Ultra-Processed

I went to Cardiff on a mission. Last week at a day long arts symposium I was given my vegan lunch box. Inside everything was ultra-processed… fake meat, white bread, crisps, one little potato with mayonnaise inside (or a VE equivalent). It inspired me to research online about ultra-processed foods. My mission was to source some different, non-chain, food suppliers and purchase whole foods. When I arrived, in the city centre, I felt drawn to a coffee shop in an arcade. I gave up caffeine in 2011 but this year I have lapsed into the occasional boost an americano facilitates. It’s extraordinary how it makes me feel. Today as I sipped, my head began to feel like it expanded and I felt the rising sense of emotional attachment to objects. The shop across the arcade had a box burning incense sticks, inside the box. It looked beautiful. The scented smoke drifted poetically out of the holes. I laughed at myself and remembered buying some street art in Berlin on a coffee bender that looked a lot less attractive sober. As I pondered a new purchase a fellow human riding a suitcase scooter drew my attention. He paused to go into the café and looked at me. He said he’d had a heart attack… I said “you look really cool, man” (I blame the incense and the coffee) and he thanked me. A few moments later he was sat at an adjacent table and he began to chat. Unhurried I felt happy to participate. He told me he had died for 7 seconds. He told me he is married to a much younger woman. He told me he had 2.4 million in his bank account and showed me a bank receipt. He told me he paid tax. I thanked him (on behalf of us all). The conversation kind of flowed. He wore two watches, one on each wrist. He told me both were valued at over £200K… he wore two as a sign of resistance against a government that dictate’s we wear one watch. He then told me where I live is a dump, that it’s riddled with empty shops and drugs. My retort was defensive. He told me that you can’t teach old people to suck eggs. I suppose when you know everything, there’s nothing new to learn. I adopted the phrase “as you know” and then talked about cities that were supposedly bankrupt and then reinvented themselves, that the loss of chain stores provides space for something more local, the potential for new opportunity. “As you know” I said New York, London, Berlin all crashed and rebuilt… people are resilient, adaptable to change and new opportunity. It takes time, but don’t deride somewhere as finished because its commercial façade isn’t working. Don’t tell me there are no drugs in wealthy neighbourhoods. He didn’t like it. I am a big head. I couldn’t let this man who lives in his ‘castle’ in Lisvane, and in his head, look down at me anymore. In the spaces, the cracks, the gaps left by capitalist failure in Newport, live some incredible community and creative hubs… Le Pub, Corn Exchange, The Cab, The Place, Barnabus House… I could go on. The conversation ended with Mr Expensive Wrists. I feel grateful to have found organic peanut butter today, to have purchased beetroot and carrots to make salad with sesame seeds. I’m happy I had a coffee and I am disappointed I didn’t buy an incense box holder thing. I’m grateful my world isn’t cynical and pompous in a way that having money can make some people. Is that what happens when you climb a ladder, you just look down and sneer? I am happy that I compared Newport to New York, London and Berlin and got away with it… or think that I got away with it. There is something real about food that’s a bit gritty and needs a wash. There’s something real about places like Newport. I am a dreamer, an imaginer… I have a gentle, self-contained mission. I hope you do too.