been driving past, Holt had the local Southland beef. It was toothsome and tender, served with yummy roast potatoes, baby carrots, and onion and pepper relish (we sense a theme here, as peppers and relishes were also prominent in the afternoon's stacks).

Barbara ordered medium-rare rack of lamb, but when it came - well after Holt had already been served, which is a restaurant sin - it was two mingy little end ribs, overdone to boot. So for the first time in her life, she sent a dish back. Many apologies from the youthful and plentifully tattooed waitstaff, so she [Barbara, that is, who lacks tattoos] strolled in the garden, sniffing flowers and picking plums, until they could get another one ready. This time it was au point and a decent size, on a bed of Israeli couscous with (guess what) peppers, onions and olives, and garnished with nasturtiums and honeysuckle fresh from the garden. We were the last people in the place, but Redcliff eventually redeemed itself.