BEST IN TENT

For the longest time, I resisted camping, even though my lovely wife virtually grew up in a tent and muttered about going for years. I finally gave in when we had our son Ira, and we could no longer head off to nice rented baches with a group of friends, or bunk in endlessly with the in-laws. I’m always about three years behind Hannah, and eventually I admitted camping would be the easiest way of having a good family beach holiday without re-mortgaging the house each year to rent baches on our own. She just rolled her eyes and booked a campsite.

I refused to compromise on a few things, including what we’d eat and, more importantly, how we’d eat it. So it is that each December, we load up two cars (yes, you got that right, two cars – one for freight and one for children) and head to the Hahei campground on the Coromandel Peninsula, where we spend two glorious weeks cooking on a two-pot gas stove and