Nin's Bin

A New Zealand restaurant story.

The road curved around a mountain that seemed to be plucked straight out of Lord of the Rings. We sped past lush green hillsides sprinkled with sheep, exclaiming over their fluffiness. The car hugged a curve, and as we rounded the next bend, we all gasped. In front of us were no more pastures, no new mountain, not a sheep in sight. Instead we were faced with endless blue: the bright turquoise of the South Pacific shone in front of us, framed by golden sea oats gently waving in the breeze.

That morning two of my best friends and I had awoken early in Wellington, New Zealand to catch a ferry to the South Island. As soon as we drove off the ferry, we were in awe of the green landscape. We had been happily motoring through a rotating scenery of vineyards, sheep pastures, mountain ranges, lush forests all day; the scenes changed abruptly with each curve in the road, flicking before our eyes the way you used to be able to flick through channels on a t.v.

But now? Now we were faced with something entirely new: this bright blue ocean was far different than the deep blue of Cook Strait we had floated through on the ferry earlier that day. This felt distinctly beachy.

At once we all exclaimed that we had to pull over at the next stop! It was time for a break, and we knew we had to soak up this view before we drove much further. The dramatic changes of the New Zealand countryside had already taught us it could change in the blink of an eye, leaving this picturesque section of the coast in the rearview before we knew it. We planned to stop for dinner at a crayfish stand we had read about further ahead, so we pulled off the road to take some photos of the breathtaking scenery before we drove into Kaikōura and found our dinner spot.

It was March, nearing the end of New Zealand’s summer, and the beach parking lot we pulled into was empty. Just the three of us, a couple of cameras, and the salt-kissed wind. We ran towards the ocean, desperate to touch it no matter how chilly the late afternoon was becoming.

Like most people I know, my friends and I turn into children anytime we hit the beach. No matter the weather, no matter the country, we must run on the shore, explore, dip our toes in the water, take too many pictures. So we did just that until one of my friends saw a public restroom a short distance down the shoreline. She motioned that she was going to walk to it, and, we slowly followed her, stopping to take more pictures and exclaim over the landscape.

Along the way, we surprised a group of middle aged New Zealanders in wet suits. “Where did you girls come from?!” the leader of the group exclaimed with a laugh. We motioned down toward the car park and lingered a few minutes to watch them snorkeling for crayfish. With a wave we strolled on and laughed to one another as we realized we had just barely missed seeing them change into their wetsuits behind their van.

When we finally met up with our other friend, she was brimming with excitement. She had made a discovery: hidden from our view as we walked down the shoreline was a little blue crayfish shack called Nin’s Bin.

Created from something that looked as if it was once an airstream trailer, Nin’s Bin is a quintessential beach-side seafood shack. A few picnic tables are scattered outside; handwritten chalk signs boast the catch of the day; a flock of wise seagulls reside atop the trailer hoping Nin will toss out fish scraps. Coastal plants have grown up around the trailer in such an orderly manner that they appear to be landscaped. Maybe they are? Clearly someone has put a lot of love into this simple restaurant overlooking the Pacific.

We were charmed. We had to eat dinner there. Right away. We tossed all of our previous plans to the wind and marched up the pebbled path to Nin’s Bin.

The interior is simple: just a counter where customers can discuss the catch of the day with the proprietor and a tiny open-air kitchen behind it where she cooks the fish fresh for you. (We immediately decided the proprieter must be Nin herself but did no further research to confirm this belief. She will be referred to as Nin for the rest of this story.) As our eyes adjusted to the interior we looked around for a menu, but Nin drew us into conversation first. Her face split into a huge smile when we told her we wanted to try the local specialty, a whole crayfish, and she motioned us over to a cooler. Lifting the lid off the ice chest, Nin revealed several giant crayfish the local fishermen had brought in that morning with the prices written right on their shells; she told us to choose one.

Upon our obvious lack of direction in regards to which of the lobster-like beasts would taste best, she guided us towards one that was a good size to share and then gave us detailed instructions on how to eat the creature… The instructions involved treating the internal organs as if they’re a sauce. Don’t worry, she said, all of the gross organs will be cleaned out. Then she proceeded to split the crayfish in half and clean the unwanted organs out right in front of us. Anything left is rich like butter. We were too caught up the in the experience to argue. Like all of the other locals we met on our trip, Nin was genuine, warm, friendly, and so excited to share the local food with us. We would’ve eaten anything she sold us. She also sold us an order of fish and chips.

As we waited for our food to be cooked, we gazed out of the windows lining the walls of the trailer to the ocean beyond. Just a few meters away from the trailer, the waves crashed onto the shore. Nin’s restaurant might be a bin, but it has a million dollar view.

Once we procured our fish dinner, we carried it out to one of the picnic tables to share, excited to try the local specialty and ready to battle the seagulls. With one bite of the succulent crayfish, we all fell in love; it tasted a lot like lobster. The garlic butter it was cooked in only enhanced the natural sweet flavor. The fish and chips were a dream too: hot, crispy, and drizzled with malt vinegar. It can’t get much better than this. We were sitting right by the body of water where these sea creatures were swimming a few hours prior!

While we ate, the sun sank lower in the sky, casting Nin’s Bin in that dreamy golden light of a long summer evening. The seagulls’ cacophony became the perfect soundtrack. As we enjoyed our feast by the sea, we rejoiced over the serendipity of our dinner at Nin’s Bin— we were enjoying what might be the best crayfish in the country in what was certainly the most picturesque place— and grew excited for what other surprises New Zealand’s South Island would hold for us.