Surviving Australia’s New Year by Counting Every Egg

I. The Australian Egg Shortage

For the New Year that had just passed, my family and I rented an Airbnb in Sydney, Australia, to ring in the celebrations. Being strangers to the area, we stuck to buying groceries from large chain supermarkets every day.

With Christmas and the New Year falling together, I found myself unable to afford the supermarket’s organic eggs for the first time. I had to grit my teeth and opt for free-range eggs, a step down on the so-called “egg hierarchy”.

Free-range eggs aren’t cheap either; a dozen costs close to AUD 10. At an exchange rate of roughly 1 AUD to 4.65 CNY, that works out to nearly 4 yuan per egg—several times the price back home. Resigned to the fact that these 4-yuan “golden eggs” were a luxury, I could only eat them with a heavy heart.

At the time, I assumed it was just the overlap of the Christmas and New Year holidays, with many shops closed for the break and suppliers pausing deliveries. Back home, while reading about the US egg shortage, I revisited Australian news and discovered that Australia was also grappling with a severe egg shortage, driven by avian influenza.

The two major chain supermarkets have even recently introduced purchase limits on eggs, capped at two cartons per person. ABC, Australia’s mainstream public broadcaster, recommended residents try shopping at local independent grocers, hoping to find smaller farmers whose supply chains remain steadier and less affected by the mass culling in large-scale farming operations.

II. What Else Has Gone Up in Price?

Returning to Sydney after five years, it wasn’t just eggs that had jumped in price due to bird flu. Severe inflation has pushed up the cost of many shelf items to prohibitive levels: the legendary Australian premium orange juice, Nothing But Oranges, known for its generous pulp content, has doubled from AUD 5 a few years ago to AUD 10. Two litres of juice now costs nearly 50 yuan. While it is freshly pressed, the price is simply too steep; I might as well buy a few oranges and squeeze them myself.

The selection of vegetables in the large chain supermarkets remains remarkably limited; it’s just endless green leaves as far as the eye can see. Locals lump them all under the term “greens”, mirroring how some friends in southern China call every leafy vegetable “qingcai”. The prices are equally steep: AUD 3 (15 yuan) for a bunch of greens, AUD 5 (25 yuan) for two cobs of corn—though the husks have been removed, sparing the cook some effort. Wanting something more substantial, you’re left buying salad mixes, bags of pre-chopped vegetables that push us further down the path of minimalist Western-style meals.

Of course, Chinese expats settled in Australia have alternative shopping options. Stores like Harris Farm Markets (often compared to an Australian Whole Foods) and Chinese grocers offer a wider variety of vegetables. Sydney’s two major markets, Sydney Market and Paddy’s Markets, also boast richer produce stalls. If you’re looking for vegetables for hot pot, you can check out what local farmers and Chinese neighbours are growing—just be prepared, as portions are said to be quite generous.

III. How about eating out?

With their authentic roast and rich, creamy milk, lattes are the pride of Australian café culture. A cup used to set you back just four or five Australian dollars, but now it’s seven or eight. The daily pleasure of popping to a café for two cups has faded, quietly downgraded to a supermarket bottle of ultra-concentrated cold brew. I mix it with a generous pour of whole milk at home, and a five-dollar bottle now stretches over two days.

Dining out demands careful deliberation. While most Sydney restaurants have dropped the practice of adding service charges during standard hours in recent years, A$15 – nearly ¥80 – is merely the starting point for a bowl of Chinese noodles. A plate of Italian pasta, tailored to suit Chinese palates, sets you back A$25. Your stomach might manage, but your wallet certainly won’t. Back home, a bowl of Yang Guofu Malatang fills you up for ¥30 or offers a premium experience for ¥50. In Australia, however, it has reinvented itself at A$30 a bowl. What on earth could the ingredients possibly be worth so much? Does tucking into a bowl of malatang these days require ice-fresh fish fillets landed straight from the Pacific?

Can’t be bothered to head out? Opt for delivery instead. That’s where the real frustration begins.

I gave Uber Eats, the local market leader, a try. Unlike the fleet of electric scooters zipping through China, Sydney’s delivery riders typically rely on bicycles, powering up and down the city’s steep inclines in a combination of fitness and labour. Some do drive cars, but they certainly haven’t conjured up a corresponding “Australian speed”. Rumour has it some couriers even walk with insulated backpacks – it feels more like a countryside ramble than a delivery service, embodying a distinctly relaxed ethos.

On one occasion, I ordered a few groceries from a local supermarket with delivery. The store wasn’t far, and the driver was in a car. Yet after covering the first kilometre, the journey ground to a halt for an hour just 200 metres from my door – a world away from the brisk efficiency I was used to back home.

A quick online search revealed that Uber Eats apparently maintains no stringent oversight of its couriers, and with no tipping culture to act as an incentive, deliveries are handled on a “do your best and take it as it comes” basis. Riders often juggle orders across multiple platforms, mapping out their own routes with the sole objective of getting the food to the door, however long it takes.

The same laissez-faire attitude extends to Sydney’s public transport network. With New Year’s Eve approaching, we were keen to catch the fireworks display over Sydney Harbour – the first celebration of the new year anywhere on Earth. Before we knew it, the news broke that the public transport union had voted to strike on New Year’s Eve. So many unlit fireworks, so many booked hotels and restaurants – all left hanging in the balance, held hostage by the transit system.

Fortunately, the government and the union eventually reached a temporary truce. Come evening, we made it to the harbour edge, found a vantage point, and sat right down on the grass. During the long wait, everyone’s provisions converged on beef jerky and crisps from the local convenience stores. For those willing to push their culinary boundaries during this surreal outing, there was also the option of trying kangaroo jerky – an Australian staple that certainly adds a touch of authentic “Aussie” flair.

Sitting on the ground for seven or eight hours alongside neighbours from Australia, Brazil, India, South Korea and Japan, I was ultimately rewarded with a view of the world’s first fireworks display of 2025.