Finally surfacing after a storm regarding the cultural appropriation of its moniker, Kingi takes the orphans out of the kitchen and onto the pier. The cleverly Nat Cheshire - designed space echoes the walkway of a trawler, albeit a luxury version in the bowels of the newly enshrined Hotel Britomart. The exposed beams and conduits are bones from which an expansive chandelier of weighty glass scales hovers above diners' distracted pates. As they ooh and aah over buttermilk blue cod wings that would once have been considered offcuts (for the uninitiated, hold the cartilaginous middle and chew on the pillowy soft flank flesh and the crispy crunchy outer wing, then leave the rest), delectable kina toast (order two) and a Cazador charcuterie plate (restrained in portion, but fortuitously available to satisfy non-thalassophiles), those who need to know and those who need to be seen (one could call them the dolphins and the flying fish of the City of Sails) are bound to be impressed. While a little attention remains to be paid to the abalone aproned service during these early days, Kingi harnesses a constellation of promise toward becoming the dependable true south and counterpart across a floral, fairy-lit courtyard to Ortolana, Britomart's true north read more