Boundless and Unfiltered

Tag: health

  • The Little Bagel Shop That Saved Me

    Years ago, life threw me a curveball. Not just any curveball – one of those gut-wrenching, soul-shattering events that most people don’t fully come back from. Some grow bitter. Others become a hollowed-out version of who they used to be.

    Me? I found solace in a bagel.

    Not just any bagel, though. A vego bagel from a tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it café called Jungle Juice Bar, tucked away in Degraves Street, Melbourne.

    I didn’t go looking for a safe haven, but I stumbled into one. And for almost 15 years now, this place has been my constant – one of the few places in the world where they know my order before I even say a word. I walk in, and like magic, my drink is ready, and my bagel appears. It’s like an unspoken ritual, a quiet understanding between me and this little café that unknowingly helped piece me back together.

    The Best Bagel in the World (And I’m Not Even a Vegetarian)

    I’ve eaten an obscene number of bagels in my life. All over the world, from London to Paris to random street vendors who swore they had the best. But nothing – not one single bagel – has kept me coming back like this one.

    It’s deceptively simple: tomatoes, avocado, rocket, and the sauce – a sauce so good it could make angels weep. The owner makes it himself, and no, you cannot buy it. If you could, I’d have a stockpile at home, dunking everything I eat into it.

    The bagel itself? Pure perfection. It arrives soft and warm, and the first bite sends you into a state of bliss where nothing else matters. Your hands get messy, but you don’t care. The only mission is to savor every last morsel.

    The Service: Five-Star Hospitality, Zero Small Talk

    There’s a tall guy – who I assume is the owner –and a lovely lady who always greets me with a warm smile. They remember my order, they acknowledge me, and then – most importantly – they leave me alone.

    For someone who despises small talk and cherishes their solitude, this is chef’s kiss perfection. A brief exchange, a bit of recognition, and then the glorious freedom to sit quietly, uninterrupted. No forced chit-chat, no unnecessary pleasantries – just good food, good vibes, and the kind of service that respects personal space.

    A Sanctuary in the Chaos

    During the hardest time in my life, Jungle Juice Bar became more than a café. It was my escape hatch.

    Degraves Street is a whirlwind – bustling, loud, filled with tourists. But this tiny corner of the world let me hide away when I needed it most. It gave me consistency when everything else felt like it was crumbling. It let me sit, sip, and breathe when breathing felt impossible.

    I doubt the owners know how much their little café meant to me back then. But I do.

    And as I look back, I see the ashes of who I was and the person I became. Rising from the wreckage, piece by piece. And somewhere in that journey, there was a bagel, a smile, and a quiet place to think.

    So, to Jungle Juice Bar – thank you. For never judging, for always welcoming, for making the best damn bagel in the world, and for being exactly what I needed when I needed it most.

    If you ever need a place that feels like a warm hug (or just a life-changing bagel), don’t wait. Go to Jungle Juice. It’s quintessentially Melbourne – but more than that, it’s the kind of place that stays with you long after you’ve left.

    JUNGLE JUICE BAR: https://www.instagram.com/junglejuicebar?igsh=ZTQ0NTJtcHZlZW1k

  • Confessions of a reluctant runner: How I went from gasping at 1K to loving my 10k runs every morning

    My relationship with running is like a dramatic love story—full of resistance, obsession, and a touch of madness. Some mornings, when my alarm blares at 4:30 am, I lie there thinking, “Absolutely not. This is ridiculous. Who even does this?” But somehow, I drag myself up, lace up my shoes, and start moving. And without fail, every single time, I finish my run feeling invincible.

    The thing is, I never regret a run. Not once. Not ever. In fact, after every run, I morph into this annoyingly enthusiastic person who’s already obsessing about the next one. It’s like running has some sneaky psychological grip on me—one minute I’m groaning, the next I’m plotting my next run like it’s the heist of the century.

    Now, let me make one thing clear: I was never “a runner.” Actually, I spent a solid decade of my life (ages 14 to 24) being a dedicated smoker. Yep. Full-time. My poor lungs deserved an apology letter, a bouquet of flowers, and possibly some therapy. When I finally quit cold turkey at 24, I thought, “Great, now I’ll be healthy!” But the universe laughed. I couldn’t run a single kilometer without feeling like I was auditioning for the role of “person dramatically dying of lung failure” in some B-grade movie.

    Fast forward to today—40 years old, running 10 kilometers, 3-4 times a week, like it’s my part-time job. And here’s the plot twist: I bloody love it.

    Running is like a mental exorcism. All the cobwebs of self-doubt, imposter syndrome, random overthinking (like, “Did I really need to say ‘you too’ when the barista said ‘enjoy your matcha’?”), work stress, life stress—all gone. Cleared. Poof. It’s as if each step is stomping on negativity.

    After every run, I feel like I’ve been handed the reins to my own life again. Like I’m wearing an invisible superhero cape that says, “Come at me, world.” It’s not just exercise; it’s a full-on mental reset button.

    And yet—I’ll say it again—I am not a runner. I just love running.

    It’s wild how something I used to hate (and I mean deep, soul-level hatred) has become one of my favorite ways to start the day. At 4:30 am, no less. Whether it’s pounding the pavement or sweating it out on the treadmill, before I know it, my 10K is done, and my mind feels clearer, my mood lighter, my life… better.

    If you’ve ever thought about running but immediately followed that thought with, “Nah, I’d rather wrestle a cactus,” hear me out: running is magic. Seriously. If I can go from “feels like death after 1K” to “obsessed with running everyday”—literally anyone can.

    So, lace up, give it a shot. Worst case? You’ll hate it. Best case? You’ll fall in love with it—and with how it makes you feel.

    And if you do? Welcome to the complicated, glorious, life-changing world of running. You’ll never look back.

  • Asafoetida: The spice that smells Like trouble but saves your tummy

    Let’s talk about a spice that’s like the quirky aunt at a family gathering – loud, slightly offensive, but ultimately the unsung hero of the day. Meet Asafoetida, pronounced asa-pho-dita (yes, it’s a mouthful – and trust me, you’ll remember it once you’ve smelled it). In simpler circles, we just call it hing, which feels less like a tongue twister and more like a quick fix.

    Now, you might not know asafoetida by name, but if you’ve ever walked into an Indian restaurant and been hit with that signature aroma – pungent, earthy, and utterly unapologetic – you’ve already met its alter ego. This spice is the reason your favourite dal and curries taste like warm, flavourful hugs. But wait – there’s more!

    From the spice rack to your medicine cabinet

    In a world overflowing with stress, anxiety, and the dreaded TMI-inducing tummy troubles (ahem, bloating, gas, constipation), Asafoetida comes in swinging like a digestive superhero. Forget sprinting to the pharmacy the next time your gut acts up. Just sprinkle a pinch of this smelly miracle worker into your food, and it might just revolutionise your relationship with digestion.

    Not convinced? Let me take you back to its roots. In Ayurveda—India’s ancient system of medicine built on the philosophy that “food is medicine” – Asafoetida is a cornerstone. Growing up in a household steeped in this belief, I learned that healing begins in the kitchen. Why pop pills when you can stir up solutions in a pot, right?

    The great (smelly) paradox

    Here’s the thing: Asafoetida has a reputation. It’s got a smell so distinct that it will make you question your choices… until you taste the end result. That aroma? It’s supposed to be strong. Think of it like tough love for your senses. The magic lies in how that pungency mellows into a rich, savoury flavour that ties your dish together. It’s the spice equivalent of “don’t judge a book by its cover.”

    How to use it without clearing the room

    The trick to handling hing is moderation. A pinch is all you need. Fry it lightly in a bit of oil to temper its raw edge, and you’ll unlock a layer of flavour that makes your lentils, beans, and even stir-fries sing. Bonus: your stomach will thank you. It’s like having a two-for-one deal – delicious food and better digestion.

    Why your gut needs Hing

    Here’s the science-y bit: Asafoetida is a natural anti-flatulent (you’re welcome), antispasmodic, and digestive aid. It’s been used for centuries to treat bloating, gas, and other stomach grumbles. And let’s face it, in today’s fast-food, stress-filled world, our guts could use all the help they can get.

    A Call to Action (and a pinch of humour)

    So, the next time you’re reaching for the antacids or dashing to the pharmacy aisle in search of relief, stop and think: What if the answer was in my spice rack all along? Give Asafoetida a try. It might just be the stinky little secret to a happier gut—and a happier you.

    Sure, it smells like trouble, but it’s also the spice that could save your day. And let’s be honest, wouldn’t you rather smell a little funky for a hot minute than deal with a grumpy digestive system all day?

    Now, go forth, sprinkle wisely, and let asafoetida work its smelly, magical wonders. Your tummy will thank you.