Libertine
A holiday is not really a holiday unless there’s a lunch at Libertine. For a while, I thought this tradition was going to go unmarked during this break, but I managed to sneak one in.
The lunch menu changes weekly, but there’s always some manner of steak frites on offer and I can never go beyond that for the main. It was being offered with bearnaise, which seemed perfect for the bright but chilly weather. There was sparkling to start, a glass of red to continue, some fromage de meaux to finish and a generally satisfying afternoon.
Gingerboy
A last-minute call from my Cutler & Co lunch companion had me headed out the door and towards Crossley Street before the phone had time to click back into the receiver.
The son-in-law eggs have been recommended by many Gingerboy afficionados, so they were a given. We also ordered some of the pork dumplings to start and the waitress, noting that both came in portions of three, sensibly offered to alter to two and four. Perfect. The eggs came with a gorgeously rich chilli jam and instructions that they should be eaten “in one bite”. Usually the LC and I are chopsticks at dawn with any kind of shared starters, but this instruction had both of us hanging back to observe the other’s technique. Finally I decided to Cool Hand Luke it. Well, I did chew, hiding my bulging cheeks behind my hand, but I do wish there was some way of savouring the egg as it really was beautiful but gone too soon.
We couldn’t go past braised ox cheeks, and the LC has something of an obsession with duck curry, so our shared larger dishes tended to the rich side. Rich, and delicious.
Can’t wait to go back to Gingerboy! As for Libertine, I’ve already booked another lunch (so glad they’re now open on Saturdays).
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*Until the next one, that is…
The name of the Infinite Jest reading challenge might be seasonally inappropriate (it has never felt less like summer, although the infinite has some resonance right now), but I’m now 12 days into it and starting to feel as though it’s not only achievable, but highly enjoyable.
When the book arrived in the post, I was intimidated by it’s heft. And by all the tips on how best to tackle this monster. It started to feel as though it was going to be punishment and I read for pleasure rather than pain. Still, I gamely printed off the custom-made bookmarks (complete with schedule) and laminated two of them: one to keep my place in the text and one for the endnotes, as advised. I signed up to the Google app somebody had ingeniously created to track reader progress against the deadlines. I added a column for #infsum in my Tweetdeck. And, on 21 June, I started reading.
read more…
North Melbourne has been my home now for about nine years. When we first moved here, it bore only a superficial resemblance to the suburb I’d worked in 12 or so years before. The Town Hall pub had changed – it was still a bit grungy, but in a comfortable way. The 80s pink and black “El Dorado” on Leveson Street, once a stop on the after-work drinks circuit for cheap pots and massive plates of nachos, was undergoing a transformation into a polished concrete-and-glass bistro/pub. The Court House, which I’d remembered as my alcoholic boss’ last resort when escaping the office and which was always my last resort on the many occasions I had to trawl the pubs to retrieve him, closed soon after we arrived to re-open as a renowned and soon-to-be-hatted restaurant attached to a cosy pub bar.
Since we’ve lived here, there have been more changes. The lovely Libertine opened around the corner, Sosta Cucina took over where a rather uninspired noodle bar once stood, Oskar opened and continues to thrive, Burger Republic – now Urban Burger – covers meat-in-bread cravings, coffee is roasted, pastries are made, and a number of interesting little bars and cafes of all sizes have settled in to the area. Things continue to change, with the newsagent moving (twice) in the past six months, leaving all sorts of possibilities for their vacated premises. I’m sure those vacancies won’t be filled, as I would like, by bookshops or hardware stores, but I’m fairly confident that we’ve reached saturation point with hairdressers so I remain optimistic.
Some things haven’t changed.
read more…
Fuschia Dunlop’s books on the food of Sichuan and Hunan are go-to books in this house. The recipes we’ve tried from them have always worked, and she writes so well – even of things I normally dislike – that I’ve even been tempted to try the exploding pig kidneys. Tempted. But not that tempted.
Given how reliable her recipes are, I’m not sure what prompted the cook to search for an alternative recipe for a hotpot stock, but I’m glad he did. It’s the most I’ve laughed in ages.
The always interesting New York Times “Lens” blog features On Assignment: Covering Tehran, work by Iranian photojournalist Newsha Tavakolian. The interview is engaging, but it is the images that really speak.
As demonstrations continue in Iran, more information is emerging about the legitimacy of the election, including reports from some districts where voter turnout was greater than 100%. Protests in support of disenfranchised Iranians continue around the world – #iranelection on Twittersearch is a good place to find local action.
Hands up who’s heard of the Phonographic Performance Company of Australia1? This quaintly-named organisation might soon get your attention when silence overwhelms our cities and suburbs. Or so Cameron Houston suggests.
The PPCA has shown that it has its finger on the pulse of contemporary culture with its bid to increase music licensing fees for restaurants, cafes, bars, pubs, shops, hairdressers and gyms. One of the proposed fee increases is a dizzying 4729 percent.
This grab for cash seems to be predicated on the belief that having artists’ music played in public places is a privilege for the business playing it, rather than for the artist. It seems to overlook the fact that having new music played in cafes, shops etc can lead to people who were otherwise only going to buy a coffee to head off to buy some new music. It also seems to assume that music is, in itself, a drawcard to businesses rather than – at best – mere background noise or – at worst – a complete turn-off.
So, what impact could this have? If business can’t, or won’t, pay the licence fees they can opt to play music that’s out of copyright. Wouldn’t that be a tragedy! Some decent jazz, classical, mid-20th century… I think I could easily live with that.
If Fitness First is being honest and not predatory, gym fees would rise by five bucks a month. This is ludicrous – I never visit the gym without my iPod, and most other people working out are similarly equipped with their own personal soundtracks. I also rarely attend classes, which would be what would attract the fee. When I do I’ve been known to go home and buy a track I’ve heard to add to my cardio playlist. A person can’t workout to Daft Punk forever, after all.
I doubt that this is going to be the day the music died – but I am hoping that American Pie is still under copyright, because… regular playing of that song would completely suck.
1 I wonder how many technological advances there’ll be before the Phonographic Performance Company of Australia considers a name change?
I’ve never heard such a buzz around a restaurant before. Maybe that’s partly due to the explosion of Twitter, but I think even in the “old” media Cutler & Co has made an splash of unprecedented volume.
A happy coincidence of a day off on the one day a week C&Co opens for lunch meant that this was my first real opportunity to go. When I made the call to book I had a bit of a wait while the person on the other end of the phone checked to see if we could be fitted in. On arrival to a completely empty restaurant we laughed about the lengths some people go to in order to present an image of desirability. “Ho!”, we scoffed, “I guess they managed to s-q-u-e-e-z-e us in!”. Twenty minutes later, as we surveyed an absolutely packed dining room and a bar that was also beginning to fill up, we were grateful to whatever gastronomic gods had smiled at us for the table.
… and when in time is Stephen Colbert going to be in the Persian Gulf?”
The particularly catchy jingle that goes with these words has been stuck in my head over the past few weeks, so it’s good to get the following answers from the New York Times:
Iraq and now.
We’re getting close to a “top ten” in the first season of Masterchef Australia. Barring a Biggest Loser twist, this means that one of the contestants on our screens will be the first winner. In addition to the rather vague promise of either working “alongside Australia’s top chefs”/”in Australia’s top restaurants”, this person will also take home $100,000 and will publish a cook book .
A cook book? It’s as though the show’s creators looked at Idol and decided that the equivalent to a recording contract for a singer would be a publishing deal for a cook. The difference, of course, is that throughout a singing competition the audience hears the competitors perform – they know what they are in for when they buy a recording or tickets for a concert tour. During Masterchef, viewers watch the contestants cook but cannot taste their offerings and – in the case of Masterchef Australia – can’t always rely on the judges to do it for them. There’s also a difference in the level of “investment” – the risk/reward. If you like an Idol winner, the $1.99 you spend on iTunes for the single will have no surprises: you’ve already heard the song. The album – if it’s ever released – will only set you back around $16.00. If it’s utter garbage, no biggie. Even if the Masterchef winner is a particular favourite, a cookbook is around $50. It’s a riskier purchase.
