Bypass surgery that misses the mark

This whole waking early thing has its upside and downsides. Saturday morning, it was a laugh. I went onto Twitter for the usual look at what was happening in the world, cup of tea and a smoke in hand, and there was this tweet.

I did respond to the author, alas she didn’t respond. Yeah, I know, that the Michael Vaughan to whom she referred is the former England cricket captain, but given that it’s my name (I had it before he did), it gave me a laugh. Then on Sunday night, I thought, bugger it, it’s time to change the side of the bed on which I sleep. No real reason, other than for a change and given that I’d re-arranged the furniture in my bedroom, it was as good a time as any to give it a try. It was a restless night ( of sorts), the usual tossing and turning, moving to the other side and retreating, but all in all not a bad result. And I didn’t kill myself or hit anything when I visited the loo in the middle of the night. In fact, by the time I woke on Monday morning at 6.15 (I got up soon afterwards), I was feeling good about it. The buoyant mood continued until I got into the shower. It was cold water and it stayed cold. Bugger. Off I went to the laundry to light the pilot light. No dice. This was plumber’s territory given the banshee-type noise made by the service. And anyway, the plumber was due (for the third time) to try to fix a leaking pipe under some concrete in the backyard. The report came back later in the day. Yep, it was a leaky pipe and the plumber dug a hole, bypassed the problem area and all was well with the world. The hot-water service needed nothing more than a service. Glory days. I got home from work, took a pee and flushed the toilet. OK, I pressed the button and nothing happened. Bugger. The water wasn’t turned off. Must be a backlog of air in the pipe, I thought. I went to the basin to wash my hands, turned on the cold water tap. Nothing. Bugger. It seems this Einstein of pipes certainly had bypassed the leak, but he’d also managed to bypass the bathroom. Bugger. Yep, he’ll be back tomorrow morning, but nothing he can do can erase the pain I went through having a cold shower (sure, there have been times when I’ve needed one) but this was torture. Bugger. And hey, I’m so looking forward to the hot shower in the morning, you know, with no cold water to back it off and make it bearable. Why me, God? Bugger.

A SINGLE-MINDED APPROACH 

I was having my daily salad lunch (yeah, I’m trying to be healthy) today, sitting in the office and reading the papers. Given the name of this blog, my eyes were attracted to a story headlined “Best of friends ’till death do us part”. It was a story about a survey done by online dating site eHarmony. I didn’t read much of the story, but I did check out the two lists: one was the top 10 most important qualities when looking for love.
1. Friendship
2. Chemistry
3. Enjoying the way I feel around my partner
4. Being open about how he/she feels towards me
5. Personality
6. Kindness
7. Romantic attraction
8. Being able to talk about personal problems
9. Being able to discuss how I feel about him/her
10. Physical closeness
I get that top 10 pretty well, but what really hit home were the top 10 least important qualities when looking for love:
1. My partner’s beliefs
2. The amount they smoke
3. Age
4. The amount they drink
5. Ethnicity
6. Height
7. Education
8. Income
9. Religion
10. Knowing they are to blame when things go wrong.
Yep, I reckon there’s a lot of blokes out there, just like me, who will read the “least important” things and think: hey, I’m half a chance to find the one.

Misogyny … now this is the real deal

A mate sent me these three ’50s advertisements at about the time Tony Abbott was in hot water over misogyny claims. Reckon they’re worth sharing.

THE SON SHINES AS AN EXAMPLE

My youngest son, Joel, has moved in with the old man and what a good thing it is. There’s the company – he’s a good talker, who covers many and varied subjects – and there’s the calming influence he has on me. He doesn’t drink or smoke. Yeah I do both in abundance, but he sets a good example, something I aspire to, at least with the cigarettes. He’s tidy and also makes his bed every day. What sort of example is that for a son to set for his father? Basically, he has created his own castle in his room. Which is kind of why I was up early yesterday (OK, it was before seven, which has become the norm. Even today, Saturday, I was up and at it by 6.15) doing the domestics … washing, unloading the dishwasher, tweeting, checking emails, drinking copious amounts of tea, reading the papers (can we still call them papers when we read online?). The next thing I knew, I was re-arranging the furniture in my bedroom. It took just an hour. A bed here, a cupboard there, a lamp here and there, a dressing table there, a TV somewhere … and a partridge in a pear tree. The carpet got re-acquainted with the vacuum cleaner and it was job done. I even decided to put four large candles in the fireplace, which looks an absolute treat and adds to the ambience. Reckon that by 11 o’clock I’d put the washing away, got a new bedroom, paid some bills, including the tax man (Jesus, do they ever end?), had a shower and was ready to face whatever the day offered. First up it was a tour of my new digs … Joel and his girlfriend Erin finally surfaced – she’s on day shift and he’s doing nightshift – and I’m not sure what she made of my comment. “I just though I’d try something different cos it was time to try a new spot for the workbench (bed).” She smiled and muttered something about people doing their best work there. Then it was all about pottering around because the skies opened up and it was cold. Still, it was good for the garden (more on that later). My other son, Liam, called from Vanuatu with what he said was exciting news. “I’ve got your hair,” he blurted down the phone. “I’m growing it and it has developed curls. Looks like a bloody affro. It’s as high as it is wide.” It took a while for my laughter to subside. “And I reckon I’m close to buying a house,” he said. “It’s an absolute cracker. It’s about 15 minutes from the centre of town (I know the neighbourhood) and has four bedrooms, a pool, tennis court and is on a four-metre cliff, which has steps cut into it down to the beach. There’s a big deck around the pool, but get this, you can sit on the deck and cast a line. You can fish from the backyard. “The place is in three wings, with thatched-roof walkways between each wing. Oh yeah, there’s also a bungalow for the old man.” That got the old man’s mind wandering, this time to re-arranging furniture in the bungalow. Who knows? The rest of the day involved a return to the current reality, re-arranging the furniture in the dining room, scrubbing the bath, re-arranging the deckchairs, whatever, before braving the rain and heading off to meet friends to share a bottle of sangiovese. Bloody good it was too. I backed it up at home with my favourite quaffer. Some Macon Villages chardonnay … don’t reckon I’ll ever get tired of its nice citrus nose or the fruity (not over the top), creamy texture. I’m down to my last two bottles. Another case is called for when my local reopens after a two-week renovation. Sleep came easy in the new bedroom, but not before I’d cracked a toe on one of the newly placed bits. Yeah, I’ll get used to it.

IT’S EASY BEING GREEN 

My garden is coming on well. It’s such a good thing to get out there and pick stuff to eat. At the moment, despite having a yard not my bigger than a shoebox, I have heaps of flat-leaf parsley, mint, basil, chocolate mint, Vietnamese mint, tarragon, horseradish, fennel, chillis, spinach, sage, lemon thyme, regular thyme, lemon verbena, rosemary, mustard greens, cardamom (it doesn’t set pods because it’s too cold in Melbourne, but the leaves have good flavour), chives, nasturtiums, rainbow chard, a bay tree, a thing called olive herb, some eternal basil, a lemon tree, a tamarillo tree and an olive tree. And there’s a tray of seedlings with lots of dill and chervil almost ready to plant out. There’s also some hanging baskets with petunias and pansies, a window box with beautiful white/pink geraniums, a few yuccas and assorted bits and bobs. Apologies to any that I’ve forgotten. The olive tree looks likely to set enough fruit to preserve. I did olives a couple of years ago, but only ever bought them from the market. It’s time to have another crack. Oh, and there’s a prolific orange tree in the front garden. I reckon it sets at least 500 fruit every season, which keeps my friends happy.

GOOD DAY AT THE OFFICE 

I sat in the editor’s chair at The Weekly Review a couple of weeks ago while Eils, the boss, took some well-earned R&R. While she was swanning around at a wedding in Sri Lanka, we were sweating it in a different way. But the week went well. It was good to have her back last week … even better when she handed me a bit more responsibility. We initiated a couple of new systems while she was away and they worked. I came home on Tuesday night and said to Joel: “You know, I can’t remember having a better day at work than the one I had today. It just went well.” I was in a very good mind space. Still am. Thursday night after we’d put the papers to bed (early as well), Eils and I were having a quiet beer at our desks when she said: “Time to make it official. I’m giving you a title. You are now officially deputy editor. Well done.” Like I said, I was in a good mind space, only better.

PINOTS GALORE 

Last Sunday I rocked on down to Ormond Hall for Pinot Palooza. There were about 50 exhibitors (not sure just how many but there were heaps) from Oz and across the ditch in New Zealand. Reckon it’s not hard to get smashed at something like that. I tasted 15 wines in the first hour and then thought whoa, slow down, or this will get ugly. Time out for a smoke because one wine was merging with the other. Yeah I could have done the spit thing, but I don’t like the idea of wasting it. I drank water in between tastings, so there. Seems every one I tasted was a cracker. Montalto Reserve was my favourite Australian and TWR … that’s Te Whare Ra Wines … was my favourite Kiwi. There was also a survey with prizes for the best of Oz and Kiwi. Girls were wandering around with iPads getting the punters to enter their best for the chance of a prize or two. Bit of a problem there. It seems that TWR was not included in the survey. The girl told me to stay where I was and she headed off to find her boss to get it fixed. Fifteen minutes later she returned and said there was a technical problem and they couldn’t fix it. She took my survey in my favourite way … pen and paper … I did feel obliged to tell the TWR woman (she was great when I tasted it) that her company had been left off the survey. She was not happy. I managed to soak up some of the excesses with a tasty pulled-pork kebab with lots of coriander and lemongrass. It did the trick. I guess I tasted about 30 pinots before pinot fatigue started to set in. The only sensible thing to do was to grab a cab and head home, grab a plate with some brie, red grapes, cheddar, olives, salami, beetroot dip, some shaved fennel and fresh baguette and a bottle of pinot, which was poured into one of the splendid Riedel pinot glasses that were in the Pinot Palooza tote bag. The pinot, by the way, was Full Fare from Swords at the market. It’s from Mornington Peninsula and it oozes spicy herby flavours and a hint of cloves on the nose and it has a nice soft finish with cherry and rhubarb. It’s 13.8 per cent. It was a fitting way to see out Pinot Palooza Sunday.

A DROP OF THIS, A DROP OF THAT 

There have been plenty of good things in glasses at my joint of late, not that it will surprise anyone who takes the time to read this blog. Even though I’ve cut (most) beer from my agenda (it’s a weight thing), I do have a treat once a week, usually from my mate, Dave, at Swords wine shop at South Melbourne Market. Dave tweets as @vulgarbeerman and really knows his stuff. Today, for the record, he’s got Spikey Norman (70% apple and 30%pear) Cider and Bohemian Pilsner & American Pale Ale on tasting today, along with Swords new moscato. I had a crack at Before the Dark Black IPA . It’s a limited edition from Mountain Goat. It’s a big 7.4% and is made using five different malts and late-picked hops. It’s a beauty. I also tried some Road Trip IPA from Holgate. It’s one of the best beers I can remember. Lots of hops and pine on the nose, then there’s a lovely passionfruit taste. The label says grapefruit and marmalade too. Dunno about that, but I’d drink it every day of the week. Also tried Maison de Parnassa 2011 cab sav. It’s 13%, a cracker that drinks easily and cracker value at $12.99. Another beauty was Swords 2011 sangiovese/merlot from Adelaide Plains. It’s chocolatey with black fruit on the nose and finishes with cherry and star anise. I’ve had three bottles and will probably grab another today. Then there was Rocland Estate’s marsanne/viognier/roussanne blend, a Coldstream pinot, a Chateau de Citeaux 2009 Bourgogne chardonnay, a couple of bottles of Marques de Tezona 2010 tempranillo, an Underground pinot from Mornington Peninsula and even a celebratory bottle of Bolly. My mate Ben (@senorthomas on Twitter) gave me a bottle of The Kraken black spiced rum. It’s a great way to finish up night with lots of warming chocolate. I was given a second bottle as a going away gift from the crew at Crikey. Ben also snaffled a bargain, which he passed on … a case of six Seppelt Pinot Noir Chardonnay sparkling. Obviously there was lack of storage because the p[lace was unloading it for $30 a case (six). I think I saw it for $19-odd a bottle. It’s not a great drink, but it’s a long way from the worst I’ve had.

FLEXING THE MUSSELS 

I think one of the great bargains at South Melbourne Market has to be mussels at five bucks a kilo. Apart from the 10 or so minutes scrubbing and debearding them, it’s all too easy. Finely sliced onion and four big cloves of garlic into some olive oil to soften, a big splash of white wine, burn off the alcohol, add a heap of halved, hand-crushed cherry tomatoes (you could use canned) some finely sliced fennel, a handful of torn basil leaves, a handful of roughly cut flat-leaf parsley, then bung in the mussels and steam them until they’re open. Chuck out any that are still closed. Viola. A fresh, crusty baguette and that’s it. I ate the whole kilo band soaked up the sauce with the bread. It was the beginning of a love affair. Speaking of mussels, I’m flexing my own muscles … I’m three weeks into a light morning and night weights program to get a bit of shape now that summer’s coming. I’ve dropped three kilos as well. Even had a check-up with the doc, who told me that the only disease I have is young person’s disease. Roll on the hot weather. And speaking of love affairs, I’m hooked on a triple cream brie called Le Delice. My local wine bar, Lina’s, gets it from France, but it was with great joy that I found it in the cheese room in a deli at the South Melbourne Market. She’s a great mistress.

... and the policeman was surprised ...

It has been a while since I’ve put pen to paper, as it were. I reckon the weight of numbers has conspired against it. And there have been plenty … numbers that is. Lots of words to work with at the two jobs, lots of great meals, great wines, great beers … yeah, just lots of stuff (hangovers performed well in the numbers since I last hit this site). Reckon I had a hangover big enough to photograph recently when I wandered to the market to get some food to soak up the excesses of the night before. I parked behind our office and trundled down the lane to the market. There was a purse, bulging with plastic cards, on the ground. I did the honourable thing and stuck it in my calico shopping bag and did the food thing. I stopped at the cop shop on the way home and handed the purse to a young uniformed bloke. “Dunno what’s in it. It’s nothing to do with me,” I said. He looked surprised. “Anyway, it may be something embarrassing to the owner.” He opened it and discovered nothing more embarrassing than some cash and a bundle of plastic cards, including a driver’s licence. I had to fill in a form. He said to me: “If it’s not claimed, you’ll hear from us and get the contents.” “Nah, donate it to the policeman’s benevolent fund. It’s not mine.” He looked surprised and asked whether it would be OK to let the owner know who I was and where I lived. “Yep, that’s not a problem.” It turned out that it was someone who lives about 150 metres from me. The young copper thanked me for my honesty. Not so, the owner. I don’t reckon it would have been too much trouble for the owner to maybe drop a note in my letterbox to say thanks, but that never happened. Shame that. Mind you, I felt good about doing the right thing.

Legenday lunch ... a French quaffer ... The good oil ... Pinot envy ...

Lunch with my good friend Jane (she’s at @winematters on the tweet thing) is always a good thing, something made even better by the venue.
A window table tucked in the corner of a really busy Café Di Stasio (http://www.distasio.com.au/) was a great place to eat, drink and watch the world go by.
The food was amazingly good; ditto the service, atmosphere, wine and company.
Malory, who does the front of house, looked after the starters, but only after she had organised a Campari cocktail for Jane and a Campari and soda for me.
First up on the plate was the simply best pate I have tasted. And taste it, over and over, I did. Great crusty, griddled bread and a bottle of Cantina Terlan Pinot Bianco Vorberg Riserva 2008 made it a cracker of a start. The wine grew an extra leg in the bottle. It was great from the first glass and by the end of the bottle it was my new best friend.
Then came some fish cakes, some deep-fried whitebait (with aioli) and then some parmesan-and-herb crusted oysters. Sweet mother of Jesus. Normally, I don’t like oysters anyway other than natural, but these little fellas were to die for. They were succulent, just warmed through and the crust was, well, a masterstroke. Suddenly, there was another best friend. And another, this time Ronnie di Stasio, who came and sat with us and he got the animation level way up. He’s a cracker bloke who tells it like it is.
By the time the next starter arrived, we had ventured into another bottle of wine, this time a Poggerino Chianti Classico Riserva Bugialla. The starter was to be another best friend. To wit, some crusty bread and a small omelette smothered in truffle shavings. Reckon I was almost done but it couldn’t be because I’d ordered a rare sirloin. Sheesh.
Malory joined us for a bite. She and Jane went for pasta. My beef was a cracker. So too the veg side dish and salad. We sat there post-food, just shooting the breeze, solving some of the world’s problems and deciding that, OK, time for the bill (the restaurant was empty by this stage, save one waiter and the three of us).
Not that I needed it, but I suggested that before we paid, perhaps a shot of grappa would be a nice final touch. OK, it was two. And it was Berta grappa. I’ve always loved grappa and I’m annoyed that my local bottleshop no longer sells it. Thank God because if it stocked Berta, it could become a habit.
The Bertas were enough for me to say “enough”. I did, after all, have a pinot and Peking duck dinner to go to and I wasn’t feeling in great shape for it (but that’s another story), and the time was on the bad side of 5.30.
We paid the bill and wandered onto Fitzroy Street (apparently I met my friend Molly from Lina’s … OK I do remember seeing her) and headed for home.
Lunch doesn’t get a whole lot better than at Café Di Stasio. I can’t wait to get back.

Wolfing it down

Things at my afternoon job are moving at a gallop. We’re probably the only print media company in the world that is actually expanding. We’ve started new titles and now have more staff from all corners of the Melbourne map.
What better way to put it in perspective than to have a meet and greet dinner for the senior staff at Mr Wolf in St Kilda. Great food, great wine (OK, it was a pinot fest) and some very fine single malt to end, proving that we’re all one big, happy family.

A new case

I just got a case of my favourite French quaffing wine … Macon Villages Chardonnay … from Vintage Cellars. The last case I got was $10.99 a bottle. It’s now $13-odd a bottle, but it really is good drinking.
And speaking of good drinking, I’ve had a couple of bottles lately of a Rocland Estate blend (51 per cent marsanne, 31 per cent viognier, 18 per cent rousanne) from Swords Wines in the South Melbourne Market. It’s $18 a bottle and, I reckon, is one of the better blends to come out of McLaren Vale.
In fact, I started a bottle late yesterday afternoon while I was busy with a huge pot of spag bol sauce for dinner and to stock the freezer.

The good oil

Truffles have played a reasonable role recently. I cooked my goat snags (they were fantastic) and with them had steamed cavallo nero with runny brie strewn through it and a splash of lemon-infused olive oil, and spuds with lots of butter and truffle shavings. Maybe it wasn’t the most healthy meal I’ve ever had, but it tasted good. Any anyway, everything is OK in moderation.
‘I followed up with scrambled, truffle-infused eggs on toast with a handful of chopped chives. The eggs were stored with truffle and the shell, being as porous as it is, absorbs the smell. It was heaven on a stick.
I also made some truffle oil.
A nice clean, washed wine bottle (there’s never a shortage of them at my joint), filled with extra virgin olive oil and the last of my truffle. About six shavings did the trick.
I’ll give it time to infuse, so I won’t use it for a week or three. Then it’s game on.

Simply the best

Burger chains may sponsor the Olympics and the AF’n’L, but for me there is just one.
After a longer-than-usual day at work on Thursday, I opted for an Andrews hamburger. It seems to have become a once-a-week treat for me. And I do mean treat. For anyone who hasn’t checked it out, do it.
I wrote a piece for Greg, the owner, a while ago. Perhaps it explains what I’m on about. It reads:
“Love is a must.”
With those four words, Greg Pappas, the owner of the iconic Andrews Hamburgers on Bridport Street in Albert Park, sums up the secret to his success.
It’s a love for the best-possible ingredients, cooked to perfection by Greg’s mother, Georgia… it’s a love for his customers who travel from far and wide … it’s his love for the Sydney Swans (but that’s another story).
And the customers do travel. Some come in luxury convertible cars, some by bicycle, others come by tram, and for some it’s a regular-as-clockwork walk .
Another Melbourne icon, Ron Barassi, said: "I have to get in the car and drive four or five kilometres, so you wouldn’t do that unless you really had a good result. It’s a family show and he’s a mad Swans supporter as well . Apart from that their hamburgers are fantastic and they have very, very good dim sims, their chips are fantastic.”
High praise indeed.
Greg’s uncle, Andrew Georghiou, started the business in 1957 after leaving Cyprus and migrating here at the age of 20.
For the past 53 years, little has changed at the Bridport Street institution. Competitors have come and gone, but Andrews has remained constant, but for a few things to tidy up after a fire in the ’80s. It’s still the same tiled floor and wood panelling and the 1950s menu board is still intact. There’s still a large bottle of Coke on a corner shelf, placed there by Greg’s uncle the day he opened the business in 1957.
Prices have changed. More than half a century ago a burger sold for the equivalent of 10 cents: one with the lot was 18 cents. The mince from the supplier was 20 cents a kilogram.
Greg, who bought the business in 2004, maintains his uncle’s simple but effective approach.
“Everyone says there are secrets, but the basic rule with our burgers is that we have the best produce (he has loyal, long-time suppliers) – the best bacon, the best beef, the best lettuce – and everything is prepared on the day.” It’s just salt and pepper once the meat is on the grille, where the perfect heat is paramount. And the cast-iron grille has never been cleaned with chemical products, a fact that helps the burgers retain a unique flavour.
Perhaps the final word belongs to Matt Preston, judge on TV’s highly successful MasterChef and recently voted the world’s best restaurant critic.
Preston last year published a list (he loves lists) of the Five Things I Get an Irresistible Desire To Consume In Melbourne.
It’s a list, he says, that “provides a fascinating snapshot of the great dishes of Melbourne” … it’s “five that have a special significance because it’s what I craved after five months of living north of the border”.
Number two on Matt Preston’s list: the burger at Andrews.
“… it’s the burger at this Albert Park institution that I get wistful over. It’s a generous sub-$10 feed: the secret is the way the meat has a toasty crunch that is matched by the fresh crunch delivered by pairing shredded drumhead cabbage with the iceberg lettuce that fills the bap”.
More than half a century on and the list of people sharing the world’s best restaurant critic’s craving for Melbourne’s best hamburger continues unabated.
One with the lot, thanks.

Pinot envy

There was a press handout that hit the office during the week and it certainly created some interest. Reckon I’m in for a ticket.
To wit:
THE TASTING FESTIVAL FOR PEOPLE WHO THINK PINOT NOIR ROCKS!
Introducing PINOT PALOOZA, the exciting new pinot noir festival for pinotphiles being held in Melbourne on Sunday 21 October 2012.
The Wine Guide and Dig Marketing Group have joined forces to create an opportunity for those folks who are so crazy about pinot noir, that spending an entire 3.5 hours basking in pinot noir glory just isn’t enough!
More than 90 of the finest pinot noirs from Australia and New Zealand will be on tasting, many of which will be presented by the winemakers. For those who want to turn from pinot noir freaks into pinot noir geeks, they can come into the ‘inner sanctum’ of the Green Room where wine educator and writer Ben Edwards and wine educator Dan Sims will spend 45 minutes taking them through the finer points of this awesome wine.
PINOT PALOOZA will also offer some rockin’ good music and a selection of fine food chosen to match the high notes of these sexy pinot noirs.
As a special Early Bird offer those people who purchase tickets online at pinotpalooza.com.au before Friday 17 August will receive entry into this pinot noir extravaganza for only $50. This excellent price includes a complimentary Riedel Extreme Pinot Noir glass worth $30! Each of the tasting sessions is capped at 350 people so get in early to secure your spot.
WHAT: Pinot Palooza
WHERE: Ormond Hall, 557 St Kilda Road (corner of Moubray St), Prahran
WHEN: Sunday October 21, 2012. Tasting: 11.30 – 15.00 and 16.00 – 19.30.
Green Room Masterclass: 11.00 & 12.30 and 15.30 & 17.45.
TICKETS: General admission: $50 before Friday August 17 and $60 after this date.
Admission includes a Riedel Extreme Pinot Noir Glass worth $30, a copy of the James Halliday Wine Companion Magazine, a bottle of gorgeous San Pellegrino or Acqua Panna mineral water. Food will be available for purchase.
Green Room Masterclass: The Green Room Masterclass can be booked individually at a cost of $50 per session additional to general admission ticket.
MORE: pinotpalooza.com.au

Not bad for starters

Being the slack arse that I am, I still have two cars, a Subaru Forrester and a Toyota Landcruiser ute.
I bought the ute with the idea that I’d go back on the road for another look at Australia. Suffice to say, circumstances that developed and then faded conspired against me.
I’ve been driving the ute (cos I enjoy it) but the time has come to sell it. Any takers … ’05 and it has done just 110,000.
The bottom line was that I hadn’t driven the Forrester for almost five weeks.
I was prepared to get the jumper leads but thought I’d give it a go.
It fired up first time.

Making cents

Speaking of cars, I’m always on the lookout for change to feed the parking ticket machine at the office for my arvo job.
Suffice to say, I’ve usually got a pocket full of coins.
I’ve taken to putting all the five cent coins into a bag with the idea of giving them to one of the homeless blokes that I usually see up the street from my place.
I waited until there was about five bucks (give or take a coin or two) and headed up the street to buy a baguette.
I was on the lookout for a bloke, the one with the face tatts. Most locals are a bit afraid of talking to him and he doesn’t get too many donations.
Bingo. I wandered over to him and handed him the bag of coins and apologising because they were five cent coins.
“Thanks brother,” he said before giving me a hug. “You’re a good fella.”
There’s a good lesson in that. Don’t judge people on the way they look. And give.

Ah, the good life ... and then some

I just had a call from my son, Liam, in Vanuatu. He lives in Port Vila, but for a few days he and his girlfriend, Dan, are on Espiritu Santo.
“Reckon we live on the wrong island,” he said. “This place is unbelievable.
“We went to Champagne Beach (which is supposed to be in the world’s top 10 beaches), but we’ve found a better one. Port Olry.
“Lunch on the beach today is, and get this, it’s 20 bucks a head, a lobster, a coconut crab, some other crabs and fish. Seriously, 20 bucks a head and it includes cold beers.”
Yeah, thanks for that.

Comeback time … and nobody knows the truffle I’ve seen

Blogging’s a bit like having a drink. There are times when it becomes a regular thing; there are times when you just can’t be bothered (that’s more likely to happen with blogging rather than the fruit of the vine).
Sometimes you need a fix. You know, those times when you’ve had a biggie on a Saturday night and by about four the next afternoon it’s probably time for a hair of the dog.
Blogging has been like that for me. Call it winter hibernation, whatever you want to call it. For many and varied reasons, I’ve put the blogging glass away for the past few weeks. But now, it seems, it’s time for a hair or the blog.
It’s hard to know where to start because there has been lots of good food, good wines, a bit of culture via the opera, some gardening, plenty of hard work, lots of friends (old and new), the odd new responsibility and some parenting … among other things.
One of my priorities has been to clean up the backyard and get the food supply (such as it is/was) into some semblance of order.
I somehow managed to fill the ute with shit of various forms to take to the local tip, and reorganise my supply of pots. I have just two small patched of dirt in my yard, one of which is home to a (newish) lemon tree and the other to two chilli bushes that are self-sown bushes from a tried and true variety. They last about five years, grow to more than two metres tall and yield several kilos of little firecrackers that have lots of poke.
I’ve added some coriander, flat-leafed parsley, a few varieties of mint, nasturtiums, chives, some rainbow chard, oregano, sage, thyme (three) and a native lemon myrtle. Yeah, and there’s also an olive tree and I also planted a few flowers. Well, you’ve gotta have some colour.
It’s a nice thing to come home from work with nothing planned for dinner. What to do? Do the rounds of the garden, pick a big bunch of herbs and a chilli, chop them all finely, mix with some olive oil and toss through some pasta and grate some parmesan over the top. Viola! Dinner in just eight minutes.
And now for something completely different. Opera.
Regular readers will know that my usual haunt, Lina’s in Albert Park, holds occasional opera nights. And so it came to pass a few of weeks ago.
There’s something kinda nice about having a rare steak and frites dinner (with greens on the side), a bottle of tempranillo (a bloody cracker that has become my regular tipple of late) and being entertained by my mate, Ben (he’s a tenor) and big Ed, a Samoan who played rugby (he’s a big unit) before discovering that his bass baritone voice was an easier living than being at the bottom of a scrum.
These guys, accompanied by a girl on the piano, took turns in wowing the crowd (it was packed) in between sets from a duo who play French café-type jazz.
Musically, it was a great night.
I ended up out the front having a smoke and chatting to big Ed. I asked him where he stood on popular (read rock) music and his response amazed me.
“I used to sing in the backing group of an Elvis tribute band,” he said. My flabber was gasted. I reckon I know the words to hundreds of Elvis songs. Suddenly we launched into song, (I think it was Don’t be Cruel … to a heart that’s true) me singing the lead and Ed doing the backing. It ended too quickly (great fun though) because the lure of another tempranillo won out.
The whole shebang was packing up and I did the honourable thing and offered to carry the piano to a car. Too easy, and I did.
Back inside having a drink with the piano player, she said that she had seen me around the village quite a bit (there’s a surprise). I decided to ask her whether she’d like to catch up for coffee but she beat me to it. “Would you like my phone number?” Well yeah.
Ben (he of Logan Musical Events) staged an opera concert at the Melbourne Town Hall a week later.
The music was from the Verismo genre by composers Puccini, Mascagni, Leoncavallo and Giordano. It was also the debut performance of The Australian Concert Orchestra conducted by Stephen Mould and managed by principal cellist Chris Howlett. It was brilliant.
The players were joined by Opera Australia tenor Rosario La Spina, bass baritone Gary Rowley and sopranos Donna-Maree Dunlop and Ariya Sawadivong. Rosario was a knockout.
Oh, and my mate, Hanks, was the very effective door bitch.
About the only downside was a quick after-show drink with my friend, Maria, in the bar at The Weston Hotel across the road. We settled by the fire for a chat and a glass of Veuve (just the one because she was driving). We made it last about half an hour. Time to go and I headed to the bar, white silk scarf trailing behind me (well, it was opera) to pay. Sixty bucks for two glasses. Man, that’s some mark-up.
In a shock twist, Lina’s beckoned for a few before heading off into the night.

ROLL ON OCTOBER

My youngest son, Joel, is in a share house with some friends and, many good things in life, it’s about to come to an end with each of them going their separate ways.
It seemed logical for him to move in with his old man, given that he works bullshit hours as a croupier at the casino and lives far enough away to be in another country in Europe.
He was very lucky a couple of weeks ago when he and his friend, Mel, (she was driving) clipped a broken-down car in the left lane of the freeway (the driver didn’t bother to pull over into the emergency lane). Their car spun wildly and, thank God, didn’t roll. It ended well.
Gotta say I’m looking forward Jo moving in. Perhaps his sensible attitude (no drinking, smoking, etc) to just about everything will rub off on me. I hope so.

STORM THE BASTILLE

I was invited to my friend Pippa’s house on Bastille Day to celebrate her birthday. And what a cracker night it was. My mate, Hanks, and I armed with French wines and black berets cadged a lift with the rare and lovely Toni to the wilds of Bentleigh.
Toni’s a hoot. She blogs at Style Weekly. Have a read at www.styleweekly.com.au.
The company and dinner was a great combination. Pippa, Michael (he did the cooking with some help from Toni), Charles, Hanks and me.
Oysters, grilled asparagus with almonds, beef Wellington, potato gratin, and cheesecakes were the order of the night, each one a triumph … washed down with French bubbles and wines of all sorts.
I even took the time to serenade Toni (she actually suggested that I can sing).
She responded by painting some bright red nail polish on my pinkie. It does look incongruous alongside the silver skull ring on my wedding finger (it must seem like a sort of anti-wedding ring, but it really isn’t. I just like it).
I had a drink with Toni on Friday night and she was surprised that the nail polish was still intact. So there.

WINE BARGAINS

And speaking of drinks, there are a couple that regularly make it to dinner with me of late.
Vintage Cellars has a special at the moment … Macon Village chardonnay … and at $10.99 a bottle (by the case), it’s a steal. It’s not, mind, a great wine, just one that’s very, very drinkable.
The French chard’s partner in crime at my place is a durif … Date Brothers 2004 … available at Sword’s wines at the South Melbourne Market. It’s on special at two for $30 and I grabbed a case yesterday. It’s full of liquorice, smooth tannins and is bloody good value given it has a bit of age about it.
Yesterday was local farmers’ market day in my neighbourhood. For a change, I got there early, had my usual cup of chai and gave the wallet a workout.
To wit: organic cavalo nero, organic kipfler spuds, an 11-gram piece of black truffle, six truffle-infused eggs (in a glass jar) and some goat sausages (they’re amazingly lean with, it seems just enough fat).
A trip later to the regular market yielded some brie, Gruyère, Spanish anchovies, dips, cornichons, pastrami and a baguette.
Yeah, it’s gonna be a good week for food at Chateau Mick.

IN THE CHAIR

My editor, Eils, at my afternoon job decided on some R&R recently and left me in the chair. It was a good week and seemed to go well.
But the following Monday it was with some trepidation that I walked into the office.
“You did good,” she said as she gave me a hug.
Gotta be honest here and say that, yeah, it was OK, but only because Eils did all (and I do mean all) the hard work before she left.

Retirement? Not on my watch

If ever I wanted confirmation that we live in a disposable society (and I didn’t), it came at the weekend and showed me that some of the kids of today just don't get it.
Now, I have a watch ... a 17-jewel movement, solid-gold watch given to me by my grandmother for my birthday in 1966. It's still a thing of beauty and I still get a kick out of the fact that I have to wind it every day ... yeah, it doesn't have a battery.
A bit like its owner, age has wearied it a tad ... the winder mechanism has worn a bit ... reckon after 46 years everything wears a bit and it's hard to get the part to repair it, but I do. (My personal winder is still in working order for what it's worth.)
I go to the same jeweller in South Melbourne about every 18 months or so and get it serviced or fixed when the need arises.
As I did last Saturday. There was a kid on duty in the shop ... about 18 or so, a really personable young fella and I'm guessing it was his first job.
I explained that I was somewhat of a regular because of my watch.
I was blown away when he said: “Perhaps it’s time to get rid of it and get a new one.”
Apart from the fact that it is (I have been told … and it was something offered, not asked for) worth about four grand (probably more given that the estimate was given to me about 10 years ago), it’s part of my life, a tangible link to my long-departed grandma. It’s something I’ll have and use until I eventually step off the coil. I love it.
My grandma, by the way, always put lots of thought into her gift giving.
I still have my first Esky – a blue, galvanised-iron number that holds just a six pack – which she gave me when it had become apparent that six packs would play a constant part in my life. Yeah, she could read the signs early.

PAR FOR THE COURSE

Speaking of age wearying things, I had a hit at the local golf driving range three days ago with some mates.
Reckon in the main I hit them pretty well.
But it hit back. Three days on and the pain of using muscles long idle is finally subsiding.
I guess that means it has to become a regular thing to avoid three days of feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus.