One of my favorite comfort food vegan places is HipCityVeg, and I started going to it in Philadelphia. I posted this online. She was so skeptical, so hating on vegan food.
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This time I took her to Avant Garden and she was blown away. I loved when she put the first forkful of the different dishes we tried, just to look at her face. Just, the options are incredible.
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I just see the growth of vegan brands, the growth of vegan food. The growth of vegans in America is not proportional to the growth of vegan options that are out there. I just believe in freedom. Eat what you want, but do everything you can to eat in accordance with your own values, your own views, whatever they are.
And eat for taste. VN: If you could give one piece of advice to those wanting to contribute and make a difference for the animals in our current political climate, what would it be? It has vegan pancakes, vegan stuffed French toast. In Philly, Vedge. So your last question …. If you could give one piece of advice to those wanting to contribute and make a difference for the animals in our current political climate, what would it be? CB: Let your voices be heard.
We live in a democracy where people have to understand our democracy is not a spectator sport. So this is a competitive space down here, the policy space. There are very powerful, wealthy large corporate interests working to do what many of them have done for generations. Destroying our environment, undermining the public interest. We need you in the game. So my advice for anybody is to get informed, get more engaged, fight local laws. Get our award-winning magazine! Load more.
Steve has transgressed and Austin convenes a short, sharp show trial in front of me. Steve is older than his accuser and possesses the rumpled look of a longtime print or news wire reporter. My guess, from my quick scan of the body language, the suppressed inner sigh, is that Steve has seen a number of Austins in his reporting lifetime, perhaps a small production line of them, and is not much gripped by this power play. Steve says nothing. Austin persists.
In a minute we are going to go full Veep. I needed to take the call.
The aide returns to the front of the fence, shoulders back, eyes front. Trump strides out of the White House with Melania.
From my vantage point they look like a pair of Easter Island statues. This is my first encounter with the current leader of the free world and my curiosity is intense. How will Trump look uncut? Will he look how he does on television, with that weird affect — the pursed lips, narrowed eyes and nose and chin set to an upward inflection, indicative of defiance and displeasure? I discover this is how Trump looks all the time, or at least all the time he is in open space. Over the next little while, Trump will lavish praise on Melania for her crack presidential spouse skills.
The flowers, the centrepieces, so wonderful , so beautiful. The best table decorations anyone has ever seen. Given her reserved public presence, it feels like an impertinence to wonder. In comparison with the Trumps, Scott and Jenny Morrison, from the Sutherland shire, Australia — more latterly of Kirribilli House — look like a well-to-do couple from the suburbs. Presumably they are buzzing with anticipation and anxiety, given that the unofficial White House weather forecast for Friday is clear skies, a light breeze and a high probability of catastrophic cyclone once their delegation reaches the Oval Office.
Looking normal in this environment takes some doing, but the Morrisons manage.
The troops march, and are duly inspected; the visitors clutch their flags, which flutter gaily in the breeze. The anthems are played. The two couples appear content with each other and the scripted remarks they share with each other and the crowd. Just before the conclusion of the formalities, Austin is back working the fence line to move us, lickety split, to the holding pen outside the Oval Office. Fortunately, the war with Steve seems to have subsided. I wash up near Steve and the other White House wire reporters.
One of the group explains to me that Steve is the man if they want to get a question to the president. Trump will answer Steve. She also gives us tremendously helpful advice: Trump will be on for a rave when we get in there. We are surprised by this. Our river guide shakes her head. Trump, she says, is in an expansive frame of mind.
Best we prepare some questions. She also predicts that Trump will struggle to understand our accents. I assume this is some sort of weird in-joke until I hear Trump do just that.click here
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Say it. The door of the Oval Office swings open and we are thrust into pure madness. The media scrum feeds off the static electricity in the room. It heaves like a wave. Our questions crash on the shore.
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Thud, thud, thud. Mr President. The Americans in the pool want to know about Joe Biden and the Ukraine controversy — a story that will spiral towards impeachment during the week of our visit. No American journalist gives a crap about Australia, and Morrison, and the second state visit to Washington of this febrile presidency.
Fun fact: Emmanuel Macron, back when he imagined he had a talent for Trump whispering, was the first to be afforded the honour. But who cares? Conventions are devalued in the coarseness of politics in No one pretends to care. Everyone just has to emerge with what they need. Once we realise this is going to be nuts — a small blazing blitzkrieg at the seat of American power with no rules of engagement — Australian reporters also start hurling questions across a range of topics.
Trump looks delighted by the disorder. Morrison shifts in his seat.