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KaiJuly 11, 2019

The Spinoff Reviews New Zealand #88: The Bugger Cafe

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We review the entire country and culture of New Zealand, one thing at a time. Today, Alex Casey finds the Disneyland of Laughter.

I’ve long felt a spiritual pull towards The Bugger Cafe, although I’ve never really known exactly where it was. All I knew was the deep envy I felt seeing friends, colleagues and strangers on Instagram, beaming with joy as they sipped java in front of the most humorous décor since those barstools that have bum cheeks moulded onto the outside. Inside, it’s all bugger everything. Bugger this, bugger that, bugger you and, of course, bugger me. 

So you could imagine my excitement when, speeding down state highway 25 after a raucous women’s weekend in Whitianga (Love Island on the laptop and Alison Holst’s sausage rolls in the oven), a sign informed me that the Bugger Cafe was coming up on the left. I shrieked at my friend Zoe over the thunderous ABBA tuneage to pull the fuck over. We’d just had lunch in Tairua, sure, but it was time to get absolutely well and truly buggered (not like that).

Before I’d even stepped through the front door, I was chortling to the heavens. There was a tractor made to look as if it had driven into a ditch (bugger), a toilet for Bugger Cafe customers ONLY (bugger) and a huge sign featuring the glorious tagline “laugh a little” (bugger me – that’s good). As someone who steadfastly believes that one solid laugh a day is far more valuable than so-called “money” or “savings”, I was about to cash in big time at the Bank of Bugger. 

Strolling through the three large spaces that maketh the Bugger Cafe, it was hard to take in all the humour. Cartoons depicting what the internet would refer to as “fails”, collages of bugger-based phrases to weave into everyday life, and an interesting water feature that made it seem as if a tap was floating in mid-air. Not quite “bugger” but definitely “wow”. I stared in awe at the coffee machine, boasting a proud BUGGER personalised plate. 

Even the napkins and the takeaway coffee cups were bugger-ified. I normally wouldn’t endorse taking one of each as a souvenir via the environment but, in a way, climate change is the biggest bugger-up of all. Merch wise, a stack of rolled-up Bugger tea towels ($15.50) sat above the counter, and I was happy to hear another punter inquire as to whether or not the “Keep Calm and Bugger Off” t-shirts were available (not currently). 

I bought a black cherry-flavoured kombucha (I’m trying to have a glow-up, don’t look at me) and Zoe ordered an iced chocolate. We sat outside in the sunshine and watched a beaming elderly couple jump on their pushbikes and glide down the highway to their nearby country oasis. What a life! Kombucha be gone, what I really need for my wellbeing is to up sticks to Pipiroa and devote my life to soaking up rays outside the Bugger Cafe. 

As anyone who orders iced chocolates will know, it’s always a crapshoot as to whether or not you’ll receive an understated glass of chilled-out choco, or a completely humiliating freak shake extravaganza featuring a stack of donuts, your first childhood friend, and a Reader’s Digest jammed on top of it. Zoe, unfortunately, got the latter, all slathered in chocolate sauce and piled up with cream. It turned heads. It was the talk of the town. She didn’t like it very much – “too icy”.

My kombucha was fine, but sadly we didn’t have room for anything else. I took to Tripadvisor when I got home to see how other diners had fared. “The walls are funny to read and there is a video playing in a loop of Bugger moments, but our bugger moment was stopping there for lunch!” said one critic who had a hard time with some uncooked eggs. “If you cannot get a laugh here, you don’t have a sense of humour,” said John, “and the toilets were excellent.” 

Before we got back in the car to return to the drab, humourless north, I approached the unsmiling man behind the counter once more to buy a souvenir tea towel. At $15.50, it seemed a reasonable price to pay for so many different, never-seen-before fonts. I swiped my card excitedly, chuffed to have found the perfect souvenir from the perfect place. The machine thought about it for a moment. 

Declined. 

Good or bad? Crazy that you think laughter could ever be bad.

Verdict: Order wisely and chuckle stupidly.

Keep going!
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KaiJuly 10, 2019

Recipe: The perfect lemon and lime slice

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Have you found yourself with more lemons than you know what to do with? Hens laying overtime? Never fear, this perfect citrus slice is here. 

Once upon a time I had a little gold hen, who lived in a flowering tree and laid me a sweet fresh egg every day. And that’s where the fairy story ends, because the reality is that chicken was one scary bitch. 

Long-time chicken eater, first-time chicken owner, I ended up with poultry purely because a friend was moving and caught me at a weak moment. I took our new chook home, let her out in the garden and doubtfully stood back. I didn’t have a clue what you were supposed to do next. Ruffled with anger at the fact I was clearly an amateur, the hen glared at me for a long minute then darted her neck out sideways and crushed a praying mantis with her beak. She ate it slowly. She did not break eye contact with me the whole time she did this.

I backed away carefully and, from that moment on, we knew who was the boss of the back lawn.

Photo: Amanda Thompson

My friend called her Sheridan and the kids would rename her Princess Bubblegum or Sparkly Goldiflocks every couple of months, but mostly we just called her The Chicken. She ruled our suburban property with a scaly four fingered (or seven, depending which) claw, cowing our dog into a trembling submission. Every morning he would let her eat what she wanted from his bowl, enormous head downcast, while she chortled in glee.

Fluffybum Unicorn Feathers scorned the safety of a chicken coop. She perched in a tree at night and chased visitors away by day, cackling in the faces of neighbourhood cats then going straight for their eyes. We thought she needed company so we bought some chicks for her to raise, but Princess Mutant Feet was outraged at the idea of maternity. I did my best with a warm lamp and an old dog crate until we worked out that all three of the poor chicks were roosters and they had to go – our neighbours have been forgiving people over the years, but there are limits.

The TradeMe buyer kindly told my children that Jumbo, Spot and Sam would have lots of room to run around and make other chicken friends on her farm. “At least, they will until they’re fatter,” she whispered to me on her way back to her car with her squawking, shuffling box.

Photo: Amanda Thompson

In her prickly way, though, The Chicken seemed fond of us, her surrogate flock. One neighbour said he could set his watch at exactly 10 minutes past three every weekday when he heard her hop onto the driveway gate and call to the kids as they came home from school. She purred sweetly when you held out a hand full of rolled oats and then pecked your now empty fingers like the ragey mofo she really was. She died a more peaceful death than she probably deserved, in her sleep, of old age. I miss her, the stroppy little shit. 

She also fulfilled her part of the chicken/owner bargain by laying a daily egg – creamy and delicious, even though powered by dog biscuits and every damn seedling I ever planted. My family are not always enthusiastic egg eaters and one a day sounds manageable until it’s been a fortnight since your last frittata, and here you are again with a full egg compartment.

So I used this recipe for lemon lime slice for when I was egg-rich and dessert-poor. I may have to buy my eggs now but my lemon tree is bustling, and I can scrounge the odd lime (it’s also fine with just lemon). Basically, it’s a citrus curd on a handy edible base but even better than a curd because making that would mean using a double boiler, which I will never have the patience for. Time the bake just right and there will be a golden base, a soft centre and a hint of crunch on top – dessert heaven. 

Photo: Amanda Thompson

LEMON LIME SLICE

Base (make this first):

  • 150g soft butter
  • 1½ cups flour
  • 1 cup sugar

Mix all of this together until it resembles a crumb and press into a lined baking tin. Cook at 180°C for 15-20 minutes until golden, while you do the next step.

Topping:

  • 5 small eggs
  • ¼ cup flour
  • ¾ cup sugar
  • ½ cup lemon and/or lime juice
  • finely grated zest of everything you squeezed to get the juice

Whisk up the eggs, flour and sugar until pale and foamy. Add the juice and zest. Get the base out of the oven, pour the egg mix on top and put it straight back in the oven for about half an hour, but check regularly because there’s nothing sadder than a rubbery overcooked topping.

Enjoy, in memory of The Chicken.