Anger Burger

I feel obligated to share in fairness that I have gained a noticeable amount of weight the month I’ve been here in New Zealand.  For every meatpie I’ve eaten, there have been half a dozen cookies¹ to wash it down with. On the other hand, because I have been eating such high-fat, low-fiber food, my Crohn’s has been bothering me less.  It’s a terrible Catch-22.

Still, it’s not such a bad place to be.  Nothing teaches the humility of the body like public diarrhea, and being a little round around the corners is nothing, brother, and I mean nothing in comparison. One might psychoanalyze my ability to take such comfort in eating, but I find it a simple, visceral act; few things offer such tremendous reward for so little effort.

Still, you can take the New Zealander out of the Commonwealth, but you can’t take the Commonwealth out of the New Zealander, and the proliferation of Mr. Whippy trucks is as good a demonstration of New Zealand’s relationship with food as any.  Honestly, if it doesn’t have chocolate or french fries with it, what’s the point of eating it?

Indeed, what.  Here we have a Mr. Whippy “Sherbet Cone,” which is in reality a regular vanilla cone rolled in a splat of “sherbet” powder.  It wasn’t at all what I was expecting and was nevertheless delightful and fulfilling in a way I hadn’t known I needed.

One of my favorite cafes in Wellington is the unexpected Clarke’s, located inside the Library.    Their treats are pretty consistently good (such as the above sugar cookie called, I believe, a “high five”) and their coffee was some of the best I’ve yet had here.

Even as I write this I experience a kind of background doubt, like, am I overselling my casual feelings towards eating badly?  Because I do actually think, man,  how many calories does this have in it? on occasion, if rarely.  I do look down at a remaining portion of something unhealthy and catch myself going to eat more after I’m already full and then internally scolding, now, Sunday, do you really need that? But part of me feels it’s this game of prudence, like pretending to be a grown-up and “How do you do?” while wearing a flowered hat and serving a teddybear invisible tea.  Oh now, goodness me, I shant eat another bite.

But you see, I shall.  And I love it.

¹ I am not screwing around: these cookies are going to ruin your life.  Do not order them.  Yes, they’re not even from New Zealand, but they are at every grocery store here under the brand Delmaine and they are the primary reason I’m gaining about a pound a day.