I feel like most people have a story to share about having their heart broken, shattered into a million pieces so much so that it’s a physical sensation, one that feels like all the nerve endings in your fingertips are exposed. It’s raw and visceral, like a persistent cat scratch, or the dull thud of a clenched fist taking shape, pummelling your internal organs like minced meat.

In my lifetime, I’ve felt this only twice. Bitterness at being left behind? That’s not heartbreak, not at least in the way I think about it . Your muscles twitching and flexing in anger at the thought of someone you thought was faithful to you – who wasn’t? No, that’s not it either.

The first time I had my heart crushed? I was 14 years old. Being a teenager was gut wrenching for me, a distant memory I visit infrequently because the very thought of the precocious, inspired little girl I was who imagined the entire world was within her grasp, but knew she didn’t deserve it? Even thinking back on it now, the lack of self worth and constant comparisons to other more beautiful creatures that graced the backdrop of my life is palpable. I looked to others to tell me that I was worth something, anything, and now when I think about that time in my life I’m angry at myself for ever being that…pathetic.

In any case, when I was 13 and in high school, I encountered a boy that would change my life and the way I would move through this world forever. I remember seeing him across a crowded block, shuffling from side to side waiting impatiently outside his English class as the schools’ bell rang out through the courtyard, signalling the end of lunch.

I’d recently enrolled at the school, after being frozen out of my previous college – but that’s an entirely different story. Relevant to the person I am today, but one less filled with heartbreak and with humour and irony.

As I was making my way to my science class with a bevy of new girlfriends, I looked up and noticed him immediately. He had a shock of the most amazing natural hair, that billowed out from his furrowed brow highlighted with teasings of auburn and blonde. I remember with curiosity asking my classmate who he was, and she told me his name with the distain in her voice loud and clear. I presumed this was because he was some kind of teenage lothario who really should be avoided for the sake of sanity.

But I couldn’t look away – and for further clarification, I was a 13 year old girl surging with hormones and ideals about love and romance.

As it goes in high school, the rumour mill began to fly thick and fast. My memory is hazy of that time, but I believe I wrote a note to him that said something along the line of wanting to get to know him better. I bravely handed the note to a trusted friend, who passed it along during a period where they shared a class together.

And then? I waited. And waited.

The embarrassment of knowing I had let this boy into my innermost thoughts was excruciating, and I took every opportunity to avoid him in the corridors, dashing into the bathroom when I saw his friends pass by. I would forever be known by them as the sad new girl who had a crush on their friend and the thought of facing any one them was excruciating.

After school everyday, I would make my way to the local depot to alight a bus home. The depot was the local hotspot for kids after school who wanted to socialise into dusk, meaning it was becoming more difficult to avoid the boy and his friends as more time passed. My friends told me I was overreacting and dragged me along with them to the depot, despite my protests that I could alight at a different stop by walking a little further from the school.

My anxiety reached new peaks one day as I saw him and his ever present best friend milling about in the local takeaway bar, waiting on an afternoon tea of deep fried treats. It was all I could do not to run screaming from where I stood, so instead? I checked the bus schedule and hid around the corner until the time came for me to dash into the safety of my carriage to freedom.

One of my friends came to find me and coax me back to the area outside the library overlooking the depot, where the rest of the girls sat in a huddled semi circle discussing the intricacies of high school life, boys they liked and just general musings. I told him I couldn’t bear it, and he laughed and told me I was being dramatic.

And then it happened.

Across the street from where I’d secreted myself away, the boy and his friend had been hiding behind a panel van. Unfortunately, they hadn’t seen the driver return and the van unceremoniously drove away from the spot where it had been parked, leaving the two boys huddling and exposed.

I thought I would die. They’d been spying on us! I convinced myself that I’d become this huge joke between him and his friends, and they’d been watching and laughing at me, knobbled knees jutting out from my awkward tartan school uniform. The weirdo who runs to the bus as it arrives.

“Oh my god, they’re coming over!”, my friend exclaimed. I wanted the ground to cave in and swallow me up whole. Even thinking about this whole scenario now is cringe inducing, like recalling a scene from a made-for-television movie. I froze.

“Hi”…I heard an uneven, stammering voice.

“So, I got your note.”

Again, I willed the earth to hear me and collapse beneath me. I looked up from my shoes – I had been staring at intently for some time – and came face to face with the object of my affections.

“Oh, yeah”. I bit the inside of my lip, which is something even more than 20 years later I still do when I’m nervous.

There was an exchange between our friends, both jovially encouraging us both to further discuss the situation in which we’d found ourselves in.

“So, I ah – I was wondering if you’d maybe, like, umm…” he managed to spit out. I could feel my face my face flushing a bright rouge, the heat working it’s way down my body like an all enveloping rash.

“Aren’t you going to give her your number?!,” my friend exclaimed, frustrated at the length of time we’d been standing in front of each other, both awkwardly pulling at our own clothes as some sort of refuge.

“Oh yeah, give her your number…”, his friend muttered, paper and pen at the ready.

He scribbled on the back of a textbook page, folded it over carefully and handed it to me dutifully.

“You can call me if you want to?”, he said as a half-statement, half-question. I remember saying thank you and watching them through lowered eyes walk away from the spot, where I still stood frozen, cemented to the sidewalk.

I remember the elation I felt at the fact that there was, or potentially would be some reciprocated feelings to my overbearing (and obsessive) teenage lust. He might not necessarily know me enough to like anything about me, but he knew enough that he was intrigued by me and wanted to know more. That feeling, even now as an adult and encountering other people who are interested to know me, even platonically, is incomparable.

And the rest? Well, it’s long buried. I did call him and we shared hours and hours on the phone, but for months at school we would observe each other across courtyards in quiet reverence. Talking on the telephone was easy, but fronting up to each other in person remained difficult for sometime. He eventually asked me to be his girlfriend and I accepted, ecstatically. He was everything I knew I wanted then.

But time is cruel, and so is high school. We experienced many firsts together; I can’t speak for him and say that I was his first love, but he was definitely mine. We wrote each other long love letters, that were never about anything in particular. I spent evenings in his home with his family long past my curfew, to the chagrin of my mother – I just so desperately wanted to occupy the same space as he.

But so did many other women, which would eventually be our downfall. My relationship with this boy played out like an incredibly far fetched episode of a tele-novella, which lead to some of the most painful, heartbreak I will ever know. The details aren’t important to understanding the story, but for years I held on to the memories of our initial courtship, hoping like hell we could one day get back there. We were both too young to fully comprehend so much of what we did and said, that the unfortunate part is that rekindling never happened.

Thankfully my story didn’t end with the death of my first love and neither did his.

I moved across an ocean at 18 to learn how to be a person without his name being uttered in the same breath as mine and to break the bonds that he had over me, for no other reason except I loved him with all of the naivety of a 13 year old girl.

I met other people who enjoyed my company, men and women. I shared many things with them that shaped my view of the world, and taught so much about who I was as a person – without him.

Most of the people that are in my life now? They don’t even know he exists. He is apart of a chapter of my life that I penned and shelved away in the depths of my archive many, many years ago.

He is now married happily to a stunningly beautiful woman and has had many children. I am now married with one son, refusing still to grow up to maintain some of the childlike joy that I had before I had my heart stomped into obliteration.

And for the most part? I’m happy. I’m fulfilled, blessed and loved. My heart is still a huge open wound, but as an empath I fear this will never change.

But even so? I’m not sure that I’d want it to.

Wandering in Waikiki

Upon arriving in Waikiki, we collected our baggage and made our way outside of the terminal to locate the SpeediShuttles desk.

Before departing Auckland, I called the hotel to enquire as to whether they would be able to book our airport transfer to the resort for us. Unfortunately they couldn’t, but directed me to SpeediShuttle.

SpeediShuttleis a privately owned Hawaii based company. The company began operations in 1999 on Maui and has since grown to become the leading provider of ground transportation shuttle services in the state and the largest fleet of Mercedes Benz passenger shuttles in all of North America.

ethan — *Ethan wishing he’d slept on the plane (Honolulu Airport)*

The concierge was easy to find, and after checking in with her she mentioned that she was still waiting and attempting to locate another group of passengers before we could take off. After a 20 minute wait (with Ethan trying not to pass out from exhaustion), we were ushered across the street and into an air conditioned Mercedes – with wifi!

Our resort was the first stop after a 20 minute drive through morning traffic, we arrived at just after 7.30am to perform pre-registration.

Pre-registration is check-in before your room is available. Fortunately the resort Aqua Palms did offer pre-registration, meaning that we were able to check our bags and head out to breakfast. I did attempt an early check-in, however the guest right before me had asked for the same thing and managed to swipe the last available suite.

This meant that check-in for us would not be until 3pm however the concierge did suggest that we call back around midday to see whether any suites had become available. The entire process of pre-registration took about 20mins and after changing our clothes in the lobby restroom, brushing teeth and cleaning ourselves up as best we could, we decided to go foraging for breakfast.

Fortunately there was an IHOP restaurant directly next door to the resort.

The International House of Pancakes is an American multinational casual family restaurant chain thats specialises in and serves breakfast. It is owned by DineEquity, with 99% of the restaurants run by independent franchisees in North America.

We were seated inside the restaurant, and given laminated menus to peruse.

Now these menus are huge. They include pancakes in different stack values, flavour combinations, breakfast ‘entrees’ (hot tip: they’re not entrees, they’re entire meals), omelettes, french toast, waffles and both sweet and savoury crepes.

I ordered a breakfast of eggs over easy (fried on both sides, but the yolk stays runny – “over” refers to flipping the egg, and “easy” refers to the doneness of the yolk), with a couple of slices of bacon and a 2-stack of traditional pancakes.

Christian ordered a full stack of pancakes and Ethan a stack of red velvet pancakes, which if I’m not mistaken were just regular pancakes with cocoa powder and red food dye added.

On the table were a raft of flavoured syrups – strawberry, blueberry, butter pecan, boysenberry and all pancakes were served with a dollop of whipped butter.

Now, personally? I didn’t think IHOP was anything to write home about, but the restaurant doesn’t really pretend to be anything that it isn’t; it’s a simple, yet clearly hugely effective dining experience where the food is exactly what you would come to expect at a chain that offers up breakfast items – and the food arrived lightening fast.

Our server whose name was Heather, was a petite softly spoken girl whose face seemed to be permanently etched with a smile. She wore a frangipani in her hair (known locally as Plumeria) and sauntered to our table, delicately balancing a huge tray of food above her slight wrist – it was impressive.

In terms of the bill, it was fairly inexpensive for a sit down restaurant, however when ordering or purchasing items in the United States, it pays to bear in mind that the price is not actually the price. In New Zealand, Goods & Services Tax or what we commonly refer to as GST, is included in listed prices in stores therefore advertised prices are what you will expect to pay when you come to checkout.

In the United States, federal, state and city tax percentages differ from state to state, therefore something that I purchased in Hawaii at CVS (a local pharmacy chain) that had a listed price of $3.99 cost $4.17 at checkout, however the same item in Los Angeles would cost $4.34 when taking into consideration state, county and city sales tax despite being listed in national sales advertising as $3.99.

Christian and I had decided that the first server who we got in the US was going to get a big tip. This was purely based on the fact that upon researching the average hourly rate for a server or waitress in the US, I discovered this equates more often than not to no more than $2-3 per hour.

We decided to give Heather a $40 USD tip (the equivalent of $58.76 NZD today) and watched her excitedly as she cashed out our table at the till. She blushed a furious pink, and she looked over to our table with a huge smile reaching broadly across her face.

After breakfast, we decided to jump on the hotels free shuttle, and make our way to the nearby Ala Moana Center.

The Ala Moana Center is a mall on steroids, a premier international and local shopping destination with over 340 shops and restaurants. It boasts high end clothing, beauty and electronic stores, all in a beautiful open-air setting filled with lush tropical landscaping and koi ponds.

We wandered around aimlessly, desperately attempting to whittle away time to midday. We entered the department store Macy’s and I was impressed by the MAC, Urban Decay and Benefit makeup counters. I filed through a number of sales racks, however the tag prices weren’t the impressive deals that I had heard so much about online and from other visitors to the center.

We walked further into the center and I found the Sephora! Christian and Ethan sighed audibly and found a bench seat outside the store to wait. I promised I wouldn’t be long as I had in mind the items that I wanted to purchase.

The first stop in store was the Too Faced counter, where I picked up the ‘Better than Sex’ mascara for $23 USD – I’ve tried to find this mascara for sale locally in New Zealand and can confirm that online NZ beauty store LaFemme Beauty do offer it for sale – however it is often sold out.

Beside the Too Faced counter was the Kat Von D counter – I have been an avid user of KvD products for the last 3 years and love her Immortal Lash mascara, Everlasting Lipstick and Lock It foundation. I picked up the KvD Alchemist palette for $32 USD and her original Lolita everlasting lipstick for $20 USD. The local Sephora online store in New Zealand doesn’t currently offer the Alchemist palette and the lipstick runs at a cost of $30 NZD + shipping (orders over $55 NZD attract free shipping, but I have heard that the shipping time for orders from the NZ Sephora store is horrendous).

I also picked up the Milk Makeup Hero Salve, and a Tarte Tarlette Tease palette before returning to my weary travellers who were leaned up against one another drifting in and out of consciousness. I made a call to the hotel and was directed to the bookings to enquire as to whether there was a room available for check in.

I had booked a twin room, however there was only a room with a fold out couch available at the time I enquired about an early check in. I asked Christian if he would mind, and both the boys looked at me through desperately exhausted eyes that I accepted the room and we made our way back to the meeting point to catch the return trip of the complimentary bus.

The driver arrived and let the guest alight the bus, while she ducked out for a cigarette. I joined her, as there were signs everywhere noting that smoking wasn’t permitted anywhere on the site of the mall. She chuckled and said it was fine as long I wasn’t anywhere near an entry point to the mall and we lit up and shot the shit for ten minutes. I asked her about her job and where she lived on the island, making small talk. She explained to me that the company she worked for drove a number of passenger vehicles on the island and she didn’t really enjoy the route because it was repetitive but tips from tourists were a bonus; however it wasn’t really enough to stave off the boredom of a 13 hour shift.

I learned from this conversation that she was running late to schedule, meaning that the coach that was supposed to be 30 minutes behind her had almost caught up. She explained that this was due to the fact that rosters didn’t take into account meal or bathroom breaks.

Coming from New Zealand I was shocked by this, based on the stringent laws I know we have regarding driving regulations, particularly when driving heavy or passenger vehicles. This kind of work expectation I would imagine would lead to significant potential driver fatigue, putting both the driver of the vehicle and its’ passengers in danger. This is something that I have noted whilst here in the US; employment laws exist generally to protect and support the employer, as opposed to serving both employee and employer alike. It’s difficult to get vacation time – most people I told that I had planned to be in the US just shy of a month were surprised that I would be entitled to have my job back upon my return to my home country. And not just surprised; I’d go so far as to say they were amazed.

We returned to the resort after a short trip via coach and tipped the driver, before retrieving our luggage from the concierge and collecting our key cards. Christian eagerly turned the television on to CNN and we all fell asleep for several hours. After showering, we left the resort again via a double decker bus (costing a mere $2 USD per person for a single trip) and travelled back to the Ala Moana Center to have dinner at Bubba Gump Shrimp Company.

The Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. is a themed restaurant, based solely on the film Forrest Gump. The first of its kind was opened in Monterey, California in 1996 and since then they have expanded the business to 43 locations, 2 of which are located in Japan and 1 in Hong Kong.

The restaurant was heaving with guests, and we waited 15 minutes to be seated.

After being greeted by Monica, a Midwest transplant who’d moved to Honolulu to study Earth Sciences. She was warm, bubbly and engaged us in conversation, recommending popular dishes and her own personal faves.

We perused the menus and Ethan noted there were some specialty bottomless frosty drinks with keepsake cups on offer. He eyed them excitedly and asked if he could order one as a souvenir.

I relented, and ordered one for myself as well. The cups had battery packs in the bottom, with buttons that activated flashing coloured lights in the base. As obnoxious as they were, we both happily enjoyed our icy treats.

Ethan settled on shrimp mac ‘n cheese (an American staple) to start and a burger with fries.

US Tour 2017

Last year, Air New Zealand celebrated its 10th birthday by offering customers huge discounts on flights to a number of destinations, including Hawaii.

After working out whether I could rob Peter to pay Paul, I deduced that I had enough cash saved to buy return flights for my husband, son & I to Hawaii for the paltry sum of around $2,800 NZD – this is fairly inexpensive when considering the distance travelled.

Hawai’i is a place I have always felt a connection to as a Polynesian (Niuean) afakasi and also hailing from New Zealand, our indigenous people can be traced back Hawaiki.

The Māori word Hawaiki figures in legends about the arrival of the Māori in Aotearoa (New Zealand). The same concept appears in other Polynesian cultures, the name appearing variously as Havaiki, Havai’i, or ‘Avaiki in other Polynesian languages, though Hawaiki or the misspelling “Hawaiiki” appear to have become the most common variants used in English. The name of the Polynesian islands of Hawaiʻi (the ʻokina denoting a glottal stop that replaces the “k” in some Polynesian languages) preserves a cognate with Hawaiki.

So, I got to surprise my boys with a trip to Honolulu, booked for 2017. We decided that we’d take full advantage of this holiday and will be visiting Louisiana, California, New York and Nebraska as well as spending 6 days in beautiful Honolulu. We are in the US for a total of 28 days and the two week countdown has begun.

The place I’m looking forward to the most? New Orleans. I’ve always dreamed of being able to visit the French Quarter. It’s the one place away from New Zealand I’ve always felt a tremendous pull toward. I can only assume that this comes from, as long as I can remember, having an interest in the macabre, spiritual and metaphysical; Voodoo, Santeria and Hoodoo have always fascinated me and I have a deep reverence for the supernatural.

New Orleans has always figured intrinsically into supernatural stories and lore I read as a child. It’s also been voted one the most haunted cities in the United States by many publications.

I thought it might be useful to document our travels here and outline all of the special discounts we find along the way, the best way to travel on a budget and the best places to stay as a tourist in the cities we visit without a vehicle. I’ll also provide links and reviews on tours, shows and accomodation.

Mahalo!

Vegan Chilli Sin Carne

Ingredients (serves 4-6)

1 Yellow Capsicum

1 Red/Green Capsicum

1 Large Brown Onion

500gm field brown mushrooms

Cumin Seeds

Cinnamon

Himalayan Sea Salt

Freshly Ground Black Peppercorns

3 Large Kumara (Sweet Potatoes)

1 250gm Can Black Beans

1 250gm Can Chickpeas

Smoked Paprika

Olive Oil

2 Garlic Cloves

700ml bottle Passata (tomato puree)

2-3 Fresh Chillies

250gm tinned tomatoes

Fresh Coriander (a decent handful, incl. stalks)

Tumeric

Method

1. Pre-heat oven to 200 degrees Celsius.

2. Dice kumara into pieces slightly larger than bite size, placing pieces into oven proof dish. In a separate bowl, combine approx. 1 tsp. each of paprika, cinnamon, salt, pepper, turmeric. Sprinkle spice mix over the diced kumara. Drizzle with olive oil and toss to coat and set inside the oven to bake for approximately 40mins, or until soft and golden.

3. Roughly chop the onion, garlic, capsicum & mushrooms. Pick the coriander leaves and put aside, then finely chop the stalks. Finely chop the chillies. Deseed if you prefer less intense heat – I don’t deseed the chillies we get here in New Zealand at the supermarket because they’re not very hot.

4. Place a large pan over a medium-high heat and add a couple lugs of olive oil. Add the onion, capsicum and garlic and cook for 5 minutes, or until the onion is glassy. Set aside mushrooms.

5. Add the coriander stalks, chilli and cumin seeds (approx. 1 tbsp.) and cook for another 5-10 minutes, or until softened, stirring every couple of minutes.

6. Drain the beans & chickpeas, then add to the pan, along with the tinned tomatoes & passata. Stir well and bring to the boil, then reduce to a medium-low heat and leave for 25mins, or until thickened.

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7. Stir in the roasted kumara, chopped mushroom and most of the coriander leaves. You may at this point also want to further season with salt & pepper.

Before serving, scatter the remaining coriander leaves over the top. Octo-lacto vegetarians might want to top with cheese and sour cream and serve with tortilla chips. I ate mine with some crusty bread and a bit of dairy-free margarine. It’s delicious!

Friday Night Wingin’

These days, I don’t go out much.
I have a small group of friends who understand that about me, so know that if they ask me what I’m doing on a Friday night and I’m free, an invitation to hang out will usually constitute sitting out on my porch listening to music from my Blaupunkt, chain smoking and listening to anecdotal stories about life in general.

When I got home on Friday night, the sun will still very much high in the sky and the weather was nothing short of stellar.
Whether it was dumb luck or sheer foresight, I’d picked up a bottle of Matavino Dolcetto earlier in the week, which the vegan society confirm is an appropriate option for me.

In some instances, although wine is made from grapes, may have been made using animal-derived products. During the winemaking process, the liquid is filtered through substances called “fining agents.” This process is used to remove protein, yeast, cloudiness, “off” flavors and colorings, and other organic particles. Popular animal-derived fining agents used in the production of wine include blood and bone marrow, casein (milk protein), chitin (fiber from crustacean shells), egg albumen (derived from egg whites), fish oil, gelatin (protein from boiling animal parts), and isinglass (gelatin from fish bladder membranes).

I figured I would take full advantage of the weather and positioned myself on our front stoop, drinking in the summer sun with a glass of this gorgeous wine.
My good friends Amy & Fraser stopped by, with beers in tow to join in the merriment.
Eventually the conversation turned to my pre-married role of being Amy’s wingman in gay clubs – she said I was never good at it, and if I’m honest, well? She’s right. I’m a terrible wingman. I would usually end up dancing the night away with gay men instead of helping my friend meet a potential significant other.
We’ve laughed about this throughout the years, as we’ve shared many hilarious stories of our nights out with friends, that began with so much hope and promise, and ended with us all at home, alone, talking about all the people we could’ve gone home with…but obviously, chose not to. Realistically, hindsight tells us that the reason we went home alone so regularly was because we were and are a special breed of super awkward humans, but it was easier on our egos and better for our self esteem to pretend otherwise.

As the drinks flowed, Amy tried to convince me that as I hadn’t been out in a while, it was my duty to take her out dancing that evening. You know, as repayment for all those years as an absolute rubbish wingman. After drinking an entire bottle of red, I started to think it was a good idea too. I heralded the alarm by way of facebook and recruited another couple of girls to join our party.

My trusty friend Dave arrived and we piled into his car, thanking him for assuming the role of sober driving dad. He dropped our gaggle of giddy, intoxicated girls on K’Road and we headed into Family Downunder to cut some serious rugs.

Family Bar is a longstanding institution on K’Rd, outliving most of the LGBTQIA venues that used to litter the strip.
The upstairs bar boasts a mezzanine floor and stage area which is often crammed with gyrating, half naked men, women and drag queens strutting their stuff to EDM. In the downstairs bar, the DJ’s musical repertoire borrows more from pop & hip hop genres with, to my dismay, a preference for Taylor Swift. Ugh.

It’s a strange thing, being awake and out socially at 4am especially when you’re struggling to remain coherent and awake after consuming what seems like your weight in wine and vodka. Usually, I would say nothing good happens at this time, but you know what? That’s not true on K’Rd. Falafel & Shisha are available in abundance!

The Little Turkish Cafe has been a part of the K’Rd scene since I was a teen. I haven’t eaten here by choice since the ERA determined in favour of former employee Zahra Barzegari, after her claims of unfair dismissal, withholding pay and holidays were found to be with merit. She was awarded $10, 000 in back pay in the employment courts; the company challenged the Employment Relations Authority’s findings in 2011 and the two parties settled out of court, an undisclosed sum which is not a matter for public record.
In any case, I’m ashamed to say that my ethics got the better of me at this time in the morning and I hastily ordered a falafel kebab before jumping in a cab and heading home to Mt Albert.

Falafel is made from ground chickpeas, fava beans, or both. Falafel is a traditional Middle Eastern food, commonly served in a pita, which acts as a pocket, or wrapped in a flatbread known as lafa; The Turkish Cafe is one of the few places in Auckland that serves their kebabs that way.
And it’s good!

Word to the wise though? Maybe don’t drink wine like it’s going out of fashion as a vegan. The hangover is brutal.

Love,

Charli xx

The Beginning of All Things To Come

I am a religious morning coffee drinker.
I would say that I’m a connoisseur, but someone who drinks mochas could hardly claim to be that. I don’t do espresso, short or long blacks but I do like a good, strong flat white.

I love Kokako beans the most, but regularly find myself drinking Sierra’s blend, mainly because their cafe is all too easily located on the first floor of the building I work in.

In short? It’s pretty obvious I love milky coffee. An obvious substitute for dairy as a vegan, soy from my understanding has always been a popular choice based on its accessibility.
I’ve never shied away from soy, being a fan of it’s naturally malt-reminiscent flavour, so the switch from traditional trim cows milk wasn’t and isn’t a huge stretch.

I ordered a syrup flavoured soy caramel latte this morning – and was disappointed. As I get older, the acrid taste of artificial sugars and flavours becomes more difficult to stomach. The sheer sweetness of the syrup, combined with the malt of the soy did nothing for me, except leave a bizarre taste in my mouth that remained for several hours, despite chewing gum and drinking a litre of water. 0/10 – don’t recommend.

Speaking of dairy, I came across a new term the other day, an expression I’d never heard before…’bovine secretion’.
This was a term used by popular YouTube vlogger Freelee the Banana Girl in a video her mother shot of her, during a visit to a farmers market, on the hunt for blueberries. A stall holder attempted to sell her some cheese, to which she responded, “No, we don’t need any of your bovine secretion, you can keep it”.

Here’s the thing – I think veganism is like religion. It appears to have its zealots and it’s hypocrites…like, an acquaintance I have that will happily smear a MAC lipstick across their mouths for a selfie, but then scream bloody murder at the guy on their Facebook feed enjoying a roast pork – that’s hypocrisy, much like Christians who preach ‘love thy neighbour’ – then vilify all of Islam for the acts of extremists in public forums.

The Estée Lauder Companies Inc. is an American manufacturer and the parent company of MAC. A Google search will tell you that their public stance on animal testing is that they do not test their products or ingredients on animals, or ask others to test on their behalf, except where required by law. So, essentially all EL products imported to China must be tested on animals under legislation.

If you want to spread a message of positivity to convince people that your way of life is the truth, the only way? Maybe don’t tell them they lack morals and scruples because their dietary choices aren’t the same as yours.
Make the choice accessible to all! Don’t preach, it’s tiring. Enough.

I ate breakfast just before 10am, sharing the raisin & cinnamon bagels I picked up at the Avondale Sunday Market yesterday with my friend Fraser. I bought a four pack for $3, and whilst they’re not Ugly Bagels, for those of us who are committed to actually having savings accounts that don’t have a deficit, that’s pretty good buying.

Usually, I would smother a fruit bagel in butter or cream cheese and greedily lick it off of my fingers as it drizzled down my hands – but seeing as dairy isn’t an option, we substituted the butter with Loving Earth’s Coconut Chocolate Butter…don’t let the name fool you, the product itself contains only raw and organic ingredients – no dairy here whatsoever!

Very similar in flavour to coconut rough, this chocolatey Nutella-esque spread went down a treat! It was actually a gift imported by my aunt who lives in Queensland. Loving Earth is an Australian company, meaning their products are obviously far more easily accessible there. As a breakfast option, this I can highly recommend. It would be a delight over soy ice cream too, or as an alternative to ganache on an almond meal/raw cake.

To keep hunger at bay throughout the day, I chose to snack on Californian red grapes today, referring to them to everyone in the office who I offered them to as either ‘natures’ or ‘vegan’ candy!
Disappointingly, I noted on the packaging that they weren’t spray free or organic, however after a good hand wash in cold water felt better about eating them.

Also at the market yesterday morning, I came across an older Chinese woman selling tomatoes by the box load. At $3 for a 3 kilo box, I jumped at the chance to buy them and swooped in. Admittedly, it was pretty clear that the majority of the toms were on their last legs, but I figured I could turn the whole lot into some kind of low sodium pasta sauce, using oregano, cracked black pepper, Himalayan sea salt and loads of New Zealand garlic to pack in flavour, mushrooms, eggplant, onions and spinach.

I spent a couple of hours on Sunday night hovering over the stove in sweltering heat, chopping, sautéing, mixing and stirring – pasta sauce from scratch! What a treat! After it cooled, I bottled it for future use. I’d say I’m going to get my money’s worth out of that box of tomatoes.

I made fettuccine using this sauce last night as an accompaniment to dinner with my husband, and made sure to make a little extra for myself for lunch. I’m not ashamed to say, the pasta sauce the night after was delicious!

After work, I made Ethan the same pasta dish my husband and I had eaten the night before, again using the sauce – a dream for frugal folks like myself – which he devoured. After Ethan hit the hay, I popped out to Circus Circus cafe for – you guessed it – a soy latte.

The one thing I will miss wholeheartedly during this experiment is the carrot cake they serve at Circus Circus – I’ve eaten a whole tonne of places in this town and I swear black and blue – it’s the best damn carrot cake money can buy. Octo-lacto friends, you should check it out!

So goes my entire dietary consumption on the first day of my life as a vegan.

On a final note, for those of you curious about what cosmetic brands there are available to you that are cruelty free, vegan and not owned by a parent company that does perform animal testing of its products, check out the following links:

http://www.rovie.co.nz
http://inika.com.au
http://www.kesterblack.com
http://www.coverfx.com/ (LipFX treatment contains carmine and beeswax and Bronze FX contains carmine. All other products are vegan).
http://www.limecrime.com

Love,

Charli x

Preparation for D-Day

So, I started the weekend very well intended.

I was going to sit down and write out a concise meal plan for the upcoming fortnight in preparation for the beginning of the Vegan Challenge.

I was going to spend Saturday afternoon committed to household chores that I’ve been putting off for the last month.

I want to preface the story of what I actually did with the word ‘unfortunately’, however I feel like that would take the sheen off of what was an incredbily fulfilling weekend, despite the fact I did zero of any of the things I had planned to, being so very well intended.

It will be of no surprise to anyone that knows me well that the meal plan didn’t come to fruition. Instead, I spent Friday evening sitting on my porch with a group of my closest friends talking about – well, nothing – and eating barbecue.

For some reason, I’d convinced myself in the lead up to the Challenge that I was going to need to consume nothing but beef, chicken and pork over the weekend.

To be perfectly honest? The barbecue was underwhelming. I turned my meal into a sandwich and ate a sirloin steak stuffed bread roll whilst picking at a chicken kebab. I would go into great detail about the flavour, taste and texture – but seriously, it was nothing to write about.

The following day, we visited our friend Tucker at the Mount Albert Market. Tucker the Butcher is a larger than life character, a Welshman who pushes his Neat Meat wares of grass fed, free range, organic meats in a variety of cuts every Saturday at our local market, come rain or shine.

One of the many discussions my husband and I have had since we got married (3 months yesterday!), was around the commitment we have to building the foundations of our familial unit. Ethan, Christian & I have been a unit for six years, however in the last 12 months my primary focus shifted to organising, planning and funding our wedding. This unfortunately meant that our relationship as partners became more about business, financial transactions and managing timetables than about two people who were building a life together based on love, trust and friendship.

Anyone who has planned a wedding on a shoestring knows how all-consuming this can be, and the hangover that occurs in the months after the actual event has taken place. My ‘hangover’ has been huge, meaning that the pursuit for happiness is something that I’ve had a serious focus on over the last 3 months. What that looks like? Fulfilment? Contentment? I have no idea, but I’ll be sure to share it with you in the event that I do unlock this wellkept secret.

We decided that in 2015, we would renew our commitment to our family unit and create rituals that would solidify our relationships with one another. One of these rituals is visiting the local market in our neighbourhood every Saturday morning together, to sample cheeses, drink coffee and hot chocolates and really and most importantly – just to speak to one another, without any outside influences. What this does is remind us all of how much we value one another. Christian is constantly surprising me with tidbits of knowledge and is a constant source of hilarity (but don’t tell him, I’ve got him and everyone else convinced I’m the funny one).

One of the rituals that exists for us and always has is sharing a meal together at the end of the day – I am a firm believer that this simple act is a surefire way to ensure a great relationship with your children or spouse. It has always been hugely important to me, however again something that fell by the wayside last year during wedding planning.

After stocking up on goodies from Tucker, Christian dropped Ethan & I at L’oeuf, our local cafe. I love living in the suburbs and feel like we are incredibly spoilt for choice in terms of palatable restaurants, cafes and eateries in Auckland – L’oeuf was named as one of Metro Magazines’ Top 50 Cafés in Auckland for 2014, no mean feat considering these guys have barely been open for an entire year but seem to have easily developed a borderline cult following with their very small bespoke, Vietnamese fusion inspired menu.
With a focus on fresh ingredients and turning their nose up at the kiwi cafe traditional Eggs Benedict, my absolute favourite L’oeuf dish is ‘The Hunter’, their own take on mushrooms on toast. Delicious! The menu option is I believe vegan, however can be ordered (which is often encouraged by the wait staff) with a soft poached egg and chorizo.

After a short wait for a takeout coffee, we ambled back through the neighbourhood, talking on life and all such things through the eyes of a nine year old boy (which isn’t as naive as one might assume).

My weekend was spent enjoying my family.
My weekend was spent enjoying the company of my closest friends.
My weekend was spent in the spirit of laughter, community and consciousness.
My weekend was spent being embraced by the ocean.

So, unfortunately?
No, there wasn’t an unfortunate thing about it. In the immortal words of Jill Scott, I’m living my life like it’s golden.

Blessed!

Love, Charli