Posted in Vegan Travel

Bristol (and other) Vegan Eats and The World Is A Bad Place Sometimes

Bristol (and other) Vegan Eats and The World Is A Bad Place Sometimes Posted on 30/08/2016Leave a comment
Ahoy, hello! My name is Jenny. I am a thirty-something human female from Manchester in the north of England. I enjoy rainy days and sad songs, custard donuts and salt & pepper chips and beer, lentil dhal and fried okra, X-Files and Twin Peaks, fierce fat heroines and mental health advocates, dogs and cats and otters and a very special beirdo. To paraphrase Sylvia Plath: "I blog because there is a voice within me that insists on writing lots of ridiculous chuff".

Hello my blog friends, how goes your bank holiday weekend?

C and I travelled down to Bristol on Saturday morning for a birthday, and I trundled back up yesterday afternoon, on a hellish coach journey I’d really rather forget (I don’t expect sympathy for the 7 pint hangover, but it would’ve been bad regardless).

Feeling joy and pride in our both having reached Friday safely, if not soundly, we ordered from a lovely local Caribbean place that I’d spotted on Deliveroo called The Drop Bar Cafe. They pretty much just have a couple of vegan mains, but they are so good. The curry veg is amazing, and the fried plantains? Urghhhhh so goooooood. Vegan slaw and two kinds of chips (cayenne sweet potato, and regular skin-on chips) are a-ok by me. They even have a Sunday dinner option called the Rasta Roast.

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We arrived in Bristol early on Saturday evening and though we’d been promised a vegan buffet selection at the party we were headed to, C thought it wise to have some dinner beforehand. We stopped into Tinto Lounge where I was dreading the ubiquitous falafel burger (yawn) only to find, to my horror, that it was even worse. QUINOA BURGER. But I gotta say, this was a super duper deep fried crispy delight, and along with perfect french fries, extra mushrooms and guacamole, was a proper treat.

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This beer was the beginning of an evening of Very Bad Ideas, with each one of those ideas being a pint of beer, and each choice becoming more ill advised. I didn’t feel super sloshed but the feeling of the universe bearing painfully down on me on Sunday suggested otherwise. C was tremendously sympathetic, given that the fault was mine alone, and we trundled along to Bristol’s must-visit vegan hippy cafe where I inhaled a life-giving banana milkshake and a full size breakfast.

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C decided to stick around in Bristol for another day of visiting family and friends, and I hopped onto a coach for around 5.5 hours of hellish kid-whining/man-spreading/traffic and wotnot. There was the most horrendous family o racists sitting a couple of rows behind me, and as I alighted in the early evening with Manchester Pride Festival in full swing, I whiffed plenty of homophobia in the air. On the bus ride home I saw a bunch of folks engaging in a proper bit of drunken brawling, and the full horror of hours on a coach and all the shittiness in the world hit me and I nearly did a little cry.

I didn’t though. I got home and ordered a lovely daal and a dosa from Jaipur Palace, South Manchester’s super duper vegetarian and vegan Indian restaurant of dreams. I had a bubble bath, snuggled the pooch and put myself to bed. Bank Holiday Monday was supposed to be a day of study and productivity, but after one large Vegan Egg omelette for lunch, I spent the next few hours stationed in the bathroom wondering quite how a body can insist that you keep on throwing up so regularly long after there’s anything left to expel. So that was nice.

Today I am taking my first ever sick day from The Job That Didn’t Quite Turn Out How I Expected, sipping lucozade and contemplating plain white bread, lightly toasted. I’m meant to be writing an essay exploring the (supposed) religious roots of the animal rights movement, so I’ll take another swig of lucozade and get to it, and then I’ll be back to bed for a nap before long I expect.

I sure hope that your bank holiday was better than the latter half of mine! I think I am ready for another long weekend already, but at least there’s only 3 working days to get through. As the squirrel in our garden says after escaping Vulpe’s lightning paws: Squeaky McPhew.

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