When life gives you lemons (and a bottle of grappa) make Limoncello. But do your research first.

Last Saturday night, in a fit of post-Collingwood-loss-to-Hawthorn-crankiness, I needed a domestic distraction to keep myself busy and prevent the usual depressive dwelling that follows after a disastrous Magpies defeat.

Holey socks were darned, folded and put away; dinner was Thai takeaway and a bottle of wine in an hour’s time; the bathtub gleamed from a thorough bleaching and the carpets had been vacuumed to within a millimetre of the skirting boards. What was there left to do?

I spied the ¾ full bottle of grappa on my drinks trolley and a bowl of lemons and decided I would make Limoncello. Without bothering to do any research, and based on a half-assed-barely-remembered conversation with a work colleague from about a year ago, I dug out an empty 750ml glass bottle with a rubber stopper/seal, a potato peeler, nine lemons and the bottle of grappa. I remembered the first step – infusing a clear, base spirit with natural lemon oil. The other stuff (sweetening and diluting it) happens later. Obviously, I know enough to get started.

I washed the bottle in hot soapy water, rinsed it thoroughly, then put it in a hot oven for 10 minutes to sterilise and dry. While that was happening, I peeled the lemons carefully, ensuring I didn’t scoop up too much of the pith then shoved the peels through the narrow neck of the bottle until it was half full. I then poured the grappa over the peel, but wasn’t able to fill the bottle. Not enough grappa, damn. Aha, that’s when the bottle of Ciroc vodka (also grape-based) came in handy – I topped up the bottle with the vodka, inserted the rubber stopper and stuck it on the bottom shelf of my pantry cupboard.

Four days later, the grappa is turning a bright, fluoro yellow and the peels have faded to a dull cream colour. I know that in 4-6 weeks, I should remove the peels and top up the bottle with sugar syrup and then let it steep in the freezer for another 4-6 weeks, after which it will be ready for drinking.

Okay, NOW, I decide to do some research. Bless the internet and the staff at that amazing bottle shop on Queen Street. Apparently, I have flubbed my first attempt at Limoncello.

Why? How?

It appears grappa with 40-50% alcohol content isn’t strong enough and will take FOREVER to extract the full amount of lemon oil (try 6-8 weeks). The nice lass at the bottle shop recommended I replace the old peels with a fresh batch in a couple of weeks to really enhance the lemon essence.

Apparently, the base alcohol for extracting the lemon oil should be the strongest you can get – like 180 proof ‘Spiritus’ a flavourless Polish spirit with a 95% alcohol “DANGER: BLINDNESS AND NUMBNESS IN YOUR FINGERS AHEAD” label slapped on it. In the USA you would use Everclear (AKA moonshine). I understand it’s illegal in some American states…

One 700ml bottle of ‘Spiritus’ can be spread out over 3-4 750ml bottles of lemon peel (you only pour in enough to cover the peels), will take 6-7 days to extract the oil, and can be topped up with equal parts grain vodka (40% alcohol is fine) and sugar syrup straight after. Easy peasy. The closest you’ll get to the real deal in a third of the time it will take me to make my crappy first-time concoction.

Oh well.

By mid September, it should be good enough to pour over ice in a long glass, add some mint, a wedge of lime and topped up with tonic water. I hope.

In the meantime, I will get started on another batch using the right base and see how that goes.

Stay tuned for Limoncello updates.

Badass of the Week - Internet Site of a Laughtime

It's not often I stumble across something on the internet that makes me laugh so hard I choke on my cuppa Dilmah, but that's exactly what happened last Sunday morning, whilst enjoying a lazy breakfast in bed.

I was searching for some information about Lachimman Gurung, venerated WW2 Gurkha rifleman and Victoria Cross recipient, to share with military-history nerd Muddy (don't all wives do that?), and came across the site www.badassoftheweek.com

Written by Seattle-based writer Ben Thompson, baddassoftheweek is devoted to the heroic (read:deadly) exploits of men, women, animals, mythical and fictional characters, deities, saints, countries (Australia) and military battalions that have embodied 'badassery' in its many forms - extreme violence in the pursuit of a greater good (or just plain old-fashioned revenge), sexual prowess, resilience, ruthless dedication, danger, courage, strength and insane fearlessness.

Written in a style that is part frat-boy, part star-struck adolescent, all erudite motherfucker, badassoftheweek is hysterically funny and extremely informative. There's a generous dose of Australian subjects in his big list, including Australia itself - "The most badass continent on earth, this place has fucking TREES that can kill you" - PLUS, Albert Jacka VC, Rupert Murdoch, Ned Kelly, Steve Irwin, Australian Light Horse, Cliff Young and Nancy Wake (yeah, yeah she was born a Kiwi, but still).

The best entry so far (I still have so many to read) is the one about the octogenarian shepherd and crazy-man Yusuf Alchagirov who, in late 2013, survived a Grizzly Bear attack near his home in some godforsaken Russian/Georgian craphole by engaging in a fistfight with the said bear. Yep. Fistfight. Including headbutting and ball-kicking:

"...his feet dangling like that dude being choked out by Darth Vader at the beginning of the first Star Wars movie, HEADBUTTED THE FUCKING BEAR IN THE FACE WITH HIS FOREHEAD......then he kicked it in the balls. A lot. I'm not joking."

Eventually growing tired and bored with all this scrapping, the bear promptly tosses the shepherd off a cliff. And yet the old man survives, making him, according to Thompson, "...the Jamaican bobsled team of kicking bears in the dick." Gold.

There are subjects you'd expect to see here (Chuck Yeager, Audie Murphy, Joan of Arc, Boudicca, Evil Knievel) and some you wouldn't (St. Nicholas, Stephen Colbert??? Read them and you'll see why). There are more than a few notable women ('ballsy chicks'), scientists, WW2 vets, philosophers, ancient Greeks and Medieval European nutters. He also harbours a curiously sweet fixation for Gurkha soldiers. Don't we all? Better die than be a coward.

Some additional contenders Thompson might want to add to his bureau of badasses: Thor Heyerdahl, Phoolan Devi and Yılmaz Güney. Just a thought.

Check out badassoftheweek. You'll learn something new and have a real good larf.

Paging Captain Delusion: I'm Talking to You, John Turturro

One of the greatest perks of being the writer/producer/director/chief egomaniac of your own TV show or movie is the opportunity to indulge your various delusions about your attractiveness to the opposite sex.

Think of Tina Fey casting buff, chiselled pretty-man James Marsden as Liz Lemon's 'Ken Doll' boyfriend Criss Cross in the later seasons of 30 Rock, or alleged serial pervert Woody Allen, who has spent a 40-year long career casting a whole host of luscious lovelies whom we are expected to believe would marry/fuck that creepy little troll without a moment's hesitation (or a soup tureen's worth of Rohypnol-laced champagne).

Similarly, Ms Lena Dunham had no problems casting a tasty bit of beige beefcake Patrick Wilson as her grown-up-boyfriend-for-a-day in the episode "One Man's Trash" in Season 2 of Girls - even if some viewers had problems watching it.

Clearly, it's good to be the King.

Nothing, however, comes close to the staggeringly unswallowable premise of Fading Gigolo, a film that invites paying audiences to believe that women played by the likes of Sharon Stone and Sofia Vergara would actually consider handing over their hard-earned green to be fucked by John Turturro. With the lights on. No paper bag. That's right, boys and girls, John Turturro. Or Barton Fink for those of you who remember the 90s.

John Turturro is a man you could charitably describe as 'having a character face' or 'what he lacks in conventional good looks he makes up for with charisma'. I am not so charitable. I will describe Mr Turturro the only way I know how:

'John Turturro has a face like a busted arsehole and a voice like an underwater fart through a clarinet. His head is easily re-purposed as a Brillo pad.'

No wait, I AM being charitable.

That a vanity project like Fading Gigolo can actually attract investors, distributors and art-house audiences (yeah, Torn and Silky - I'm talking to YOU!) is a sure sign that we have collectively lost the plot. But since Mr Turturro has gone to such lengths to revive his flagging career by throwing reason, good taste and credibility out the window, please consider the following variations on his delusional theme. And trust me when I tell you, I would actually pay to see these films:

Heavy Hooker

Rebel Wilson plays a transplanted Australian barista in Nolita whose coffee-shop "Have You Bean Downunder?" goes belly (sorry) up. She enlists the pimping service of bubbly retired transit cop Melissa McCarthy and has sex with The Two Ryans - both Reynolds AND Gosling. Separately AND AT THE SAME TIME. Throw in a nude twerking sequence set to "Blurred Lines" and we're good to go.

Venerable Courtesan

Kathy Bates is a retired sign-language teacher looking to supplement her meagre 401K by turning tricks with the help of her sprightly buddy Shirley Maclaine, and has sex with Dennis Quaid, Harrison Ford, Jeff Bridges, Kevin Costner and Denzel Washington. All of whom PAY HER for the privilege. James Caan makes a cameo appearance, but alas, is not tied to the bed and hobbled in a BDSM session gone wrong.

Portly Paramour

Kathleen Turner - as she looks now - is forced to close down her soft furnishings boutique after a Scandinavian design concept store (Kum Haard) moves into her chi-chi neighborhood and forces her out of business. Her best friend, Roseanne Barr, insists she pay her way out of bankruptcy by charging for sex. Which she does - with the likes of Tom Cruise, Bradley Cooper and Brad Pitt.

Film buffs' in-joke: William Hurt has a cameo as a cable-TV repairer who's caught watching Body Heat on her TV and wondering aloud about what happened to the actress.

There’s a free home-cooked lamb dinner for anyone who can get these ideas green-lit.

Your pitch time starts now.