Flavor of The Week: ANZAC Biscuits
Butter. What survived thousands of miles and months of transportation in order to reach New Zealand’s soldiers in World War I? Love, hope and a lot of butter.
Butter. What survived thousands of miles and months of transportation in order to reach New Zealand’s soldiers in World War I? Love, hope and a lot of butter.
“30 years is not worth a night of misery,” I insisted, predicting a speedy transition from rustic to agonizing in this weather.
New Zealand had given me snow topped mountains for my birthday. An environment better spent in private chilly reflection, wishing for woolen socks and the chance to be 25 again.
How do you measure the smallness of a town? Count the blocks between its borders, the farm animals grazing in residential front yards? Or how often “the usual” gets ordered at the corner cafe?
“Doesn’t look so bad,” Mom shouts over the motor, though she and I are obviously thinking slightly less confident thoughts about parasailing. The curse of the Adrenaline Amateur is to always hope something natural will cancel your adventure, before your terrified bladder does.
“Is this yours?” The Customs Officer held the croissant between two distasteful fingers, as if pastry was only slightly less contraband than digested balloons of heroin. Gulp. “Are you aware that bringing illicit food products across the border is considered bio-terrorism?”
Gone are the rowdy days of Arrowtown’s mining past. The footsteps of frantic gold hunters have faded into the gentle patter of families with prams; espresso has replaced moonshine as […]
It’s a well-honed habit, the final actions of a traveler who has done this a thousand times before. Pen out, one last entry scribbled in the journal that’s acted as silent companion during this portion of the journey.