Tuesday 19th August 2025
Blog Page 1189

Why I became a vegetarian

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It’s National Vegetarian Week this week. On reading an article in the Independent about the 5 main ethical reasons for becoming a vegetarian, I decided to pen an article about the non-ethical, but still very real, reasons why I became one. Animal rights? I couldn’t care less. The environment? Last time I tried to give up on meat because of the environment, a cause I passionately do care about, I found the motivation was enough for one week before I was found salivating over my favourite meaty treat down at Tesco (the pork and leek sausage, if you’re interested).

Although I’ve tried to give up on meat several times in the past, I’ve never found that ethical concerns could propel me not to want to gorge on a steak and chips or reach for the Big Mac after a night out. This time, I gave up for me. The success was firmly proved the other day when, on a trip to Atomic Burger, I resisted any kind of temptation and plumped for the Veggie Burger (a delight!) My motivations for giving up meat were simple: weight, digestive health and money.

I noticed last term that I had gained a bit of weight. As much as everyone tried to tell me that not an ounce of extra flesh had appeared on my backside, they were wrong. Several buttons came off my clothes; tops remain at home this term, as my porky pecs have grown too big to stretch over them – and not in a good way! I was researching over Easter the best ways to lose weight and there seemed to be unanimous agreement on various websites that three factors would help: the reduction in bad fats, an increase in protein at the expense of these bad fats, and exercise.

Well, exercise has never been my bag. Luckily for me, the World Health Organisation even came out in support of me, announcing, with perhaps imperfect research, that diet was the way to go. So, I did some reflecting. How does one reduce bad fats (which usually come from meat and meat-based derivatives) whilst simultaneously increasing proteins (which, naively, I also thought were the exclusive preserve of the meat-eating classes). I did some research.

It turns out that certain vegetarian foods provide the protein your body is craving. Black beans, quinoa, spinach, butter beans, chickpeas, eggs. All these foods are vegetarian, yet none are meat based. All these foods provide you with prime protein, yet none are meat or fish. These are just a few. As it turns out, vegetarian food can easily provide you with the same protein that a normal human requires, with none of the bad fats. This protein is important, since it staves of hunger pangs and allows you to tone your body if you start doing some exercise.

As for digestive health, think about it. At what time in human history did we consume so much meat on such an industrial scale? Never. Meat has traditionally been viewed as a treat food, one that you eat rarely. However, in the last century, we began to eat meat more and more often… wait, what also happened in the last hundred years? The obesity epidemic. Now, I’m not saying the two are linked, but such excessive meat consumption is certainly a potential factor in the world’s huge weight-gain. Your digestion requires fibre, which vegetarian food has in abundance. I can certainly tell you that I have never experienced such a pleasant digestive period. Vegetarian food provides you, almost exclusively, with high-fibre foods which are also what ward off stomach cancers, often caused by, you guessed it, processed meat.

Finally, I cannot stress enough how little money I spend on veggie food. All the high protein vegetables and legumes cost so little in comparison to meat. Furthermore, even vegetarian treats like avocados and coconuts can be bought so cheaply from the Gloucester Green market where avocadoes are priced at 4 for £1.50, which is an unbelievable bargain. Meat, and particularly fish, are priced at horrifically high prices for your everyday student. However, that’s only half of it – what about going out? Meat based dishes way exceed any vegetarian ones on any menu, that I will bet you. 

It’s time you think about yourself! Vegetarianism does not have to be an ethical choice. It can, and for me has been, a totally selfish one. Motivation is what is important – I still miss my pork and leeks, but I don’t crave them. I know that I don’t need them, with their fat and gristle oozing out of that synthetic skin. I can be much healthier and happier eating vegetarian alternatives which provide all the protein you need with none of the $$$$ and none of the heart attacks. Why don’t you treat your body and turn veggie?

Ready, Steady, Cook! Uncle Ben’s Sweet and Sour Rice Time

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★★★★☆

Four Stars

I am somewhat under the impression that the subject of this week’s review is a natural evolution of boil in the bag rice, as it has gone from being boiled in a bag, to just straight up nuked for 90 seconds. This ease of cooking makes an Uncle Ben’s Sweet and Sour Rice Time a very appropriate student meal, and the packaging itself even boasts that it is “perfect for lunch”. However, as easy at it should be to put a pot of rice and a pot of sauce in a microwave, I somehow miraculously managed to screw this up, and ended up with sweet and sour sauce everywhere.

I found the rice to be quite sticky and glutenous, however, considering that no water is added on cooking it, and it was just in the microwave, it is impossible to expect perfect rice. And to be honest, this is the only criticism I have of the meal; the sauce is a very nice sweet and sour, and this, coupled with the vegetables that are found in the sauce, means that there is a range of textures and flavours. As far as nutritional values go, the only thing of concern is a moderately high sugar content: a yellow on the traffic light system.

Recipe of the week: Chilli Sin Carne

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As a vegetarian, I definitely need plenty of beans to keep my protein levels up. This recipe’s protein content is surprisingly high, given the added spinach as well – and for those 90s kids who saw Popeye like I did, we all know what wonders it can do!

Ingredients:
1 tin of tomatoes

1 tin of kidney beans
1 onion
3 garlic cloves
2 finger chillies (green/small)
1-2 peppers
1 tin of spinach, thoroughly drained
1 stock cube

Method:

1. Chop your veg up and toss the onion in a deep frying pan on a high-medium heat with some oil till it cooks. Add the garlic and chillies, again waiting a couple of minutes. Now add the peppers and keep moving until it’s all feeling a bit softer, before adding the tomatoes and beans.

2. Liberally sprinkle salt and black pepper on the veg to flavour, then add the stock cube and a dash of water.

3. Put a lid on and simmer for 5-10 minutes. Once the tomatoes have broken down and there is plenty of liquid, add the spinach. Once the spinach has cooked and soaked up the excess liquid, you’re ready to serve.

4. For an optional tasty accompaniment, mash up avocado with cream cheese, salt and pepper, and spread on some pitta bread. Enjoy!

 

Bar Review: Brasenose

★★☆☆☆

Two stars

To be terribly postmodern, I should start by explaining my own prejudices and bias. My trip to Brasenose’s bar coincided with my suffering from the mother of all hangovers. Sainsbury’s Everyday Dark Rum had conclusively bested me the previous night, so I was in no mood to enjoy sampling the best drinks and atmosphere Brasenose had to offer. Sorry guys. But hey, it’s not like I’m in anyway accountable for these reviews, so fuck it.

Brasenose is a particularly attractive little college. Their quads strike the enviably perfect balance between imposing and pretty, vast and claustrophobic, allowing them both to provide the ideal backdrop for #Oxfordunayy selfies on matriculation day and scare away potential state school applicants for the rest of the time. The same cannot be said for their bar. It appears to have been designed by a team of hobbyists working independently of one another who have never actually been to a bar, but have heard vague descriptions of them some time ago. Stainless steel fixings set against stone walls. Red paint against cheap wooden seating. The result is a complete lack of any discernible theme. What’s more, the air conditioning system, if there is one, was not nearly sufficient. Once the bar began to fill up following formal the temperature rocketed with unstoppable velocity. By half nine I was melting. If I wanted a night of sweatsodden drinking I’d have gone to Cellar.

Their drinks choice was something of a saving grace. The spirits were pretty mundane, but the fridges stocked an impressive variety of bottled drinks. My friend became unreasonably excited by the many different flavours of Rekorderlig on offer, whispering to me, “They actually have passion fruit! No one has passion fruit!” While these bottled offerings were cheap enough, spirit mixers were not. A double cost me well over £4, quite ridiculous when you remember that mixers are the most popular choice for predrinking, something which would be quite costly here.

I have a few more complaints to get off my chest, I’m afraid. Furthering a worrying trend among colleges, Brasenose also seem to have axed the use of glass in exchange for annoying plastic. I know we’re just beastly undergrads, but we can be trusted with glass, honest. Nor do they have a signature drink. Supposedly there existed one at some point, which has since been banned, probably because some unfortunate fresher downed six of them and threw up in the dean’s face, you know, for ‘bantz’. Finally, smoking is forbidden around the college with the exception of a shitty little shelter round the back among the skips and bike racks. Well, folks, heed the words of Martin Niemöller; first they came for smokers…

If you’re a non-smoking bottled ciderenthusiast with several hand-held fans, this bar is perfect. If not, it’s a little inadequate in almost every way. 

The Pink Giraffe: I’d pass

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To the amusement of my very camp, very gay friend, when we arrived we were mistaken for a couple on a date night and ushered to an intimately secluded table at the back of the restaurant, complete with an odd fake plant wrapped in Christmas lights by the side. He remarked, with a graceful flick of the wrist, that he’d never felt more butch than when the waitress called him ‘sir’ and handed him the menus, asking him if we wanted drinks.

Having heard rapturous sermons on the deliciousness of the fake meat dishes, otherwise impossible to find in Oxford, we chose to get some crispy mock beef with salt and pepper dressing and dumplings to start. This was, I hope, a mistake. The dumplings, obviously bought and cooked from frozen, were overcooked to the point of being unpleasantly difficult both to pick up with chopsticks and to bite into with mortal teeth. The ‘beef’ tasted more like fried batter so drowned in pepper that I cannot accurately report whether or not it’s anything worth writing home about.

For the mains, we shared a pot of egg fried rice and two mains: a fortunate decision, as one of them was completely inedible. The mock pork, while pleasantly tender and surprisingly authentic in taste, was unfortunately drowned in a disgustingly gelatinous, ridiculously saccharine sauce, which somehow managed to be simultaneously overspiced and indescribably bland. The strong flavours of ginger and garlic were discernable, but the rest of the ingredients, through their direct competition, faded to white noise.

The second option was little better, with admittedly good baked tofu and an uninspired selection of veg served in another gelatinous sauce, theoretically black bean. The stingy portion should not have been enough for two, but the significant amount of MSG in everything filled us up unexpectedly quickly.

The service, though efficient, was intrusive, ruining the intimate feel of the restaurant. When they took our largely uneaten plates away they looked unsurprised, making their prices seem even more shameless.

In Defence Of: The Canyons

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This Paul Schrader and Bret Easton Ellis micro-budget project seemed to inspire confidence when its Kickstarter appeared online back in 2012. The promise of two rigorous formal stylists working together to realise their predictably dark vision of cinema’s end days seemed almost too good to be true. Apparently it was, with the film now sitting pretty at 24 per cent on the Tomatometer.

The Canyons refers, of course, to the geographical features that sweep throughout the LA landscape. Out in the Hollywood Hills, in a surprisingly credible, raw turn, Lindsay Lohan plays at being a filmmaker whilst living off the wealth of her sadistic, cruel movie-producer boyfriend, played by real life porn star James Deen. Amongst his unsavoury predilections are filming his many trysts on his camera phone, to use for leverage and pleasure. Schrader and Easton Ellis paint a picture of a world in whicheven those who make cinema see it only as a passing distraction, relegated to being alongside Vine clips and YouTube videos. The casting of Lohan is a perfect storm – a star whose image has fallen off the cinema screen into grainy paparazzi shots and low- budget features just like these.

The occasionally slap-dash production qualities never stop Schrader from crafting arresting images – dilapidated cinemas and a cosmic orgy particularly stick in the mind. Despite Lohan being the cast’s standout, a highly readable New York Times article, entitled, ‘This Is What Happens When You Cast Lindsay Lohan in Your Movie’, painted the star as running a nightmare set, which unfairly tarred the film with its trainwreck reputation. Yet The Canyons is intellectual pulp at its best, and the product of a new age of cinema, when the art form itself is fighting for survival.

OBA’s Easter Screening Recap

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I still remember the moment my director and I got back to our producer’s flat. We had just hauled what felt like a tonnage of equipmentup six hateful flights of stairs in order to finally deposit our booty. Shag, hassle, combined with a dollop of exhaustion; so began our odyssey into the OBA Easter project. Looking at some of the effortless professionalism on display at the OBA’s latest screening I came to the sad conclusion that this was perhaps just my own incompetence. The quality of the work on offer is truly impressive, both technically and artistically.

We opened with Isaac. Following in the Oxford mockumentary tradition of Genius before it, Isaac masquerades as a documentary detailing the challenges of integrating “the daylight challenged” (read: vampire) into Oxford life. Like Genius, behind the many laughs there is a cutting dissection of aspects of the student world. The real achievement of the film is how it manages to stay sufficiently generic in its premise to cover a variety of themes while still highlighting very pertinent and relevant issues.

In this regard, the figure of the vampire and his ‘integration’ could be substituted with any one of many other possible groups: racial, social, economic or sexual. What is revealed is a culture of self-satisfaction that relishes in its own sense of being ‘holier than thou’ at the expense of dealing with the issues at hand. In a brilliant ending, the filmmakers come to interview the vampire but end their film before the vampire can say anything.

Next, Dogs and Fags, directed by Archie Thomson and Will Stevens. A radically different story in both tone and style, this time we saw the disintegrating relationship between a mother and her son. Other than her son, there is only one other man in the mother’s life: Noel Coward. Not coincidentally, Noel’s regular scheduled appearances counterbalance the indifferent comings and goings of her son. Miserable and housebound, she eternally awaits the next visit. This somber piece suffered from being placed next to the hysterical Vampire and as such some of its atmosphere was lost. But at heart this is a very humane film that manages to be sympathetic to the mother without condemning the son. An excellent handling of a delicate drama.

With Tom Dillon’s The Pigeon and the Priest, we just had no idea what the audience would think. The film is about a troubled man asking for advice from a priest who in turn tells him a pointless and morbid story. The resolution of the story is left literally hanging. As an audience member, it seemed people liked how the dark humor interwove with the tinge of mystery that propelled the story, and the compelling performances by the actors.

Next up, A Chaste Soul by this paper’s own Anthony Maskell. I asked the good Mr Maskell whether we could describe the film as “what would happen if Tarkovsky made a thriller”, an idea he sort of agreed with. The film is about an assassination gone wrong involving a priest, an assassin and a pregnant woman. An eminently stylish piece shot in black and white and with a box aspect ratio, A Chaste Soul distinguished itself for its striking and highly thoughtful compositions, and its excellent performances.

For me, the standout piece was Sally. Directors Benedict Morisson and Ann Stelzer pull of the feat of telling the story through solely visual means. Given what an engrossing and mysterious piece of work this is,it is indeed no mean feat. A very promising showing for Oxford talent.

Picks of the Week TT15 Week 5

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Disco Stu’s GET DOWN – Wednesday, 10pm Cellar 

Oxford gets exactly what it needs to perk itself up mid-term: a Springfield-inspired disco night. Funky dress is encouraged to go with the 70s vibe. 

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Never Mind Where Your Daughter Lies – Wednesday – Saturday, 7:30pm Keble O’Reilly 

A play/ballet described as “an un-ironic dark farce that flits between seventeenth century comedy and the dark heart of Jacobean revenge tragedy”.

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De La Soul at the O2 Academy – Thursday, 6pm, 02 Academy Oxford

Hip-hop legends De La Soul come to Cowley this week, for one night only. Not to be missed for any fans of 90s rap. 

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Richard Alston Dance – Tuesday – Wednedsday, 7:30pm, Oxford Playhouse 

An amazing mixed bill of dance comes to the Playhouse as the famed choreographer brings his company to Oxford with a range of music and poetry. 

Review: Far From the Madding Crowd

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★★★☆☆

Three stars

Thomas Vinterberg’s adaptation of the classic Hardy novel, set in the luscious Dorset countryside, is defined by twocentral performances: those of Carey Mulligan and Michael Sheen. Mulligan’s role as the feisty Bathsheba Everdene, who inherits her late uncle’s farm and combats patriarchal power to maintain it, is eclipsing. Despite a physical fragility that would seem somewhat unsuitable for a young farm girl, Mulligan manages to inhabit the rustic scenes effortlessly. She becomes a part of the wild landscape; the tangled wisps of her hair, threaded in a tumbling plait, blow serenely in the wind as she charges across the hills on a glossy horse, which she rebelliously refuses to ride side-saddled. There is an unpredictability to her behaviour, an impulsiveness that Mulligan’s giggly playfulness conveys perfectly. But there is also a gravity and intensely feeling side to her that is captured by the actress’s velvety voice.

Complementing this vivacious performance is a master class in interiority from Michael Sheen, playing Bathsheba’s infatuated neighbour. Vinterberg keeps Sheen’s character at a distance from the audience; all we are told is that he was ‘jilted’ as a young man, and the sole evidence of his deep insecurities is a nervously twitching smile and Sheen’s uncomfortable nasal stutters. He remains a mysterious back- ground figure, whose presence lingers but whose character is never fully revealed until the film’s conclusion. He provides a necessary intrigue to a story whose characters are largely transparent.

In dismal contrast to the impeccable casting of these two roles is the horrendous choice of Tom Sturridge as the arrogant Sergeant Troy who seduces Bathsheba. Sturridge’s gimpish grin is more alarming than alluring, and he delivers his supposedly enticing lines awkwardly. The famously erotic sword-fighting scene is remdered almost farcical by Sturridge’s attempt at a smoulder, meaning Mulligan’s breathless arousal comes across as ridiculous, however well acted. The romance of the film is, thankfully, redeemed by the relationship between Mulligan and Matthias Schoenaerts’ unfailingly loyal Farmer Oak. In a farmhouse dinner scene, the two sit at either end of a lengthy wooden table under glowingamplight. The aching longing between the two as they exchange glances with each other, entirely oblivious of the ‘madding crowd’ that surrounds them, is enough to move even the most cynical of viewers.

Perhaps the most remarkable achievement of the film, however, is the sensuality of its pastoral setting. Vinterberg doesn’t just show us the rural landscape, he lets us feel it. The heaving breath of Mulligan as she gallops along the hillside, the thudding of the horse’s hooves, the thundering waves of the Jurassic coast; all are foregrounded over the melodic soundtrack of the film, so that the audience is wholly envelope. Vinterberg’s film accesses the essence of Hardy’s novel: a sense of primal unity with the bucolic landscape. He manages to immerse us in the vitality of the outdoor world, whilst the echoing halls of Boldwood’s mansion feel cold and barren.

The film is not innovative, and is perhaps a little clumsy, but few will contest that the choice of a non-English director has proven to be a masterstroke. Rarely do we see a director capture the rawness of the rustic setting with such finesse. Vinterberg has stripped the novel to its core, using an outsider’s perspective to rediscover the heart of the novel in the pulsating Dorset scenery.

Milestones: Punk

Rewind to the 1950s. Everyone is busy throwing on their blue suede shoes, grabbing a mass-produced acoustic guitar and generally failing to emulate El- vis in their faux leather jackets. Rocking and rolling all over the place became a synonym for rebellion in the period immediately fol- lowing the war.

However, jump forward 20 odd years and what was once rebellion is now cliché. With endless guitar solos in emulation of Jimi Hendrix and bands like Simon and Garfunkel calling themselves rock and roll, the genre had lost its edge and motivation. What once had been soundtrack of the frivo- lous fifties, the music in the background of the baby-boomers’ bedroom as another child was brought into the world was no longer rebellion: it was pure monotony. It had become the missionary position of the musical world.

The 1970s faced an image crisis musically. Pouring the same mix into the same mould still sold records, but it didn’t excite the youth on the streets or clubs as it once had. The 1960s were over; the flowers streaming in many a hippy’s hair had rotted but their putrid stink continued to permeate the tame “rock and roll” (if you can call it that) of the early 1970s.

The remedy? Anarchy and subculture, of course. The Velvet Underground had set a shining example to many of how guitars could be used to play songs not from a mass- produced chordbook of The Beatles and used to make dissonant sounds strangely beautiful.

But their lack of commercial success limited their accessibility: the youthful audience needed gratifying in their yearning for something more than Billy Joel.

The answer? Punk. Take those teddy-boy leather jackets of your older sibling, throw a few badges and rips on them and hey – you have rebellion. In his brief stint managing glam-rockers New York Dolls in 1975, Malcom McLaren gained enough inspiration to create his own rebellious posse in the form of The Sex Pistols.

Less high heels and feather boas and more shouting lyrics about abortion, the punk assault on popular music had begun. Bands like The Clash, The Slits and The Damned soon followed, threatening Rod Stewart and his top-spot position.

But not even the safety pins and bondage trousers could pin the movement together and make it last. By the late 1970s, punk was deceased and rebellion looked for through other methods be it in fashion, music or lifestyle.

Dylan Clark argues, “Punk had to die so that it could live.” To avoid monotony, new routes had to be taken. The old had to be thrown out once more to prevent a stagnant memory being formed.

Punk lived for but a blink of an eye. Its founders moved their three chord structures and screeches to new climes. But the movement’s innovative style prompted a renaissance of musical exploration and the realisation that not only throwing out but smashing up the old can be an extremely pleasurable and rewarding experience.