EVER TUESDAY

An ode to all the dishes I can't eat right now

By Charlea - Thursday, April 23, 2020

This is my sixth week at home. Six weeks of keeping a social distance. Holing up in my north London flat with my boyfriend, a stack of books, mindfulness colouring book and a 1000-piece puzzle (depicting Tower Bridge, natch) for company.

It's been a weird time, but for me it's been a very privileged time. I live a stone's throw from the Lea Valley park, Walthamstow Wetlands and beautiful River Lee canal walks – so fitting in an hour's walk before work every morning has been both easy and joyful. I've become an uncharacteristically calm person now I don't have to commute twice every day. I have a private balcony that catches sunshine from 3-6pm every day (prime cocktail time) and my building has a roof garden. I (thankfully) still have a job and as it stands am being paid my full pay. I've got food. We've got a spare room, heaps of dumbbells and our own "gym" setup. I've got everything I need in my own home to live very comfortably and use this period as an opportunity to slow down, spend precious quality time with my partner, and just enjoy what we've got. Not everyone is so lucky. You can be assured I count my many blessings every single day.

But one thing I'm missing that I really miss right now... MY FAVOURITE DISHES.

I've made it quite clear that one of the things I love most about London is the food. City living has so many shit sides – the cost of rent, number of tourists, horrific commuting situation, and having to pay £10 for a g&t. But the bad has always outweighed the good for me – namely the lifestyle I get to lead. And having some of the world's best food on my doorstep is one of the biggest parts of the lifestyle I love so much.

Lockdown has (obviously) stolen the opportunity to go out for food. Some of London's best and my most favourite restaurants are really really struggling now. Many have chosen not to offer takeaway services to protect their staff – a necessary but crushing choice to make.

For now the only option I've got on my already bad Deliveroo is Pizza Go-Go, and – no disrespect – but I think I'll be holding off for now. Saving my pennies for the dishes I really miss.

I'm dreaming of a no. 4 pizza at Franco Manca – those oozing pools of ricotta, offset by salty, crispy roasted ham and delicate chunks of mushroom. I ask for a little extra tomato on the base, and always always order a pot of indulgent Colston Bassett stilton dip to dunk those heavenly, doughy crusts into. I'm craving Nando's chilli-spiked macho peas – best consumed alongside salty halloumi and butterfly chicken (lemon and herb if you must know).

I miss the lunch break luxury of a Pret popcorn bar. A crunchy concoction of rice krispies and popcorn, glued together using condensed milk and creamy white chocolate. I'd die for a lunch bowl from Ahi Poké – I build my own on a black rice base, always topping with ahi tuna in sriracha mayo, and garnishing with edamame, crispy onions, carrots, charred sweetcorn and seaweed roasted cashew nuts.

I'd devour a bowl of Camino's arroz negro – with the creamiest aioli on top and just the right amount of cuttlefish chunks hidden in the rice. See also Dishoom's fragrant black daal. Rich; creamy (it's cooked for 24 hours)... and those lentils actually melt in your mouth. Continuing along indulgent lines, I could cry at the thought of Flat Iron creamed spinach. I've never tasted better.

And what about London's cheese?! I can never forget the brie with truffled mascarpone at The Cheese Bar. Cheese sandwiched between cheese sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen. And it probably is. But it tasted incredible – perfectly accompanied by those pickled grapes and crackers. I've sampled plenty of London's burrata dishes, but I've never found a better one than at Sodo in Walthamstow. One swift knife cut sends ricotta oozing all over the plate – but mopping it up with the soft, garlicky sourdough is a joy.

It's not just food I miss. A creamy but punchy Grind espresso martini would be heaven. I've tried many times over the last six weeks to make my own. But as has been proven (and my boyfriend will testify), I really do have all the gear (cocktail set, coffee liqueur, vodka, Grind's own bloody ground coffee) but unfortunately no idea. Hell, I even miss my Friday morning coffee at Planet Organic – a frothy latte with deliciously sweet hazelnut mylk.

Then there's desserts. Babka at The Good Egg – preferably chocolate or salted caramel, but I'll take whatever's in. Although an incredibly rare treat, a few scoops in a waffle cone from Udderlicious in Islington would be the perfect antidote to a long day working in my living room. But nothing tops my beloved Konditor & Cook – namely their salted caramel brownie. It's moist and melty, with an incredible drizzle of luscious caramel on top. Try as you might, you'll never be able to find – or make – a better one.

London: I'll be back soon. And when I am, you bet I'll be spending most of my time eating my way around my favourite restaurants again. Chances are they'll probably be needing me as much as I need them.

Hold on and stay strong.

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London

A love letter to London

By Charlea - Thursday, September 19, 2019

Dear London,

We’ve been together for FIVE years now. Mad, right? Sometimes I still feel like the helpless mess on week one of commuting life, virtually sobbing in a tunnel somewhere at Bank station as I tried to figure out which exit to take (disclaimer: I still haven’t quite mastered this one).

Our union was always a natural one. I studied Journalism at Kingston University, which despite the marketing is categorically not in London. I’ve been late for far too many work experience gigs to call suburban Zone 6 part of the city… Anyway, it was natural that I’d end up moving to the city eventually. ALL the jobs were there. Well, maybe not strictly true, but they certainly weren’t in the tiny hamlet in Somerset I grew up in.

I’d spent my childhood in the most wholesome environments ever. We always lived in houses that either had beams or fireplaces (usually both), and we always had outside space. This ranged from big garden to one acre field, and the rural settings my parents favoured meant I’d grown up constantly playing outside. This was seemingly idyllic until the teenage angst started to kick in. Any town worth visiting was at least an hour away. I didn’t live on a bus route and I had to rely on family members to drop me off at train stations, pick me up from nights out, and generally act as my personal chauffeur. The clubs were tiny, sticky and full of more angst, and I just always had the feeling that there was something more.

So when I eventually made it and unpacked my pile of belongings into a tiny single room in a friend’s flat in Battersea, I felt like I’d REALLY made it. At first, anyway. This was it: my big moment. I’d be snapped up by a magazine in no time, and I’d wear pencil skirts to work and file witty column pieces, and drink lots of wine at fancy dinners.

It soon became apparent that you, London, do not just hand these things out to everyone.

I struggled, and I mean really struggled, to get myself a job. I was a graduate with a really good skillset and respectable 2:1 in Journalism, but I could barely get invited in for interview unless the work experience was unpaid. I spent days in a flat, draining my savings on rent and constantly inventing new ways to buy myself another month. I sold my car. I lived on soup. My days left me depressingly confined within the flat, where I did home workouts, applied for jobs, and cried all the time.

One saving grace in the midst of graduate depression was where I lived. I was a stone’s throw from Battersea Park and the Albert Bridge, so in essence a stone’s throw from some of the most incredible views in the city. It was an affluent area which sucked for supermarket shopping, but was great for saving on an Oyster card. I’d sit on the 19 for a measly £1.50 bus fare and travel right into Piccadilly and beyond. I could walk to Harrods and Hyde Park. Those moments of space; looking up and seeing how beautiful the city is… they really saved me. In my darkest times I held on because of that small glimmer of hope and opportunity.

After a few months of terribly paid work experience (£10 a day was a particular low), I managed to get a proper job. It didn’t really involve writing columns or wearing pencil skirts, but it did give me a solid foundation in Content Marketing, a brilliant group of work friends and somewhat of a social life. I had a purpose. I had a regular commute, and a routine centring around which free magazines I picked up on which days. I had lunchboxes and work drinks and enough of my uni friends lived in south London that we could scrape together our measly salaries and have one night out a month.

It felt like I was starting to get it. I left the Battersea flat and moved in to a friend’s spare room in Tooting, where I eventually settled for three years. I fell in love with this quirky pocket of town – a place I still proudly say I saw transform before my own eyes. You’re not a proper Londoner until you’ve got an anecdote about your neighbourhood “coming up”, and I really felt like I was part of the Tooting renaissance. It went from somewhere dark and shadowy where litter picking didn’t exist and chicken burgers decayed outside your front door, to somewhere gritty yet glamorous – with brunch spots and artisan coffee shops and cocktail bars and a club people considered to be cool. It was Clapham mark two, but with less rugby players. The commute was absolutely hideous, but it somehow always felt worth it for the promise of BYOB curry houses and a three-floor Primark when I got home.

I can proudly say I had my best London years (yet) in Tooting. It was the formative place that really made me feel like a Londoner. I had things to complain about (the Northern Line), stuff to recommend (Apollo Banana Leaf), and a working knowledge of south west London.

But in all honesty nothing made me love you, London, quite like my boyfriend. We met in our Farringdon office in 2016 and in the three years since have devoted much of our time to exploring together. Walking around London is nice, but it’s ten times better with someone by your side. We’ve had so many Sundays traipsing down the South Bank; searching for ice cream in Soho; walking around Goodge Street chatting lazily about our future plans.

Having a partner means accessing parts of London you couldn’t before too. We’ve got our favourite restaurants, our “places” – the city has become a patchwork of places where we’ve made memories together and grown in love.

He may have plucked me from south London, but now we live in north London together I’m getting to fall in love with the city all over again. I’m finding new spots, new excitement, and getting to be part of a new area that’s “coming up” (veryyyyy slowly).

So there we have it. Five whole years. It’s not always an easy place to live. There’s so many tourists, the weather can be cruel – there’s nothing as bad as a London winter. The cost of a g&t is frankly ridiculous. The pollution terrifies me. Sometimes it feels that the best parts of the city are reserved for those with privilege. Bankers and finance types get to enjoy vintage champagne on picturesque rooftops, while most of us work away on the ground and look for deals on Deliveroo so we can “treat” ourselves to lunch out.

But luckily the good has always outweighed the bad. Franco Manca. Diversity. A collective culture of openness and acceptance. The galleries that are free to look around. The brunches. The coffee shops. The view from London Bridge. The constant feeling of being part of history. The buildings and architecture you see around every corner if you just look up from your phone.

My love affair with you, London, has lasted five years now and I really hope it lasts another five. It would be a shame for us to part ways when we’re so clearly made for each other. So do me a favour and keep the house prices down so we can buy ourselves that semi in Walthamstow with a garden, ok?

Yours faithfully,

Charlea

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food

In defence of... cooking shows

By Charlea - Wednesday, September 04, 2019

“This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you without a gin in your hand,” remarked my boyfriend last night.

I was sprawled out on the chaise part of our corner sofa, sweatshirt and comfies on and peppermint tea in hand (I’m not sure where the gin comment came from…)

And on the TV? Celebrity Masterchef. An old favourite since youth, when I’d sidle onto the armchair and watch it with my parents. The fun of watching them come up with their own dish was always offset by the stress of seeing an amateur trying to squeeze perfect blobs of pea purée onto a plate in a professional kitchen – with a sweaty, red-faced executive chef barking commands over their shoulder. And let’s not forget the equal measure of heartache and hilarity watching them present the judges with a plate no more appealing or skilled than hungover beans on toast…

Cooking shows are having a bit of a revival in the UK. People practically foam at the mouth when it’s time for a new series of The Great British Bake Off – and I can’t count how many times I’ve heard someone say “it’s impossible to watch it without wanting chocolate though, isn’t it?”

Once considered the territory of desperate housewives/bored grandmas, TV shows about food are now pretty damn cool. We can thank Jamie Oliver for much of the hype with his winning combination of quick, slapdash methods and sexy, soft-focus zoom-ins – but who can honestly say they’re not partial to a bit of Saturday Kitchen with their lazy weekend coffee?

It’s taken me a while to realise the extent of my own obsession with these programmes. As someone with an embarrassingly short attention span (I struggle to watch films), it’s hard for me to find a TV show engaging enough to keep me from scrolling Instagram. So I tend to stick to the easy-to-chew palate of British reality TV, with a side of (usually more glamorous) American reality TV. And a steady 6.30pm appetiser of Friends re-runs on Comedy Central.

But one recent, desperately anxious hangover found me scouring the depths of Channel 4’s on demand library. I’d rinsed my usual cure of soothing Our Planet, and I needed something light and stress-free to take off the tequila-tinged edge of the night before.

And there it was. Jamie’s Quick & Easy Food. I mean, the man’s a genius: five ingredients, minimal effort, and incredible dishes. And don’t even get me started on the effortlessly perfect ingredient flatlay shots, and soft-focus close-ups of the finished dish. Because nothing can take the edge off a particularly panicky hangover quite like the sight of melting blue cheese gently trickling down the side of a juicy burger…

As a self-confessed foodie and keen (yet depressingly rookie) cook, it’s no surprise that this viewing is heaven for me. Watching someone else cook is almost as meditative as doing it myself, just with sexier results and a more seamless process. It’s really soothing to see raw ingredients become something amazing. And to be honest, seeing someone else berated for producing a dodgy-looking jus makes me feel even more proud of my roast aubergine and tahini (gourmet, I know).

(Watching Saturday Kitchen guests drink Merlot at 10am = slightly less soothing, though).

So there it is. Cooking shows are cool, and I’ll never let anyone tell me otherwise. I urge you to try it. The next time you’re a bit hungover, having a crappy day, or just want to watch something that actually makes you unwind – head where the food is. Whether it’s the hilarious disasters of Dinner Date, slapdash perfection of Jamie Oliver, competitive and brutal Masterchef, or even a bit of old school Rick Stein… nothing is as soothing as watching the methodical, step-by-step beauty of a chef at work. It's why we all love restaurants with open kitchens, large open pizza ovens, and sitting at high-stool bars where we can see our cocktail being made. Seeing something come together is far more rewarding than just seeing the finished product.

Now who's excited for the return of Ready, Steady, Cook?!

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food

My 5 favourite restaurants in London

By Charlea - Tuesday, August 27, 2019

This list was painful to collate.

I'm a foodie, see. When I first moved to the big city five whole years ago (it's actually my five year anniversary in a few days time), the thing I was most excited about was the food. The chance to try any cuisine in the world without travelling more than an hour from my front door. The hope of one day eating in some of the country's most renowned restaurants, with food from recognised chefs.

The problem with London, reader, is that it's big. It's a little too big to have a "regular" – unless you're one of the lucky few who settles in a neighbourhood and never leaves (looking at you, rocketing rent prices). And there's a little too much choice to always visit the same spots anyway. Every week the food section of Time Out has me adding to the London hit list at the back of my diary – and I'm not sure I'll ever eat through my bucket list.

So when you find somewhere you actually want to go to more than once in the city, you're onto a winner. Which is how I eventually managed to put this list together. These are all places I've visited at least twice, and each time have had an incredible meal. Plus the dish I most recommend ordering there – which I've also done each visit...

NB: this list is NOT in order. That was a bridge too far for my indecisive mind...

Delamina East (Shoreditch)

When I discovered this place it was actually called Strut & Cluck – a nod to the volume of turkey recipes on the menu. But what was once a humble pop-up has since developed into two restaurants, under the name Delamina.

The menu is everything I love about Mediterranean cooking. It's small plates with big flavours – Ottolenghi without the ridiculous price tag, and almost everything has tahini on it. I've never ordered a dish I hate here. The menu is divided into Earth, Land and Sea, and I recommend a little of each.

My particular faves? The charred cauliflower comes with a generous drizzle of lemon zest creme fraiche, and is studded with jewel-like pomegranate molasses and seeds – for optimum flavour and crunch. The chicken in lettuce cups with spicy tahini and date molasses manages to be light and creamy at the same time, and the za'atar squid on cripsy kale is a great combo of sweet and sour.

But if I really had to choose one thing, I'd choose the hand-pulled shawarma. Sounds simple, tastes ridiculous. There's dates, pine nuts, tomatoes, thick tahini and a fluffy cloud-like pitta bread to mop it all up with.

>> Delamina East

Polpo, various locations

I first stumbled into Polpo in Farringdon. I worked locally and had walked past it enough times to sense it was a pretty nice place, but as a broke junior working in marketing I knew it would definitely need to be a special occasion to warrant a trip inside.

I made it eventually – for a birthday meal with my family. And I basically fell in love.

At this point I'll share something that soon won't be a shock: I am OBSESSED with small plates. There's something incredibly satisfying about being able to order four dishes without any judgement, and trying four different flavour combos is always going to beat having one.

Polpo's cuisine is Venetian – which means meat and fish feature heavily on the menu, along with some adorable mini pizzas and antipasti-style nibbles. My absolute go-to dishes are: the 'nduja arancini and stuffed fried olives (for a pre-meal nibble); the fritto misto (mixed, lightly breaded fish and shellfish); indulgent and beautifully rich spicy pork and fennel meatballs; and the simple-sounding but wonderfully fresh zucchini, rocket, basil and parmesan salad – which I've recreated countless times for my weekday lunchbox.

My absolute favourite order is surprisingly vegetarian – the chickpea, spinach and ricotta balls with tomato. You know something's really good when I try to make my own version of it and fail spectacularly, and I've had way too many unfortunate run-ins with chickpeas now to say I've ever made a ball that tastes as good as Polpo's. Order it and wash it down with the restaurant's very own prosecco. You're a gondola away from actually being in Venice.

>> Polpo

Dishoom, various locations

The queue at Dishoom is much like the many exits at Bank station – it's one of those mythic London things that people talk about, but you'll never really understand until you experience it yourself.

In my teenage Somerset years, the thought of queuing for a restaurant would have made me roll my eyes in utter disgust – but here I am, several Dishoom queues later with absolutely ZERO regrets. There's a reason you're waiting for your food, and it's more than worth it once you get inside.

Dishoom serves Bombay-inspired breakfast naans by day, and indulgent small plates by night – it's actually one of the only places I can safely say is as good for brunch as it is for dinner. Everything on the menu is lovingly thought out and tells a great story, and as a copywriter myself I can't help but fangirl over the brand's use of words.

But we're here for the food. So let's talk food. First things first, don't just order one breakfast dish. Dishoom deserves at least two – I recommend ordering one each (but share), then sharing a sweeter dish for br-essert (brunch dessert, obvs). The bacon naan roll is famous and for good reason – the bacon is smoky, the naan is pillowy soft, and the tangy chilli jam is a perfect accompaniment. Next up I'd order the Akuri – an Irani café dish consisting of golden scrambled eggs, laced with fragrant spices and served with puffy homemade buns. Then share a bressert of house granola – it's stuffed with nuts, toasted in butter and honey, and complemented with a silky, creamy yogurt. Wash it all down with the bottomless chai tea, and spend the next month craving it. You're welcome.

By night – go mad. I have a few Dishoom staples I'll always order – paneer curry, charred masala prawns, the chicken thigh cooked delicately in cream and spices for ultimate tenderness (they call it Murgh Malai), and a chilli broccoli salad to balance it all out. But Dishoom is one place where I'll always try something new, because you can literally always guarantee it'll be amazing.

The ultimate dish? It's not original but... the black daal. Even hearing the words "black daal" sets my soul on fire. Dishoom's recipe is tightly guarded so my many attempts to recreate it have always fallen a little short of the mark, but at £6.20 a bowl it's an indulgence I'm more than willing to pay for on the regs. It's so richly flavoured it tastes creamy – the lentils will actually melt in your mouth. Which is no surprise considering they apparently cook it for 24hrs to nail that depth of taste. Hungry?

>> Dishoom

Champagne + Fromage, various locations

Coming from a family of cheese lovers means I've spent a good chunk of my London life in search of the perfect cheeseboard. It's taken me to overpriced cheese shops (I once paid £5 for the tiniest chunk of blue cheese), rooftops (namely Boundary, who do a great yet small cheeseboard), and more often than not to the aisles of M&S (for a Camembert to bake).

Luckily I found cheese mecca in the most romantic way: on one of my first dates with my boyfriend of three years. It's called Champagne + Fromage, and they basically serve champagne and cheese (duh). You can order the good stuff in loads of different formats – there's raclette, tartines, salads and boards, with champagne available to buy by the glass.

But if you're going to do it, you really must do it properly. Splash out on the £25 gastroboard and try three cheeses, three charcuterie meats, cornichons and two tapenades with plenty of bread to mop, dunk, pile and devour. The cheeses are handily grouped into different families, so will perfectly complement each other – and a special shout out here goes to the staff, who know more about cheese than my own family. Which really is an achievement.

You'll almost definitely come out with tighter jeans, but it's honestly the best cheese experience in London by a long shot. Prepare for some weird dreams...

>> Champagne + Fromage

The Good Egg, Stoke Newington & Soho

While the dinner at The Good Egg is great, as the name would suggest it's really all about brunch here. And damn, those eggs are good.

The Good Egg is a Jerusalem kinda café, so za'atar, labneh feta and preserved yogurts feature highly on the menu. Essentially you can expect all the classic brunch dishes with an interesting and delicious twist on them. The shakshuka gets an indulgent touch with za'atar sourdough and a creamy lemon preserved yogurt; the breakfast hash is given personality with harissa flavour and marinated feta; and the French toast comes with a fragrant strawberry and rose jelly, plus crunchy pistachio brittle.

I'd honestly recommend any of their savoury dishes. Close your eyes and point – you won't be disappointed. But an absolute must-do when visiting The Good Egg is to leave with a slice of Oded's babka in hand. Flavours vary depending on the day, but expect mouthwateringly soft dough, sticky swirls of chocolate or caramel, and a generous portion that means sometimes you've got enough for a second serving later (with ice cream, of course).

>> The Good Egg

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fitness

Bootcamp fitness & why it's time to change the dialogue

By Charlea - Thursday, July 11, 2019

I recently went to a well-known fitness "bootcamp" class for the first time. So far, so normal – although I'm #loyalhun to my beautifully budget The Gym, I do dabble with the odd class here and there (usually when ClassPass have a special offer going...)

Boutique fitness classes in London are exactly what you'd expect. The people who attend them mostly wear Lululemon or Sweaty Betty (they'll be changing into pencil skirts post-class, natch), and have that kind of flawless skin that somehow manages to look even more flawless at 6am, covered in sweat with zero make-up on. Now I am categorically NOT one of these people (I usually pencil my eyebrows on before class...), but I am kinda hardcore and I now own some leggings I paid more than £40 for, sooooo...

Of all the luxe classes on offer in the city, it's the bootcamp variety I tend to gravitate towards. Why? Well, there's something rewarding about pushing your body to extremes before you've even sat at your desk for the day. I hate running with a passion, but bootcamp classes usually force to run. Which pushes me out of my comfort zone and gives a nice little dose of endorphins when I realise that I won't actually die on the treadmill. The changing rooms are nice. The showers usually have nice products in. You get fresh towels, sometimes even cold towels after the session. The rooms tend to favour low lighting in manner of club dancefloor, which is great for when my pencil brows start sweating off mid-sesh. And the protein shakes you usually get at the end are worth 45 mins of torture.

So what exactly is the issue here?

The bloody dialogue.

The dialogue starts before you've even set foot in the gym. There'll be a flyer come through the office door, or a paid ad on social, and it'll usually be along the lines of "Burn 1000 calories in 45 mins!"

This winds me up for two reasons. Firstly, as a FitBit wearer and highly active human being, I can categorically confirm that I have never burned 1000 calories in a bootcamp class. And secondly, who cares if I don't? Does it make the class a waste of time if I haven't? Does it mean that I'm not going to achieve my "dream beach body" (another marketing ploy) because my calorie burn isn't up to scratch?!

Get inside and the dialogue generally continues. Before you've even found your treadmill or patch of floor, there's usually a speech about "setting your intentions" for the session. You're encouraged to think about what you want to achieve, and how far you want to push yourself. If you're anything like me you'll spend this time mid-yawn plodding at a sedate pace to "warm up" – the only intention being to survive the session and not die mid-run (just me?).

Then things get going. The lights drop. The [insert: female-empowering / club / heavy dance / aggressive rap] music starts. And the dialogue... continues.

Classes are generally peppered with the kind of calorie-focussed BS usually reserved for a Weight Watchers advert in the 00s. "Keep pushing! Think how many calories you're burning! Push harder and you'll burn more" is a quote from aforementioned recent boutique class. This may or may not come with a side of aggressive personal trainer actually coming up to you, shouting at you to slam the medicine ball down harder "for the burn!" or run faster to "burn more fat!"

I don't know if it's just me, but I find this dialogue both annoying and dangerous.

It's 2019. The body positive movement has finally started making waves. Former disordered eaters (like myself) are starting to feel a bit more relaxed in the realisation that there's a life outside of eating soup for dinner, taking laxatives and trying to keep your size 6 jeans baggy around the waist. The movement towards being comfortable in your skin, embracing health at any size, and enjoying the damn cupcake is strong. And for that I am glad.

What bootcamp classes need to acknowledge is how triggering the calorie chat can be for some people who have paid good money to be there. Sure, I'm not naive and I know there's still a space in these classes for people who are motivated by burning 1000 calories.

But for anyone who's ever had a tricky relationship with food or their body, and is actively moving towards a better place with both of these things... hearing this does nothing but fill you with doubt. It makes me question my motives for being there.

I train to feel strong. I train for my mindset. I train to see what my body can do. Yes, sometimes I train with my aesthetic in mind but nowadays this is more "I want to grow my shoulder muscles so I can do a pull up" rather than "I want to burn enough to earn my dinner tonight." I still have my days; I'm only human – existing in a pressurised social media vacuum of perfect bodies, healthy foods, and weight loss fixes that can't be ignored, cos they take up paid ad space and come to find me.

So being in a class where my old negative thought patterns are resurfaced – where I'm encouraged to think about burning off my breakfast so I've really earned myself the right to eat toast – is nothing but damaging. I'm sure I'm not the only bootcamp attendee who feels this way. And to think we actually pay for this experience too...

Let's strip it back, shall we? Let's shift the focus onto moving our bodies in ways we enjoy, because it makes us feel better and it's good for our health. Not our weight – our healthy heart, healthy mind, good lungs, strong joints, etc etc etc.

PTs, boutique fitness class owners / teachers / marketeers... listen up. Think about it. Think about the damage. It's time.

Change your dialogue.

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my life

26 things I've learned at 26

By Charlea - Thursday, March 28, 2019

OKAY so technically speaking I've been 26 for a month already, but everyone knows it's way cooler to be fashionably late to the party... right?

26 might not be a huge milestone but I've always been more about celebrating the little things anyway. So here are a few things I've learned along the way as I head into my 26th year:

You absolutely don't have to have it all figured out already. In fact, the next few years are going to be far more fun/interesting and better for your growth if you haven't figured it all out. Uh huh.
Most things can be fixed with a cup of hot chocolate and a 9hr sleep.
It's almost always worth paying more for: hazelnut milk, lingerie, ankle boots, espresso martinis, dark chocolate, hoop earrings, coats, olive oil.
It's definitely NOT worth paying more for: candles, trend pieces you can get a dupe of on eBay, fancy mascara, manicures, extra phone data, tiny hipster coffees, vegan protein powder.
There's no better feeling in the world than fresh bed sheets.
You're not going to meet the love of your life at a bar when he sends champagne to your table, and any guy that does this is most likely actually a massive creep. The love of your life is going to be in a bit more of an unexpected place and probably won't even reveal himself until you've had too much tequila one night. But despite the awkward hangover, that night will also end up being the best decision you've ever made.
You don't have to say yes to everyone. And the friends that expect you to do this aren't your real friends.
Overnight success does not exist. Success takes YEARS of hard work and drive.
You will probably forever long for a meal cooked by your mum.
You'll also forever long for another hug from your mum.
Eating under 1000 calories a day isn't going to make you happy, and eating soup for dinner every night is not a diet – it's starvation.
Eating over 1500 calories a day is not going to make you fat. Nothing is going to make you happier than a guilt-free three-course meal in a nice restaurant every now and then.
Keep asking questions, always. You'll learn so much more if you're always asking why and challenging norms.
Some of your opinions and views will be wrong. Allow them to be challenged.
The first time you cook for your boyfriend in the flat you share together will be the most romantic meal you've ever eaten together.
Travel. You've got your whole life to pay your credit card off, but you probably don't have the same chance to see the world.
Read. And keep reading. It's the escape from reality you need.
NOTHING will make you feel as powerful as having strong back muscles. Being able to lift heavy things and explore your body's potential is a true gift – use it as much as you can.
Be kind always. It's always better to be the one who smiled than the one who didn't smile back.
Always carry the following spares in your handbag: a tampon, a pair of socks, a charger, and hand cream.
Have one signature dish mastered for the times someone's coming over / you CBA with creative cooking. Looking at you, prawn, cashew and coconut curry...
Admit when you're wrong. Apologise too.
Great wine, good gin and the occasional glass of champagne are three indulgences you need in your life.
Your body will change, sometimes daily. It's okay. Roll with it.
People will almost always have an opinion on what you're doing and how you're living. Ignore them and carry on mixing protein powder in your yogurt.
You are enough.

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