We've just arrived on New Caledonia after a breezy 200 mile ride down from Vanuatu. Well, almost here. Geographically we're in New Caledonia but technically we're not. Unfortunately, in the Pacific, most of the Customs and Immigration offices are on "the big island" and these are invariably downwind of their outlying, more interesting islands. Fiji has the Lau Group, 180 miles back upwind. Vanuatu has their explosive, live volcanoes, 200 miles upwind and New Caledonia has their Loyalties, 80 miles straight into the teeth of the prevailing Trades.

As a consequence cruisers spend hours online and in pubs trying to work out how to get around the legal requirement to check in at the "Big Island" and visit the Wee Islands en route. You're going to sail right past the damn things anyway.

Rumours abound. "Didn't you hear about the French couple who went direct to the Wee Island and are now in the Big Island gulag husking coconuts for the next five years?"

"What? No way. We went direct to the Wee Islands for three weeks and it was no problem"

And on it goes. Well, having complied all year so far and battered upwind from Big to Wee for days on end to reach the fabled cruising waters we finally plucked up the courage to bend the rules and stopped off at the Loyalties for a few days before heading south to the "Big Island" where we are now, lying under the radar in a small anchorage, Anne Magic, just over from the ore mine and terminal on New Caledonia.

Like most frontiers, nowadays, Customs and Immigration officers have been joined by a third task force; the Bio Security polis.

Like King Canute on a bonus they are charged with stopping foreign species getting ashore in their jurisdiction. I don't get it. While container ships arrive from all around the world and unload their hundreds of 40 foot steel boxes, aircraft and cruise ships disgorge tourists in hordes to range freely about town and country, us poor yotties seem to be targeted as the modern day version of the idjit who had the grand idea of taking some rabbits to Australia so he could have a bit of sport taking pot shots from his veranda. Either that or we're easy pickings.

One of their many bio rules is that no meats should be brought into the country. Well, I've got news for them.

For our celebratory party before leaving Vanuatu we, Sven and Lisa and us, headed to the Stone Grill. Five stars on TripAdvisor!

Now, Vanuatu is on record as having some of the finest beef available in the world. All natural. No additives. Free range. So, having decided we'd better try some before we left we took to the oracle, TripAdvisor, to look for the best eatery Port Vila could offer. Ahead by a short neck, or maybe a horn, was the Stone Grill on Wharf Road.

The first clue was in the name of the road. While the veranda has one of the finest views across the wreck strewn bay, the container terminal is at the end of WHARF ROAD. Consequently, the dining experience is punctuated by lorries thundering past, romantic candles on the table blowing out in the draft of trailing diesel fumes.

The second clue was in the restaurant name. Stone Grill.

Not only does one get to enjoy the potential for a succulent, home grown, Vanuatu steak but you can get hospitalised at the same time. The deal is, they serve you chunks of raw meat and you cook it yourself, at the table, on 600 degrees of seriously hot lava. Fresh from the caldera from what I could see. Not only could you cook meat on it, you can top up your tan as well. All providing you don't get 3rd degree burns.

Now, this is a great business model. No temperamental, expensive chef. No moans about steaks not being done right. Just the opportunity to charge a premium so punters can cook their own food. No chef, no complaints. Brilliant.

Now, as I said, big Bio Rule #1, no meat should be brought into the country. Well, I've news for them. I've still got about a kilo of Vanuatu, Brammin filet digesting painfully slowly in my gut and likely to be there for a few weeks yet.