Firstly, I can’t tell you how tickled I was when The Boy and I hit up the grocery store, to find that New Zealand is truly metric. I’m from Canada, so I understand the metric system, but when you buy packages of food that are 454g (i.e. one pound) you sort of question how metric your life really is. (Or, well, I do.)
Not here! Butter is sold in 500g bricks, and smaller food packets are in 50g increments! Such tidy numbers! So fun! Alright, I’m the only one who finds that exciting. Fine. Next: ketchup.
I’m not sure who is in charge of their ketchup (is it still Heinz-dominated? I don’t know) but it’s quite tasty. Spicier and a little less sweet than the stuff we have at home. The best part though? Restaurants seem to have standardized on this bottle:
So cute! I love it. Despite not being a huge (raw) tomato fan, it totally makes my day to walk past cafe patios where each table is festooned with its own bright little tomato of ketchup. If I ever started seriously making my own ketchup, I would totally want a jar like that for the fridge. …except that I know I’m way too lazy and we’d just eat it out of the canning jar. Ah well.
Yoghourt. I remember this part from Australia: the actually creamy without containing gelatin, delicious, contains real fat yoghourt. My breakfasts have been happy ones, let me tell you.
The next note is about betrayal. The Boy and I, based on our guide’s advice, hit up the Pac ‘n Save for groceries and I have to say: I was impressed. This place is kind of like a No Frills, but with a much, much more impressive set of served food areas. (When was the last time you saw a No Frills with a seafood counter?!) We hit up the bakery to find sandwich buns and were delighted to find a huge selection of pastries (breakfast!) as well. After a deliciously successful first round of muffins and croissants, we went back the next day to restock. Feeling adventurous, The Boy chose something called a “cheesymite bun”. You can tell where this is going, can’t you?
I wasn’t thinking, and assumed it was some kind of jalapeño thing, like cheesy dynamite, right? The Boy, full of hope and trust in the bakery, bought the bun, and tore into it as we walked back to our room. He took one bite, made a horrible face, and I instantly knew what the “mite” was. Well, okay I knew sort of: I don’t know if it was marmite or veggiemite, but since I find both totally disgusting, it doesn’t really matter. (The Boy is also not a fan.)
It will take time, and possibly a little therapy, but I think he’ll be okay.
As a final note, they don’t really do filtered coffee here. It’s not impossible to find: they have it at Starbucks, for example, but… then we’d have to go to Starbucks. So The Boy has been drinking espresso-based drinks for his caffeine fix. I will say, though, that since the country is so cappuccino- and flat white (AKA latte)-driven, they do know how to serve them up nicely.