2014 - Recapping the year that was

Howdy folks,

We're getting to that time of the year where we pause and reflect on the year that was. What have been the extra-special discoveries of 2014? What pearls of wisdom have we acquired in the last twelve months? What have been our highlights and our lowlights?

For me, 2014 has been a real mixed bag of nuts. Truly, there have been some awful raw hazelnuts among the salty, fatty yummy roasted cashews. But life is like that - we have to take the good with the bad.

So I have compiled this list of the Best and Worst of 2014 and hope that you read it exactly the way you would shove your hand in the proverbial Nobby's Bag of Nuts and see what you pull out...

1.  Going to New York City with Muddy Karpitz was definitely the salty cashew AND roasted macadamia of 2014. Despite the nose-numbing cold and snow and wind and sleet, this was a magical experience for both of us. We ate, drank, walked, strolled, inhaled and absorbed as much of this wonderful, crazy place as we could in the 13 days we had at our disposal. Beers in Brooklyn, snowmen in Central Park, brunch in the West Village and hot salted caramel donuts in Chelsea. Extraordinary.

2. Taking on a new role at work was more of a salted peanut than a cashew. Still good though. And I happen to be working with a very capable bunch of people in a challenging environment. Always good for the brain cells. It's been exhausting, exhilarating and excruciating in equal parts.

3. My mother's illness and major surgery. In September, my poor mam underwent 5 hours of surgery to remove a bowel tumour AND a hernia. Needless to say, this was bloody tough for her, requiring a two-week stay in hospital. But bless her, for a 78-year-old, her subsequent recovery (no rehab required) was nothing short of astonishing. She's all-clear and fighting fit and as cranky and foul-tempered as ever. Great stuff, mum! Now get back in the kitchen.

4. Muddy K's being awarded a Doctorate of Philosophy is most definitely the salty cashew, macadamia AND roasted peanut in this bag. An awesome achievement and culmination of a near five-year epic effort - well done to you Muddy! The academic world beckons - go forth and set it alight!

5. The police killings in Ferguson, Missouri and Staten Island (NY) respectively. In both cases, a Grand Jury (essentially the US equivalent of our committal proceedings) did not believe there was sufficient grounds to lay charges against the police officers who killed an (unarmed) 18 year old and (also unarmed) 43 year old. I found it astonishing that neither of these cases were deemed serious/complex/doubtful enough to warrant prosecution in a court of law, in the presence of a judge and jury, with expert witnesses thrashing out the details under oath. Did I miss something?

6. My cousin’s cancer diagnosis on top of a pre-existing kidney disorder. A waiting game for him, his immediate family and extended network of friends and family, this will be an especially poignant Christmas for all of us.   

7. #I'llridewithyou. Not a fan of hashtivism at the best of times, I was ready to cynically dismiss this as a bit of a Lefty-soft-cock-solution in the face of an imaginary problem. That is, until a hijab-wearing colleague reported being verbally harassed and abused whilst riding on public transport on the first night of the Sydney siege. That'll learn me. And if anyone out there decides to indulge in a spot of vilification in public, or indeed in private, #I'llbitchslapyouyouworthlessgobshite

8. Tony Abbot's defence of his Thomas Cromwell/Luca Brasi/Al Neri/Tom Hagen-all-rolled-into-one bouncer Peta Credlin against her critics, claiming their criticisms were motivated by sexism. Really, Tones? Really? That's the only shot you had in the proverbial locker????

9. Season 2 of House of Cards. Everything but the raw bitter hazelnut here. Notwithstanding the dodgy (and unintentionally funny) threesome involving their factotum and house-robot Meechum, Frank and Clare Underwood are seriously the most glorious political scumbags ever to disgrace the small screen. Darker, nastier and with much less in common with the British original than Season 1, this was seriously awesome telly. More please. 

10. Attending my niece and nephew's school concert and tattoo. There were kiddies singing "The Lion Sleeps Tonight", 8 year olds doing a delightful version of the "Cups" song, bagpipes, drums, Daftpunk and the theme to Flash Gordon (don't ask). Worth the 40 minute drive to some Godforsaken craphole in the South-eastern 'burbs. The kids did their aunt proud.

That's it.

May 2015 bring you all much love, happiness, laughter, joy, success yadda yadda.

Love,

DV

'Twas a dark and stormy night...no, wait, I mean DRINK. A dark and stormy DRINK...

What do you get when you mix 1 part lime-infused soda water with 1 part Bickford's ginger beer cordial and add some (okay a lot of) Captain Morgan's black label spiced rum?

A rather nice and refreshing variation on the traditional rum cocktail known as a Dark and Stormy. (Red Karpitz's and Tiffany Lamp's preferred libation I believe?)

Add a wedge of lime for garnish and taste, drop in a sprig of Dusty's ubiquitous garden-fresh mint, and you have a Dark 'n Dusty, or Dusty and Stormy.

Both names are equally narcissistic.

But the drink is very very tasty. Think of a more textured variation on the vodka-based Moscow Mule.

Pour over a massive ice cube in a highball glass or funky tumbler and enjoy!

Two more punch recipes to wet your whistle and whet the appetite (for salty snacks!)

Folks, though the weather may say otherwise, we are officially in Summer and that means one thing – Summer drinking!

At Karpitz-Venetian Manor, this means ‘punch’, in a punch bowl, retro-style, with cups dangling from the rim and a big fuck-off ladle swishing all the fruity goodness around and ensuring it doesn't all sink to the bottom.  

Here are two awesome recipes I’d like to share - the first of which we made for Muddy’s graduation ‘do’ and can thus vouch for its tastiness. The second will be served up for 2014/2015 NYE.

Punch 1 - SPARKLING APPLE DELIGHT

½ bottle unflavoured vodka (freezer-chilled)

1 700ml bottle De Kuyper Apple Schnapps

2 bottles Appletiser sparkling apple juice

Mix these in a large bowl and top up with enough apple juice (home juiced or store-bought ‘cloudy’ variety). Add some sprigs of fresh mint and 2 cups frozen blueberries.  Stir thoroughly. Enjoy.

Punch 2 - STRAWBERRY DAIQUIRI DUSTY-STYLE

equal parts white and dark rum

1 bottle strawberry VOK

a smidge of coconut liqueur (Malibu or similar) – just a smidge

1 cup light sugar syrup

2 bottles soda water

strawberry puree (fresh strawberries blitzed with a tablespoon of jam in the blender)

Fresh mint sprigs

Whole frozen hulled strawberries

Enjoy irresponsibly. Scull straight from the bowl if you dare!

Shutterbugs, photography nerds and pop culture vultures rejoice!

Photography nerd alert - two things to check out over the coming days, weeks, months:

The documentary Finding Vivian Maier (now showing at the Cinema Nova, Elsternwick Classic and the Belgrave Cameo) and the exhibition Richard Avedon People (running from 6 December 2014 to March 2015 at the Ian Potter Museum of Art, Parkville) should get your shutters fluttering like nothing else.

Finding Vivian Maier is a justifiably feted documentary about Vivian Maier, an eccentric American nanny whose private stash of over 100,000 photographic negatives and assorted films found their way into the hands of John Maloof, a 20-something real estate agent, flea-market hound and amateur historian. The film tells two intertwined stories - his serendipitous good luck and subsequent efforts to have Vivian’s work recognised as some of the best street photography of the 20^th Century (evoking Weegee, Diane Arbus and Robert Frank among others), as well as the strange life of this odd-duck babysitter as she’s remembered by the parents and children for whom she worked. A ripper of a story, exceptionally told.

The reclusive Vivian Maier is a stark contrast to the high-profile Richard Avedon, fashion photographer, celebrity snapper and portraitist whose well-known work spans more than 50 years. Still, his black and white portraits of celebrities are gorgeous and always worth a close-up look, so get down to the University of Melbourne's Ian Potter Museum of Art and check out Richard Avedon People (admission is free!).

Happy snappy!

Shut up and feed me.

Attention ‘Sopranos’ fans.  Remember that episode from Season 6, "Luxury Lounge"?

That's the one where the two Jersey Family idiots, Christopher and Little Carmine try and solicit actor Ben Kingsley's interest in their slasher flick but wind up mugging Lauren Bacall for her award-ceremony goodies bag instead.

It's also the episode in which one of the other Jersey Family idiots and hangers-on, chef and restaurateur Artie Bucco, has a spectacular meltdown before he eventually acknowledges his station in life - as Tony Soprano's goofy, garrulous, perennially put-upon purveyor of free dinners. Artie's epiphany arrives only after a series of brutal humiliations - verbal, physical, emotional – respectively dished out by Tony, psychotic and deceitful Benny Fazio, and Artie’s loyal, exhausted wife Charmaine.

Artie realises he will never be respected by the made-guys, nor desired by the Bada-Bing's strippers, even if he is still much-loved by his trooper of a wife Charmaine. Artie is a gifted chef but an annoying presence (his ham-fisted and desperate attempts to make small-talk with his diners make you sweat with embarrassment), so his restaurant ‘New Vesuvio’ is failing, doomed to survive only by catering to the discount voucher crowd.

The episode's later scenes are especially poignant. Charmaine has just seated a young couple at a table after the restaurant is officially closed, the staff have left and there's no more food left. A battered and bandaged Artie, drained by his trials, insists the couple will get what he gives them, no menu - no options.

Artie is then shown quietly and lovingly cooking a rabbit he'd shot himself (after he caught it helping itself to his precious imported Italian greens in his kitchen garden – another humiliation. Poor Artie) in his beloved restaurant kitchen, from a handwritten recipe in an old family cookbook.  

It’s a beautiful scene, and the camera lingers on Artie’s devoted concentration in a way that makes my mouth water just remembering it. The plump rabbit, the oil, the chopped onions and tomatoes…arghhhh.

Forget HD - I pine for scratch and sniff television.

It’s also a great scene because it highlights exactly what cooking and serving food should be about – making something special out of whatever you have to hand. Being thankful when someone makes you something tasty and delicious and not being a pernickety arsehole about your likes and dislikes.

(I imagined a Saturday Night Live – style parody of this scene where the young couple start listing all their food intolerances and allergies, and Artie finally loses it and comes out wielding a cleaver and hacks the couple to death).

I have been guilty of listing my dos and don’ts when out with friends or just visiting (there are some things I can’t/won’t eat during the Lenten fast and I believe allowing for faith-based food restrictions is a mark of respect even though I know intellectually, they’re ancient and irrational) but this whole gluten-free, wheat-free, did-the-chicken-have-a-humane-death, is-the-cutlery-organic shtick beloved of the modern diner is disrespectful, First-World bullshit - pure and simple.

Just shut up and eat. Just shut up and eat when you’re invited to someone’s home. Respect the chef – just shut up and eat. Ask yourself:

• How lovely is it to sit down and put your tastebuds in the hands of people who know their food and wine? 
• How relaxing is it to sit down at a table adorned with crisp napery, good crystal and good company and not worry about deciphering the menu or mispronouncing the dishes?
• How lovely is it to discover a taste, flavour or texture you’ve never experienced before – and maybe never will again?

The single word answer to all of these questions is 'very'.

 

Note to Artie Bucco – Just shut up and feed me.

Farewell Gough Whitlam (1916 - 2014)

Folks,

I was truly saddened by the death of former Australian Prime Minister Gough Whitlam yesterday morning. His extraordinary social agenda (universal health care and education), foreign policies (establishing diplomatic ties with China and abolishing conscription - thereby Australia's involvement in the Vietnam mire) and his recognition of Australian Aboriginal land rights ensure he will forever loom large in our country's political consciousness.

Here's a little something from 1969:

“When government makes opportunities for any of the citizens, it makes them for all the citizens. We are all diminished as citizens when any of us are poor. Poverty is a national waste as well as individual waste. We are all diminished when any of us are denied proper education. The nation is the poorer – a poorer economy, a poorer civilisation, because of this human and national waste.”

Remember, he burst on the scene in the late 1960s. Think about that for a minute.

He was a big man with a big voice, a big brain and a big vision. I love the fact that Gore Vidal thought he was our 'most intelligent Australian'. He was an unapologetic agnostic - a 'post-Christian' - (try selling American voters on the idea of a non-Christian, non-believing Head of State). He polarised people. To this day, you drop his name at a dinner party at your peril. If you're kindred spirits, there's nothing like the click of shared infatuation.

Which is why there's not a better time to buy, borrow or steal a copy of George Megalogenis' The Australian Moment, a fantastic political, social and economic history of Australia's last 40 years, essentially starting with the Whitlam years.

For people younger than me who struggle to understand why Gough Whitlam is such a polarising figure, this book sheds much-needed light (and startling objectivity) on the policies, people and power-shifts of Whitlam's tumultuous time in office. It smacks our collective - selective - memories in the face. Hard. Really fucking hard.

Get it, read it.

In the meantime, enjoy this one brilliantly witty rejoinder from the Big Man himself, upon being harangued by a pain-in-the-arse voter who wanted to know his position on abortion:

“Let me make quite clear that I am for abortion and, in your case Sir, we should make it retrospective.”

Gold.

RIP.