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A feed for fuck-all Earl’s What: classic, USA-style sandwiches. Price: $10.00 When: 7:30am - 2pm, Monday - Friday. They forgot to convert their prices when this New York deli moved to Pōneke. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ At first glance, ‘juicy’ doesn’t sound like how a sandwich should be advertised. I like to eat mine, not drink them nor have them disintegrate in my hands. But sinking your teeth into a toasted Philadelphia Steak from Earl’s means realising that ‘juicy’ is actually exactly how you’ve always wanted a sandwich. And it is exactly how this one comes. Thinly-sliced beef steak is silky, the colour of blueberry sorbet, and dripping with juices. It isn’t skimped on either; the meat ribbons back and forth in layers. On top of the beef are slabs of grilled capsicums, bright red with flecks of char still on them. Then a heaping of mellow-sweet, browned onions fill out the roll, topped with a slathering of soft cheese. The fillings are top-notch and generous; there is no way this is financially-viable for them. Regardless, it’s delicious. The menu does allege that there's a horseradish gravy too. If so, it doesn’t show itself with any kick, which is a shame. Regardless, the sandwich certainly doesn’t need it for saturation—the steak, capsicum and onions keep it well juicy. Any sliced bread would crumble under this filling, but the hoagie-style roll used here holds up well. It is thick enough to hold its own, without becoming just a mouthful of bread. It’s toasted enough to be crisp without shattering on impact like a baguette, yet still springy and reasonably light. As half a sandwich's volume, your bread has got to be pretty good. With the quality and quantity of fillings that Earl’s offers, one would expect and perhaps even excuse that they present them on a cheaper, voluminous bread. Their bread isn’t artisan, sure, but it’s certainly no Supersoft. Earl’s is part of the Wellesley Hotel building, a skinny wooden door on the corner of Ballance and Maginnity street. It’s hard to find, but well worth it. While I haven’t yet had all of Earl’s menu, I plan to. So far it’s been hits all the way down. The Choice Lamb, with roasted garlic kumara, halloumi, watercress, and mint gravy is like a travel-sized Sunday roast. Kumara and halloumi will never disappoint, but they do have strong flavours. Luckily, there’s plenty of lamb to balance them out, while the mint gravy keeps things from being too stodgy. I don’t get too many opportunities to eat lamb, and this is one that I grab with both hands. Their Pastrami Reuben is also one to recommend, though I have no authentic comparison. The closest I’ve got to a New York deli was a Jewish grandma who I lived with for a year after high school, who’d stack pastrami, sauerkraut, mayonnaise and ketchup on sliced Vogel’s. Earl’s scales it all up a bit, but all the components are pretty similar. Whether that’s a kudos to Earl or Elle, I’m not sure. Regardless, the Pastrami Rueben hits it out of the park as well, being a slightly lighter option than the steak or lamb options, with more acidity and bite. I love bringing people to Earl’s and watching their disbelief fade as their sandwich is handed over the counter, and then shatter completely after their first bite. Somehow, it really is as good as it looks. A half-size costs you $10.00 and makes a decent lunch. I probably could put away an $18.00 full-size, but I’ve never needed to to feel full. Savvy customers might get a whole one and split it. If you can do so with a friend—then and there—by all means, but these sandwiches are limp and disappointing after a night in the fridge. Hot and crispy is the way to go. It is a shame that not all their sandwiches are available in half-sizes; vegans and vegetarians are forced to go big or go hungry. For those after a stack of tender meat and sauce in a bun, however, Earl’s is your hole-in-the-wall. It’s only 5 minutes walk from Pipitea Campus, the service is friendly and quick, and the sandwiches are fucking divine. Am I talking shit? Do you wildly disagree, or want to feed my ego by telling me I’m so right? Or have I overlooked a place so far that readers really need to know about? Send me something to chew on at: guy@salient.org.nz.

The newest addition to Aro Valley’s village strip is Octo, a record store, café, Yakatori restaurant, and listening bar all rolled into one. Opened to the public on May 1, it has already gained support and what’s shaping up to be regular return customers in its first week. “Cool set-up is going to absolutely hum,” one five-star reviewer wrote. “Will be back,” and “would eat again,” said two others. The unique concept of a “listening bar” originated in 1950s Japan as a tearoom for people who couldn’t afford their own records, but still wanted to enjoy them. Rising in international popularity, the venues provide an alternative to clubs, with a focus on music and ambience rather than dancing. A collaboration between owners Benjamin James, Zuyi Woon, and Jeremy Hollis, Octo is being hailed as a Wellington first. “It’s about still being able to have a conversation with someone, and you might hear, you know, something you’re interested in,” James told Salient. When asked whether Octo will be focusing on just jazz, like original ongaku kissaten, the response was “hell no!” “I never want to pigeonhole the music that I listen to,” he said. Many will recognise James from Herb’s Mobile Record Store, the converted blue truck-turned-vinyl-shop that has frequented Wellington city and suburbs since 2021. Now, Herb’s has found a bricks-and-mortar home as OctoHerb, selling from Octo’s back room. As well as spinning vinyl from 10 a.m. Wednesday to Sunday, the bar will host DJs on Friday and Saturday nights, with no entry fee. The lineup for the rest of May includes Steve the Hat, GMajor, Webmaster, Vu, Takas, and booof. On the hospitality side of things, Zuyi Woon, co-owner of New Zealand’s only fully manual coffee bar Pour & Twist, has developed an enticing menu of Japanese-inspired snacks, including yakitori-style skewers, chicken karaage, and miso herb toasties. Bar food ranges from an affordable $6 to $16, while cocktails, wine, and beer come in at fairly standard pricing. Menus are printed on seven-inch vinyl records, a personalised, stylish touch. The bar itself has a cosy, intimate feel. Retro action figures and old working TV consoles decorate a dimly lit, dark wood interior that accommodates up to forty-five patrons. Octo sits opposite AroVision, one of the city's two remaining video rental stores. Together, the venues contribute to Aro Street’s nostalgic evocation of days gone by. James said they chose the Valley because it’s affordable, it’s home, and he’s “kinda over Wellington city.” “The city has had its heyday and is going through this intermediary time where it needs to sort itself out a little bit, whether that’s council related or business,” he said. “They’ve been kicking really great things out.” While feedback since the launch has been good, Octo has been two years in the making. The venue experienced building consent, liquor and licensing application delays, as well as some community pushback and what James described as a general adversary attitude from Wellington City Council, all of which made opening difficult. The project has been adapted from one with an outdoor area and later opening times to better suit these requirements, and locals are coming around to it. “A great addition to the Valley!” a passerby called out to me as I took the photos for this article. You heard it here first! You can find the listening bar and record shop at 102 Aro Street, a thirteen-minute walk from Kelburn campus.

Milla Brown You are looking for a place to live. One comes furnished–big rooms, lots of light, no holes in the walls. At the mere price of your left leg and a sliver of your soul. The second grows unrecorded forms of fungus from the carpet. For the price of every meal you ever wanted to afford. It’s pay day. You glance at your balance. It’s in overdraft and they will be coming to find you. Best to bury your head in the sand. You grow jealous of the trees as you wander past. Them, with their permanence. Them, with their long lives and lasting homes. If they are uprooted it means death; for you it’s a desperate scramble. The walk to your car is long. Parking requires a minimum submission of your childhood dreams. It’s old, but it works–sometimes. It smells–badly. It leaks unknown fluids, but it can’t be that bad. It got you this far, right? You walk to the waterfront. Its hostile beauty radiates free entertainment. Its waters stretch into nothingness. Its cries stifled into the misunderstanding of music. You understand its woes. Its uses for others’ benefit. Its acceptance of going with what comes. You too, drift on the tide of life. Washed up on a shore close to Dreams, but too far away from Home. You check the time, but your phone has long since escaped the land of the living. You would check by the sun. But lost that talent eons before you even thought of it. It never existed.

Dear dating diary, I am quite simply sick and tired of talking to men who, no offense, have no personality. I hate to say it but the fact you spend all your free time scrolling on reels and using ChatGPT as a search engine is starting to show. I’ve had enough of men who idolise Christopher Nolan. You’re boring!! Believe it or not, I actually did understand Inception the first time I watched it. You need to find a new hobby, expand your Letterboxd watchlist, and get a freaking personality! This isn’t to say that you’re boring if you enjoy Christopher Nolan films. I’ve watched my fair share of them, but I also have space to enjoy other films too! You’re welcome to like what you like, but you’re boring if you don’t open yourself to new experiences. A notable example that comes to mind is my ex-boyfriend who loved football so much that he refused to talk to my friends because “if they don’t know anything about football, what can I even talk to them about”. Um I don’t know, any other topic??? Stop shutting yourself off, you’re being lame. I feel like these are the majority of men I end up meeting which has forced me to question, am I being too harsh? Maybe under the surface they’re incredibly interesting and I have just been too quick to judge. I like to think I have a hunch as to whether things between myself and someone else would work out in the long term. I’ve rejected people for all the classic reasons; boring, subjectively unattractive, and being cringe. I rejected someone because in my eyes they were “too soft,” whereas I feel like I need someone hard (not like that) who I can spark off (NOT LIKE THAT). I said no to another potential suitor because they said “hadn’t been out this late in ages” when we were out at 1 a.m. The question is, am I rejecting these people for surface level reasons or am I rejecting them for genuine incompatibility? I used to be that person who never went to town and stayed out past 1 a.m., but look how I’ve changed over the course of 6 months! My fear is that I’ve already rejected the perfect person for me all because of my limited knowledge of them at the time. Maybe if I had stuck it out and seen them a couple more times things would’ve worked out? On the other hand, maybe they are just genuinely uninteresting and I should have some self-respect and keep my standards high! Either way, I can’t stop talking to these boring guys. The sad unfortunate truth is that I love the attention. There is something so validating about talking to a man who is clearly into you, even if the attraction doesn’t go both ways. Like yes, I am desirable and thank you for letting me know. I’ll even engage in a conversation about your marathon training routine to get a hit of that sweet, sweet attention. I am a girl who loves to flirt just for the hell of it, even if it’s at the price of a dull conversation. Deep down, this just requires some internal reflection on why I crave attention so bad. It is completely normal to want attention, especially from potential partners. It makes you feel validated as a desirable individual who is worth dating. However, I need to recognise when I am showing an interest in someone just because I want attention, rather than experiencing genuine attraction. Realistically the perfect person is out there somewhere, I just need to be patient and live my life to the fullest in the meantime. It’s not as if I don’t have enough going on in my life right now. I’m a regular Salient columnist for God’s sake! I am booked and busy!!! Lesson: If a man loves Christopher Nolan and football, RUN!!!! Set your standards high and fill your time writing articles for Salient. If no one else gives you attention then Phoebe will x

Matagi Vitolio & Apiha Tumatanui Ngāi Tauira Salient Column Māori activism in Aotearoa has been driven by the core principle that we have a responsibility to protect our rangatahi and future generations. This responsibility gives reason to decisions made in activism, for education, and for communities. The aspirations and dreams that we hold for mokopuna unifies the collective activation that is most present throughout recent Māori activism. Today, not only does this principle of Kaitiakitanga for the youth still hold true, but the sprouting of newfound resilience and strength in leadership has surfaced within today’s rangatahi. From the streets of Wellington to the digital world on my phone, the integration of Māori activism successfully persists in its visibility—in the clothes we wear, the language we learn, and the knowledge we acquire. The suppression of Māori rights and culture correlate to the growing interest that rangatahi Māori have in pursuing politics and social sciences within institutional education. I see this so clearly through the increasing rates of enrolment in humanities and social science-based disciplines. Two key leaders that have shaped the stance for many young Māori include Hana-Rawhiti Maipi-Clarke and Tamatha Paul. Both are helping to usher in a new generation with unapologetic Māori perspectives and livelihoods. Together, they have helped normalize political participation as a pathway for Māori youth, not just protest or disengagement. Their influence is not just in policy, but in inspiration: encouraging rangatahi to see themselves as leaders, organisers, and decision-makers in shaping Aotearoa’s future. Social media has become the key tool that has enabled rangatahi to mobilise and stay informed. The intersectionality of indigenous activism in New Zealand helps connect Māori rights with other intersectional concerns including climate justice, language revitalisation, queer rights, and other broader social equity issues. The rangatahi activism that I see today is grounded in rich identity and cultural resurgence; many young Māori have reclaimed their reo, strengthened their whakapapa and tikanga, and asserted their mana motuhake. This cultural footing and the accessibility of digital social media has helped to fuel political action and has distinguished the approach from earlier generations. Seeing this shift gives me hope that the future of Aotearoa will be shaped by rangatahi who are grounded in who they are and confident in where they are going.

“Tikanga doesn’t come out of nowhere. It’s not something that’s been foisted on people because of a particular stripe of government.” That is how Māmari Stephens describes tikanga Māori’s place in legal education. Tikanga refers to Māori law, values, principles, and practices, and courts have increasingly recognised tikanga as part of Aotearoa’s legal system. At Te Herenga Waka, the Faculty of Law is now expanding the teaching of tikanga Māori across its Bachelor of Laws (LLB), embedding it throughout core papers despite a nationwide scaling-back of requirements. The New Zealand Council of Legal Education initially proposed a compulsory first-year tikanga course alongside integration across all core LLB subjects. However, that broader requirement was later disallowed by Parliament’s Regulation Review Committee in May 2025, following criticism from Gary Judd KC, who said embedding tikanga across all subjects would be “unusual or unexpected.” As a result, law schools are now only required to offer an introductory tikanga course at 100 level. Critics have warned this risks reducing tikanga to a “tick-box” requirement, rather than treating it as a coherent legal system. Despite the regulatory rollback, Te Herenga Waka has moved ahead. From this year, tikanga content has been integrated across all four compulsory 200-level papers: Public Law, Torts, Contract, and Criminal Law. The faculty also plans to extend this integration to 300-level courses, including Property and Equity, by 2027. Stephens said the goal is to develop a “tikanga instinct” in graduates—the ability to recognise when tikanga is relevant and respond appropriately. “You could have entire cases where crucial things aren’t being mentioned because the lawyers involved don’t have the lens,” she said. The curriculum is designed to build progressively. At 100-level, MAOR 126—Engaging with Māori in Professional Practice—introduces foundational concepts such as te reo Māori, tikanga, and Te Tiriti o Waitangi. Students then apply these concepts across core law papers. In Criminal Law, for example, students examine practices such as muru and pana, considering how principles like tapu and mana may operate in legal contexts. Teaching is grounded in application rather than abstraction, focusing on how tikanga functions in specific legal scenarios. “The goal is not to produce tikanga experts,” Stephens said. “It’s to ensure graduates can recognise when tikanga is engaged and incorporate it into their reasoning.” The curriculum was developed by approaching tikanga as both a system of legal norms and lived practice. That process began with language. “Law follows language,” she said, pointing to research that digitises historical texts to understand how Māori legal concepts were expressed. From there, the focus shifts to practice—how people act within tikanga frameworks, and how those practices reflect underlying values. Stephens said embedding tikanga across the degree better prepares graduates to practise law in Aotearoa. Without consistent exposure, she warned, students may fail to recognise when tikanga is relevant, leaving key arguments unmade. In turn, graduates risk overlooking “other kinds of legal forces at work” in cases, she said. Further development of the curriculum will depend on resourcing. Stephens identified three key pressures: workforce, research, and cultural capacity. “Workforce capacity is absolutely crucial,” she said, pointing to the need to train more Māori legal academics. Research remains another gap. Tikanga scholarship is largely unfunded at the faculty level, requiring individual law schools to develop their own materials. Cultural development, she said, presents the greatest challenge. “Tikanga education should be reflected in how we behave towards each other—in the faculty and across the university. That’s a generational shift.” “That takes time and good relationships.” Despite the national retreat from broader requirements, Te Herenga Waka’s approach signals a longer-term shift in how law is taught in Aotearoa—one that treats tikanga not as an add-on, but as an integral part of legal reasoning.

The first action of Mayor Andrew Little was to put a pause on the Golden Mile, given the project’s $80 million cost blowout. Six months on, whether the progressive policy will ever materialize is anyone’s guess. The Golden Mile is a proposed refurbishment of the corridor connecting Courtney Place and Lambton Quay. Despite initially being proposed in 2016, it has spent pretty much all that time in development hell, with constant delays preventing anything from happening. The project seeks to refresh the corridor with new greenery, improved lighting, cycle lanes, anti-slip tiles, and widened footpaths. This would come at the expense of cars, which would not be allowed in the area for most of the day. Ergo, in 2024, an estimated 90% of Courtney Place businesses signed a petition against the project. Development on Courtney Place was slated to begin last year, but an $80 million cost blowout was discovered before shovels hit the ground. So, in his first council meeting as mayor, Little halted the project while the costs were reviewed. “Even though the project has central government funding, any cost increase falls on the council,” explains Little. “The question is whether we can vary the Golden Mile in a way which keeps the ticket price within what we had planned, but still achieves something of value to Wellington.” Asked how much extra cost Wellington City Council can absorb, Little responds with “none, really.” “We've had some big cost blowouts on other big projects like Town Hall and the sludge minimisation plant. We have huge pressure on existing capital projects before we even embark on new ones. So we're just not in a position to absorb a lot of additional cost. Some suspect that as the Golden Mile was largely a project of the last Labour government, Little pausing for a review is a way to soften its eventual cancellation, though this suspicion is not universal. Pausing work on the Golden Mile passed unanimously by council in November. However, all four Green councilors were against the review. Laurie Foon—a Green councillor who was Tory Whanau’s deputy mayor—said her preferred option would be to put the contract for the Golden Mile out to tender. In other words, see if another company could do it for cheaper. Foon said council had only worked with one contractor, and putting it to market may have allowed council to find a cheaper competitor, especially as what exactly has caused the cost blowouts is unclear. Foon’s preferred option was not one presented to councillors. Right-leaning councillor Karl Tiefenbacher took the opposite approach, saying he was looking forward to the whole project being scrapped. “I can't see how it can be rejigged or anything. We don't have the money to do anything really, and I don't think it was a good design anyway,” said Tiefenbacher. “I’m quite positive for the area, but I’m quite positive because I believe the Golden Mile will fall over.” For what is the umpteenth time since 2016, the axe looms large over the Golden Mile, with the final review due back to Council next month.

A feed for fuck-all FJ Noodles and Dumplings What: Northern Chinese and buffet-style Price: $15.50 When: pretty much always (10:00am—1:00am on Sunday–Thursday, & till 5:00am on Friday & Saturday) It’s definitely got heft, but hard to enjoy. ⭐⭐ As another Red Rain Warning rolled over the city and I finished packing another load of nonsense into a cardboard box, it was clear that tonight was going to call for a bowl of easy and plenty. Enter stage left, FJ Noodles and Dumplings. A dip into Reddit and Google Reviews suggests that this is a place most frequented in the early hours of the morning, after a long pilgrimage through a series of licensed establishments (I’d only ever passed by FJ before today, which shows how much I get out). FJ Noodles’ buffet menu is their obvious claim to fame—number one rated on their Uber Eats menu, with twice as many reviews as anything else, and a perfect deal for me to check out. They offer three different-sized containers: a small or medium rectangular container for $13.50 or $15.50, or a deep bowl for $17.50. These will get you a base of either egg fried rice or noodles, with the option of one, two, or three toppings, respectively. It’s a bit of a game—Papa’s Chinese Takeaway—as the lady behind the counter carries your container across and ladles on the toppings that you pick out, but it’s much harder to put together a harmonious bowl of food. Ordering for myself and my partner, I ended up getting one bowl of Vegetable [&] Tofu, Egg Foo Young, and Sweet Sour Pork on rice, and a medium container of Curry Chicken and Spicy Pork on noodles. Worse results could have been possible from my panicked pointing at the cabinet, but anything with a sauce like the Curry Chicken should really go over rice to be soaked up, and the sweet-sour pork would have melded better with the Spicy Pork than the sweet-sour-egg-and-tofu amalgam that I ended up with. Props to the woman serving for not skimping; you walk away with a plastic brick of sustenance that all blends into one discordant takeaway symphony; an oil slick of flavours on rice. Of course, a buffet comes with inevitable food safety suspicions, which the average person’s immune system will chew up and spit out—but if you’re immunocompromised or someone who should be wary of allergen cross-contamination, you’d be forgiven for giving this a miss. I’m loath to dwell too long on the subject of food hygiene just because it’s front-of-house here and not a knife used for chicken and beef in a kitchen out back, but I bring it up because it is tied to my first impressions of the food. The Spicy Pork, for start, was tough and dried-out from the hot lamps. Kind of fun to eat, I must admit—like a jerky with a dusty fried batter, but tired and bland. On the other hand, the chicken in the curry sauce had been slow-cooking for hours and was very tender. Off-puttingly so. Some pieces were skin-on and slippery, halfway to a gelatin state, which, on undercooked noodles, was not appealing. The gravy itself did this dish no favours either, missing any tomato-acidity or spice. The vegetarian options were by far my favourites. The Vegetable and tofu was a lot of broccoli, but this had held its crunch instead of going limp, and the florets had soaked up lots of soy and oil. The Foo Young and the fried rice ended up blended into a great savoury mix, with plenty of shrimp paste, sweet cubes of pea and carrot, and chunks of fluffy omelette. Quite an oily fried rice, but very scoffable. This is a meal I would recommend only on the basis of value, and even then with hesitancy. The medium container is a good meal for $15.50, while the bowl for $17.50 will leave you full. Definitely undercutting any other meal of that mass in town, but pick wisely. However, I don’t think this review is an indictment on FJ as a whole. It might just be that the buffet by the door is what keeps the place in business, while a whole other calibre of cooking happens in the back kitchen. Nick Iles of the Spinoff published a profusely apologetic ode to FJ Noodles after sitting down and trying their hand-pulled lāmiàn noodles. Made to order and served with bright and dynamic sauces, they sound like works of art. Pushing $20 or more, they are a touch outside of Munch’s budget, but I’m looking forward to walking past the buffet cabinet to try them—off-the-clock—sometime. Am I talking shit? Do you wildly disagree, or want to feed my ego by telling me I’m so right? Or have I overlooked a place so far that readers really need to know about? Send me something to chew on at: guy@salient.org.nz.

Now hear Unc out for a second. You ever watched Too Hot to Handle? Whole show is basically people acting like they physically cannot interact without it turning sexual. Entertaining, sure. But also… bleak. Because if you genuinely think you can’t be friends with someone just because you could be attracted to them, that’s a you thing. Not everyone you get along with needs to be put in that category. If it’s just a normal friendship and one of you gets a partner, nothing should really change. You carry on, be respectful, and just… act like a decent person. It’s not complicated unless someone makes it complicated. Where it can get a bit tricky is if there’s been history. Flirting, a situationship, whatever it was. Then yeah—you probably need to have a slightly uncomfortable chat. Clear up what’s appropriate now, what’s not, and just make sure everyone’s on the same page. Bit awkward, but far better than pretending it’s fine and letting it get weird. And be honest with yourself as well—if you’re only keeping certain “friends” around because you think there might be a chance one day… that’s something to look at. Unc’s not even judging, just saying it might be worth unpacking. Because walking around viewing all your friends as potential hookups is a bit cooked, let’s be real. If that’s your default setting, of course you’re going to struggle with this whole “can we still be friends when someone’s in a relationship” question—you’ve already framed the friendship in a way that makes it messy. You don’t need to be sizing people up like that. Learn how to just value people as people, not possibilities. Otherwise yeah, that’s something you might want to sort out before blaming “men and women can’t be friends” as a concept. End of the day, people don’t suddenly become off-limits as friends because they’re in a relationship. You just need a bit of awareness and some basic respect. Unc reckons you can absolutely stay friends. Just don’t be strange about it.

Bi-Weekly Game Reviews Christopher Curtis There were a lot of games I could have chosen to represent my favourite genre, the Strategy Role Playing Game (SRPG for short)—epic war stories told through characters clashing on grid-based battlefields, each character or class fulfilling unique roles. There’s often a steep learning curve to truly grasp their mechanics, and as a role-playing-game where story and character progression take centre stage, they naturally move at a snail’s pace compared to more popular genres. So, instead of gushing about Fire Emblem, Langrisser, or other favourites, I’ve gone with one that I believe to be… okay. Maybe accessible is still too strong a word, but as approachable, rich, and rewarding as any intro to this genre could be. Welcome to Wargroove! Follow Queen Mercia of the Cherrystone kingdom and her allies as they seek to reclaim their kingdom from the undead legions of Felheim. The continent of Aurania features many distinct nations, cultures, and races, and Mercia’s own understanding of her continent and kingdom will change as she uncovers the truth of her kingdom’s history. Wargroove feels like the fundamental SRPG to me, but that’s not to say it’s lacking in flavour or depth. At the genre’s core is resource management, how to utilise the tools you are given to their fullest. The single player campaign subtly teaches you what these different resources are and how best to use them in a way that you often won’t even notice. Managing money, saving up to purchase the units you want to form your strategy; what units work well in formations together; when to move, how to move, and even who to move. Chief among these is your commander, the most destructive and often most durable unit at your disposal, yet also your game over condition; think of them like chess’ king and queen rolled into one. Many SRPG’s feature what is called permadeath where, when a character falls in battle, they are gone for the rest of the campaign. There is no permadeath in Wargroove, but even though you lose if your commander falls, the sheer utility that commanders bring encourages you to stow your fears and use such a powerful resource to bring victory. It’s a subtle, yet so well-executed teaching moment. The campaign is a great way to get acquainted with the game and its mechanics, but truthfully, it’s only the beginning. A bevy of modes exist for one to four players to engage with. Challenge the computer to battles in arcade or local play, engage in specially designed puzzles to further your prowess, or battle with your friends in premade or custom maps! In every mode you can choose between six factions, possessing radically distinct aesthetics and a suite of commanders with their own powers. While Wargroove subtly teaches you SRPG fundamentals, it blatantly shows you the often severely hidden ways in which player expression runs rampant throughout the genre (including a frankly awesome dog commander). Again, fantastic design through and through. AND YET IT’S STILL NOT DONE! For you creatives, Wargroove features both a map creator and full-blown campaign editor. Create your own, or download some of the frankly incredible works done by others in the community—and I don’t use the term ‘incredible’ lightly. Some may still bounce away from SRPG’s after trying this. It’s a niche game in a niche genre released 7 years ago that is mechanically and aesthetically a far cry from mainstream. But it is my hope that at least some of you reading this will try Wargroove, and enjoy it enough to dive further into SRPG’s to learn why it’s my—and many others’—favourite genre. Wargroove is Available on PC, Xbox One and Series X/S, Playstation 4 and 5, and Nintendo Switch and Switch 2. Gameplay: 8/10 Writing: 7/10 Aesthetics: 8/10

Taine Knox Award-winning South Korean DJ Peggy Gou stands at the forefront of pop-house evolution. Her debut album, I Hear You, is another showcase of her retro-inspired euro-house style and its way of invoking her signature blend of energy, psychedelia, and nostalgia into the ears of listeners. After a decade of crafting her sound and style through multiple singles on multiple different record labels, she looked to firmly establish her place in the modern House circuit in June 2024, releasing the flashy and flavourful I Hear You. THE BREAKDOWN - 서울시페기구 On the surface, Peggy Gou seems like the embodiment of what a modern artist is—both through the art she produces and the carefully curated image of the person behind it. Instagram stories show luxury private jets, exuberant outfits, and raving crowds of hundreds of thousands. Following her shows you the life most believe a modern celebrity to live. But it isn’t the bougie, materialistic glamour of her lifestyle where she gets her inspiration. Born and partially raised in South Korea; her teenage years spent in London; now based in Germany as a pro DJ, touring from Stockholm to São Paulo, and Texas to Tokyo. Peggy Gou has seen a lot of the world—and kept her ears open along the way; absorbing the many people, places and cultures she has seen and heard and embodying them in her music. “Every weekend, I feel like I’ve learned a lot from not only the tours, [but also] by meeting people, by going to the countries … [and the] cities.” - Peggy Gou She reportedly spent her youth rebelling, raving, and partying, and at 18 was accepted into the London College of Fashion. Her career in fashion has additionally shaped her image and style as an artist, drawing scrutiny from critics who use it to subvert her ability as a musician, with the criticism made louder and much harder to avoid in the modern age of social media. So how does a modern artist deal with a barrage of online hate? In Gou’s case, the importance is having “thick skin”: “Of course I read comments… …life is too short. I choose who I take the advice and criticism from.” Peggy Gou This attitude of rising above hate, her experiences living across the globe, and the motivation for consistent hard work have all shaped Gou’s music. The result? A bright, eclectic, multicultural blend of language and genre. Gou describes I Hear You as the culmination of years of travel, hard work, and her many influences in one succinct package. And it makes for very fun listening. One of the project’s main themes is togetherness—most of the songs have an intoxicating feel-good vibe, perfect for large festival crowds. The lead single “(It Goes Like) Nanana” is Gou’s most popular track, becoming a viral hit upon its 2023 release. Peggy Gou performing live c. 2024 I Hear You features two collaboration tracks, one with Puerto Rican artist Villano Antillano and the other with American R&B legend Lenny Kravitz. The album features songs in English, Spanish, Korean, and some that are completely instrumental. It feels like a randomly put-together compilation of her work, and the lack of coherence can sometimes be a little off-putting. But then again, for a house album, it does its job perfectly. The standout track for me is her duet with Lenny Kravitz “I Believe In love Again”. Kravitz fits in perfectly on one of Peggy’s best beats, creating a melodic house experience that can be either haunting, upbeat, or relaxing, depending on what you prefer. The track however, like almost every other one of her efforts, failed to chart on anything other than the US Dance chart, where it reached 50. The album really is just a fun time. It’s a nice break from more serious or hardcore (or emocore, whatever you’re into) music and I’d thoroughly recommend using this album to spice up your usual rotation. It’s great for getting people together and I’ve found that her music speaks to a wide range of people—from my Grandma in her 70s to my 3-year-old nephew, it seems anyone can get down to Peggy Gou. Almost two years after the project, she continues to release new music, even featuring on the soundtrack for F1: The Movie with her song “D.A.N.C.E”—her standout release of 2025. Despite her limited success on the charts, Peggy Gou still boasts 6 million monthly listeners on Spotify, over a billion total streams, and is on her 9th year of touring across the world. DJ magazine now rightly ranks her at #12 in their Top 100 DJs Ranking, a testament to her years of hard work. THE TRACKS - PEGGY-GOODS “Your Art” - 6 A psychedelic intro with some spoken-word messaging. A good album intro but a bad song. “Back to One” - 8.5 Groove. Drums. Vocals. Melodies. All the ingredients for a great upbeat house track done well, with the signature Peggy Gou twist. “I Believe in Love Again” (With Lenny Kravitz) - 9 My personal favourite on the album. A genre-transcending track that fits perfectly with Kravitz’s vocals. “All That (Featuring Villano Antillano)” - 7.5 A decent beat. Antillano’s style fits snugly with Gou’s, and their vocal harmonies on the chorus are brilliant. “(It Goes Like) Nanana” - Edit - 9 The viral lead single. Catchy and atmospheric, it’s a modern house classic. “ Lobster Telephone” - 7 An upbeat mix of ethereal and robotic. “Seoulsi Peggygou” (서울시페기구) - 7 A fast breakbeat instrumental. Cool if you’re into old-school D’n’B. “I Go” - 7 A song about perseverance, drawing from her own experiences. A tribute to UK rave culture in her style. “Purple Horizon” - 6.5 Fairly standard. Not bad but not the same quality as the rest of the project. “1+1=11” - 7 Standard. The album’s third single—an instrumental song about perception, reflected in the music video’s extensive featuring of lights, mirrors, and visual illusions. OVERALL RATING - 8.5/10 An exciting showcase of the up-and-coming artist’s talents that leaves you eagerly awaiting the next.

Achim Hanne When you order that kebab from Abrakebabra, or a late-night McDonald’s, it’s unlikely that you spare more than a passing thought for the person dropping it at your door. The fleet of cars, motorcycles, and electric scooters moving through New Zealand’s cities may not seem very sexy, but in just a few short years they’ve become a key part of the growing “gig economy”: a sector defined by contract work, without guaranteed hours, holidays, or job security—offering instead pay per job, flexible schedules, and—at least in theory—limitless earning potential. Let’s be real. The job market today sucks. AI is not just taking jobs; it’s screening candidates before we even reach an interview. Part-time or casual roles attract dozens—even hundreds—of applicants, while the jobs that do exist come with inconsistent hours, inconvenient shifts, and managers who remind you just how “lucky” you are to be employed at all. Since Uber arrived in New Zealand in 2014, rideshare companies have pitched themselves as a new way to earn. But if you’ve ever taken a rideshare home on the verge of throwing up in the back seat, you can probably understand why many potential drivers are looking for an alternative. For many of us, that alternative is food delivery. But is food delivery really all that great? Or is the hype simply the beleaguered spluttering of a dying job market? I'm no stranger to the gig economy. Since starting university, I’ve been a mystery shopper, cycle marshal, exam supervisor, student ambassador, and security officer. These roles were typically short-term or time-bond. And while I have worked alongside many great people, people don’t pay my rent—money does. So when it was time to look for a summer job last year, the adverts offering easy sign-ups and uncapped earnings were, for a student in a rural town with limited opportunities, impossible to ignore. I didn’t ignore them. In mid-November I grabbed a few insulated bags, threw on a high-vis vest, and got in my car—ready for my first round of food delivery orders. I’m not alone. According to the 2023 census, there were over 7000 delivery drivers in New Zealand—up from about 5500 in 2018, and roughly half the size of the New Zealand Defence Force. In Stratford, a small rural town in Taranaki, I could encounter as many as four other drivers on a busy night, spread across multiple platforms. It is easy to see why. Doordash, Delivereasy, UberEats and others market themselves as a way to “be your own boss.” Delivereasy suggests drivers can earn upwards of $30 an hour, and every platform emphasises flexible hours. Unlike rideshare, you don’t have to let strangers into your car or make awkward small talk on the way to the airport. In fact, you might not even need a car at all—bikes and scooters will do, as long as you can deliver the goods safely and on time. So, how much did I actually earn? Let’s take one shift in the middle of the holiday period—December 8. I logged in at 2 p.m., but didn’t receive my first order until 3 p.m. This is perfectly typical. Most days, there was only a trickle of deliveries until around 4:30 p.m., when people started thinking about dinner. From just after 5 to 7:45 p.m. I had a steady flow of orders, with a few more trickling in later in the evening. By 10 p.m. I’d completed 14 deliveries over eight hours, earning $110.24—about $7.87 per order, or $13.78 per hour. Bonuses improve things slightly. Between December 1 and 14, I earned $852.92 (including a $300 bonus) for 68 orders across 38 hours. That works out to $12.54 per order, or $22.45 per hour. Not great. Not even minimum wage at times. But still more than I would have earned sitting at home. I should stress that everyone’s experience of food delivery will vary based on where they are and who they work for. My experience delivering food in a town without even a McDonald’s will be very different to someone working in the centre of Wellington, which will be different again to someone in a non-university town like Napier or Invercargill. Likewise, a driver for Doordash will have a very different experience compared to someone driving for Delivereasy or UberEats. These numbers should, however, serve as an insight into the realities of the industry. And it's not just about pay. As a contractor, you’re responsible for all your own expenses—including fuel and mobile data, both of which you’ll use far more than in most conventional jobs. On an average delivery day, I would make sure to put $20 in the tank as I made my first deliveries. On particularly busy days, I’d have to do this again later in the night. That’s about $30 in fuel on a regular shift. In December, I was paying about $2.60-2.75 cents per litre at my local petrol station. Today, with the world apparently set on ending before we all graduate, the same amount of fuel would cost me over $38, at $3.44 cents a litre. Add to that the price of mobile data—whether through data hours or monthly plans—and very soon that $850 paycheck starts to lose its lustre. As a contractor, you’re also responsible for your own taxes. While services such as Hnry market themselves as easy—even cheap—ways to navigate the system, it is still one more thing to think and pay for when you’re juggling those 9 p.m. kebab orders. That brings us back to the core question: is it worth it being a delivery driver? If you can find a normal job, then frankly, the answer is no. While you can certainly earn more than minimum wage in food delivery (my best two-week period saw me earn $1223 for 37 hours work—averaging $33 an hour), this was offset by fuel and data costs and largely depended on working peak hours or covering busy periods. Working eight hours a day, five days a week will not guarantee a stable hourly rate. It’s about demand, not your availability—and often means long stretches sitting in your car or at home, waiting for the chime of an order notification with nothing to show for it. However, if you can’t find a job—or need something to help cover the bills alongside one—then food delivery may be your best option. In theory, gig work is a great way to earn extra cash or supplement an income. Its flexibility should incentivise platforms to attract drivers and to treat them fairly to maintain market share. But for far too many people, gig work—whether rideshare, food delivery or something else—is the first, last, and only option available to them. Food delivery (like rideshare) is an inherently unethical business model: it charges users as much as it reasonably can while paying drivers as little as possible. While some companies try to make it more attractive, the reality is that most people simply cannot engage with gig work the way it was supposedly designed. The “gig economy” has ballooned from a sideshow into a way of life for many—and not because everyone is just really keen to drive a car around town or or spend their days on campus selling mattresses. It's not like the government is listening to the contractors’ concerns either. According to RNZ, Uber representatives met with Workplace Relations Minister Brooke Van Velden in May 2024, proposing changes to the Employment Relations Act very similar to the amendments announced by her office later in the year and passed into law this February. The changes effectively overturned a Supreme Court decision recognising four Uber drivers as employees, which had found that the idea of drivers operating independent businesses was unrealistic. Rather than address these concerns or protect workers with few alternatives, the government has sided with business interests. Yet despite all this—despite the long periods of nothing, the unpredictability, the mess—I have enjoyed my foray into delivery driving. Cruising down back-country roads with Chappell Roan at full blast, the quiet of evenings with no other cars in sight. I’ve delivered all sorts of weird and wonderful orders across town—from a single tub of ice-cream at 7 p.m, to a pair of mango lassis barely contained within an almost-lidless container. I don’t think I’ve ever driven more carefully in my life. But perhaps I’m lucky. The Manners-Willis intersection now features a DeliverEasy ad celebrating its partnership with Adulttoymegastore. Stratford is a small town, and while I’m more than happy to drop off my neighbour’s spicy butter chicken, there are some spicy things I simply never want to know about them. Deliveries + Bonuses - Fuel - Data - Taxes ___________ = Profit?