alteville

Three Short Story Ideas

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Fri, 24 Apr 2015 02:49:00 +0000

Week 7 of Narrative Writing class, this week, our exercise is to develop three story ideas. These will then be discussed and 'pitched' in class to help everyone decide which one they will work up into 3,000 words. Here was the brief:

"We'll be discussing essential short fiction components and everyone should bring three ideas to pitch as their short fiction writing ideas. Think of pitch as a sales endeavour and be prepared to sell your ideas. Practice spending a two minutes talking up each of your ideas. We'll discuss their merits together."

Here are my three story ideas:

Butterface

Vida Butterface lives alone above Café Fountain, in Sydney’s King’s Cross. She lives alone and suffers from lipodystrophy which means she has a very old face but a young body. Kings Cross is not just her home because it’s where she lives. It’s home because amongst the history and sleazy reputation lies a groundswell of acceptance – from the newly-moneyed in their fancy apartments to the downcast who line up outside the Wayside Chapel for a chance to feel human, if only for a few hours. When Vida joins the Honeybees she realises that competition is a level playing field, where the only thing that matters is what you bring, not the package it comes in.

Death Dog

A dog that can smell death approaching other dogs. Sarah, lonely and naïve, who wanted to feel connected to the community. The creepy old man in the lace-fringed mansion. Jewel-encrusted taxidermied domestic pets. An alluring and unsettling new interior decorating trend shaking the foundations of the sparkling, seaside suburb of Mosman. A community of people who run out of fingers to point when their bubble is burst.

Georgina Saint vs Emily Drake

When she started at the small accounting firm, Drakedorf, Georgina could only see her own reflection. Am I wearing the right clothes? Will they regret hiring her? But as she approached the threshold of the third week in her new job (no-one else had lasted so long, the agency were thrilled) the questions started to change. ‘She’s a monster’ whispered one in the bathroom. ‘How is it with Her Ladyship?’ fished another as they both waited for their print outs. And then there was the computer files – a tome of biblical proportions, where ex-colleague A begat ex-colleague B and together went down in the annals of the firm and became the legends of those who went before – a trail of fingerprints and hand-written notes in the margins of scanned documents. Myths of immediate summarial dismissals. Frogmarched from offices by the khaki-clad sentries. Torturous written warnings. Would Georgina join the league of those who had since departed or would she confront Emily Drake, the boss who imprisoned the good actuaries of Drakedorf? Or should she follow her hunch that modern office politics are simply the playing field for mental imbalance and psychopaths, and not trust her colleagues?

I can't wait to see which story 'sticks'. I think of stories as characters, living organisms capable of independant movement. They buzz and whirr and feed in my mind, but sometimes only have short life spans or they can grow tall and wide and tangled.

No room for demons

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Tue, 06 Jan 2015 05:16:00 +0000

Image by Robert Ullman

I’ve been listening to the audiobook version of Amy Poehler’s book ‘Yes Please’. There’s a chapter in which she writes/narrates the sad tale of the demon within us all. It’s the horrible voice that sidles up to you and snaps ‘You have way too much cleavage for that dress’ or ‘Purple eyeshadow is not good on you, you look like you have two plums instead of eyes’ and other less PG rated gripes, moans, cackles and swipes. The best thing about the demon voice in Poehler’s audiobook is that it is read by a deep-voiced man. It could be Seth Meyers, Mike Schur, Eileen Poehler, William Poehler, or Patrick Stewart who all have talent credits in her audiobook. Whoever it is, he made the demon sound like a cross between Barry White, a catcall from a building site and that guy who does the love songs and dedications on 101.7FM who makes me feel queasy. That demon voice turned up in my yoga class the other day.

I do yoga in a gym which means two of the four walls are all mirrors. I turned to my right and the demon voice and I caught a glimpse of my arms raised over my head. ‘Ugh!’ said the demon ‘Those arms and you do not belong in this yoga class. They’re too white . . . ‘
‘Shut up, demon’ I said. ‘I’m here to do yoga, not listen to you’.
The demon slunk to the back of the room and hid behind the swiss balls.I kept on with the yoga, enjoying the stretch, breathing in and out.Later, as I stood in Warrior Two, I gazed out beyond my fingertips and again we caught a glimpse of my reflection. I turned away as quickly as I could, but not fast enough.The demon was by my side in a flash.

‘Dear Lord, you look like a lumpy balloon in that singlet top!’ He droned into my ear. ‘Lumpy!! Balloo”‘F**** off, demon.’ I said ‘I can’t do yoga and listen to you. You’re just going to have to go.’He folded his arms, pouted and disappeared on my next exhalation.

I like that Amy Poehler has given the demon voice a timbre that is not my own.

It makes it easier to differentiate between what the demon says (lies) and what is true (none of it).
Down with demons. Hurrah for clever, smart, funny women.
BTW – if the saying is true that you’re influenced by the 5 people with whom you spend the most time, then lately I’ve been hanging out with Tara Moss, Lena Dunham and now Amy Poehler. I know they’re not really there, but they narrate their own audiobooks and it makes me feel like we’ve had a good sit down and chat.

The Quitter Chronicle: Life without Facebook - Week 5

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Fri, 07 Feb 2014 04:52:00 +0000

Do I have the self-control of a 30 year old . . . or a 13 year old?

And just like that, I was back online.

In a lot of ways Facebook can be as much of a time vortex as shopping can be.

This strange Bermuda Triangle between my need, desire and the enabler (choose between shoe/clothes/homewares/food shopping or Facebook as they all exercise similar powers over me). I can be shopping, decide I need the bathroom, leave the store and head for the bathroom – only to end up there 45 minutes later after I have been to about three stores along the way.

Facebook is much the same. I estimate I have spent about an hour on there over the past week. Not bad, you say? It is if you’ve decided you want a Facebook-free February (and January)!

At least I’m not at the stage where I’m scrolling while I stand, waiting, at the traffic lights. That would be bad.

Not to say that I haven’t enjoyed checking out a few news stories and friend’s updates this past week…

With just three weeks of my challenge left - surely I can give my brain that extra space!?

How long is too long to keep a lipstick?

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Mon, 03 Feb 2014 20:55:00 +0000

My current favourite make up range - Inika.
I promise I have no financial affiliation with Inika -
I just like the way it makes my skin look.

Tears on my pillow, petroleum on my cheeks

I'm in the process of changing my cosmetics and skin care from 'I have no idea what's in this stuff, there's a chance it could have been a by-product from the Exxon Valdez oil spill' to 'organic and natural and not tested on animals and ingredients your grandma would recognise from her garden'.

Aging grace-lessly

I'm swapping over my cosmetics and skin care because it no longer makes sense for me to slather chemicals on my face. And I am starting to see lines and wrinkles that aren't just laugh lines, no matter how often I 'fake laugh' into the mirror to see which ones are laugh lines and which ones are just me ageing less gracefully than I would like.

Doing it for the rabbits

I also feel a sense of environmental responsibility - not just to the ecology around me, but also to the animals who are used for cosmetic testing. If I can vote for change with my cosmetic dollars, why not find out what I can and choose products that are good for me? And good for the rabbits? And the carrots that both the rabbits and I like to eat?

One tube at a time

But the scale of the job can seem overwhelming. I've spend hundreds of dollars on these products and I feel guilty throwing them away. Also - I like to think that if one day I want to wear khaki eyeshadow, it will be there for me. But not at the expense of my health.

How long is too long to keep a lipstick?

I stumbled across the following list of how long to keep make up for, in this great article '25 things to throw out today'. I am assuming as well that the timespan refers to those products that have already had a finger, brush or make-up sponge put into them (not unopened ones) as this is where the bacteria gets in.

Lifespan of cosmetics:

Mascara: Every three months

Foundation: One year

Concealer: 12-18 months

Powder: 18 months

Blush/Bronzer: 18 months

Cream blush: 12-18 months

Eye shadow: 18 months

Eyeliner: 18 months

Liquid eyeliner: 6 months

Lipstick/lip gloss: 18 months

Lip liner: One year

Nail polish: One year

Makeup sponges: Wash after each use, then throw away after a month.

I know I have some stuff older than this! At least this list will make culling the old and rounding up a smaller selection of new products a bit easier.

The Quitter Chronicle: Life without Facebook - Week 4

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Mon, 03 Feb 2014 05:23:00 +0000

I feel like I should have been more specific about the parameters around 'quitting' Facebook.

New friends, new connections

Over the past week or so I have made a few new friends, and it was a joy to be able to connect with them through Facebook - to add more the little I already knew about them. I also posted a party invite there.

So I find myself checking in about once every few days to see if someone has a question.

Finding moments of peace

But I'm not trawling constantly whenever I have a spare minute while waiting at the traffic lights or in the coffee queue. Instead I run an errand or two while the barista prepares my daily hit. Or I reply to a text. Or I just stand and enjoy a moment of doing anything.

I've stopped reading people's updates - not that I don't care, but that the updates will happen when I read them or not and no-one ever had their day made, or ruined, over whether I 'liked' their status or not.

I'm enjoying the space I have created. I may well stay like this when the end of February rolls around.

The Quitter Chronicle: Life without Facebook - Week 3

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Tue, 28 Jan 2014 22:59:00 +0000

www.billabongretreat.com.au

I’m three weeks into my eight week challenge of no Facebook.

Again, I’ve found the need to go back onto Facebook – a need which sprang from a space that had no wifi, no pressure to be on the internet. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

I went on a three day yoga and meditation retreat at the beautiful Billabong Retreat. For three days I ate nothing but organic, vegetarian food, yoga and meditation every day and a massage overlooking a billabong surrounded by towering gum trees and water lilies in full bloom.

So why the desire to connect on Facebook? I met people on the retreat that I had a great time talking to. We helped educate each other about food and wellness. When it came to saying goodbye to these wonderful people, it seemed that the logical way was to connect on Facebook.

So I did. I went back on.

Once the seal was broken I drifted back to it again in an idle moment, but found that most of the news and updates weren’t as interesting as I had once found them.

I also went back onto Facebook as I’m hostinging a party, and Facebook is the best place for setting up events and inviting people. Within the day I had about a third of my invitees accept, which I think was faster than it would have been by email, and certainly by phone.

What I am finding is that Facebook is not having the same role in my downtime than it used to. I’m still on Pinterest quite a bit. I’ve been watching Youtube videos. But I don’t check my phone every time I stop at the lights as I walk across town. And whether it’s because of the peace I feel after Billabong Retreat, or the absence of Facebook, but I am feeling a bit more space in my head at the moment.

Space to let in things like this Pharrell Williams song (yes, I know it’s being overplayed, but that won’t stop me from loving it!)

Anatomy of a LinkedIn Profile

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Wed, 22 Jan 2014 04:21:00 +0000

I’ve been meaning to update my LinkedIn profile. I’ve started working with some international colleagues and it’s helpful for them to get as much info as they can about who I am, and vice-versa.

Also – it’s a good idea to update your profile every 12 months or so. It can even help with your current role as opportunities may open up that are aligned with, and can build on, your previous experience. Businesses might also approach you with products that are better aligned to your needs.

I’ve also been a bit overwhelmed when I look at optimising my profile – so I thought it would be helpful to break it down into smaller pieces.

In fact, 14 smaller pieces . . . I present to you my ‘Anatomy of a LinkedIn Profile’:

1.    Photo – self explanatory.

2.    Headline – Describes you, not nessecarily your position.

3.    Contact info – include as many channels as possible so that people you’re available through their preferred channel.

4.    Activity – This is where your LinkedIn posts are listed. It’s a way to remind your connections that you are there, and to position you as an expert (or at the very least – a professional who is passionate about their chosen field of work!).

5.    Summary – Here’s a chance for people to get a sense of your ‘voice’ from the way you talk about yourself. Include lots of keywords. Include contact details here too so that people who are not in your network can still contact you regarding the business you’re currently in. This can also be helpful to potential new clients who want to reach you but don’t nessecarily want to share all their info by becoming a connection. Be sure to include media: examples of your work. Even better if they have some images as it will help break up the page.

6.    Experience - A chronological listing of your work history. Don’t be afraid to include a lot of detail, so long as it is relevant and you include keywords, sub headings and lists.

7.    Projects – here’s where you can go into detail about specific projects. This helps highlight your capabilities and that of your employers (past and present).

8.    Skills and Expertise - This is where others can endorse you for skills and experience. It only works if you have lots of people who endorse you – which usually happens when you endorse others. The ‘endorse’ function on Linkedin is very ease to use.

9.    Education - Here’s where you list all your education including short courses

10.    Recommendations - A text-based testimonial from someone who has worked with you, and a richer endorsement of you as a professional. Again – works best if you recommend others and others recommend you.

11.    Test results – I don’t have any of these on my profile at the moment – but here’s where you can list IQ or personality tests that might help future employers get a sense of the person you are as a team member or manager. Some of the best profiles I’ve seen have included lots of test results.

12.    Connections - Connect. Connect. Connect. The more you have, the higher your klout rating and the harder you make Linkedin work for you. If we’re all just 6 connections from Kevin Bacon, you want to make sure you have as many feelers out there as possible. I connect with people I meet at BBQs, friends of friends, colleagues, classmates, past colleagues, the list goes on, as it should. If you never know where a connection will lead, you want to be sure to make it as easy as possible for people to find you.

13.    Groups - A good way to demonstrate your commitment to your craft – but don’t join groups you have no intention of interacting with.

14.    Following - The groups you follow indicate your personal and professional interests.

In the coming weeks I will be updating my profile, and compiling a blog post about how to optimise each section of a LinkedIn profile.

The Quitter Chronicle: Life without Facebook - Week 2

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Wed, 22 Jan 2014 03:05:00 +0000

I caved. A little.

I went back onto Facebook for a total of 17 minutes last week.

In the first instance it was to post a message on a the page that I set up for a writing group within my Masters at UTS. Just a quick note to let them know where, and when, to meet and details of how to contact me if anyone needed to (ie not through Facebook). Total time: 55 seconds.

Sucked into the vortex

The second instance drew me in a bit deeper. I went online to post a message in a women’s fitness group I am part of. I’d interested in a local gym, but had read some bad reviews. I wanted to see if anyone wanted to sell their membership (so I didn’t have to commit to a 12 month membership). I also wanted to see if I could find a workout buddy – or at least someone to laugh along with as I crashed my way through the first couple of dance classes.

On the way to the Facebook group page I was headed for, I got a bit distracted.

First by '17 things you want to say in Yoga class, but don’t,'

then 'The Golden Globes most GIF-able moments,'

and finally a heart-melting story about a stranger making a 3 year old’s plane ride the best ever. And it involves turtles.

As the clock ticked over past 10 minutes, I realized that I was being sucked into the vortex of the big, beautiful, digitally connected world. I stopped myself from scrolling any further. I hastily made my way to the page, posted my enquiry, then quickly scampered off the site.

If you want the low down on the chow down you gotta hit the f'book

On Tuesday I was interested in the Sydney Festival and wanted to check out what catering and entertainment options were available. The entertainment option research was fine – the Sydney Festival website had pretty much all the info I needed. But the catering options? The website had very little useful information and I found I was redirected a number of times to catering supplier’s facebook pages in order to find out what they were offering. I think that marketers have all become too dependant on the ease with which Facebook can be used as a channel to communicate product details. Certainly if I had to manage a website with as much information, from as many sources, as Sydney Festival, I would probably rather link to supplier’s Facebook pages rather than get the relevant information from them. This comment is less a criticism of the Sydney Festival website, but more an observation of the current way marketers, and general punters, use Facebook to communicate and research.

And that Facebook, for all its time-wasting faults, remains a relevant and contextual channel for connecting with the cities and world we live in.

Meanwhile, I have been checking my emails a lot less, but pinning a lot more in Pinterest.

The Quitter Chronicle: Life without Facebook - Week 1

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Tue, 07 Jan 2014 22:22:00 +0000

Tom Hanks in Castaway, from IMDB

I'm feeling a bit like I'm a castaway on a desert island.

Quitting Facebook in the first week back at work was probably not the best timing. People are still on holidays (my colleagues who make me laugh, who bring energy and dynamism to our projects, my girlfriends). The work pendulum is still gathering momentum for the start of the year.

I've been craving connection. I've checked my emails more often than I would like - made worse by the fact that as part of this 'digital fast' I have also unsubscribed from the masses of eNewsletters that I was receiving but not reading. And that people are on holidays (lots of out of office) and are probably still connecting and updating in the way they are accustomed to - via Facebook.

I've looked as smh.com.au a few times a day - so much so that I have been getting pop-ups warning me that I have almost used up my monthly allocation of free articles, and an invitation to subscribe at a cost. I have been taking for granted that I do stay in touch with the world for free via Facebook. At this stage I can't really see a difference between the journalism on SMH vs Huffington Post - not enough to warrant paying for it.

But there have been positives too:

I played scrabble last night with my housemate (he whipped my butt!)
I've written more blog posts than I have in 6 months
I've written in my journal most days and been more inward looking, rather than looking outside myself for distractions and solutions
I've had time set aside for reading the books on my bookshelves that have sat unread for months
I've exercised more, as I don't have the temptation of sitting on the bus trawling social media. It's also been great weather in Sydney, and I felt sloth-like over the break so I'm inspired to walk whenever I can
I signed up for this MOOC

I'm still on track to stay off until the end of February and am content making these observations.

Why I quit Facebook for two months

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Thu, 02 Jan 2014 00:28:00 +0000

Today I’m quitting Facebook for two months – until the end of February 2014. Here’s why:

Virtual vs actual connections

I’ve used the Facebook to replace connecting with my actual social network. Over the past few years I’ve commented on a post rather than calling or emailing or writing a letter. I can go months without calling or contacting any of my friends who are on Facebook, as I can see what’s happening for them through their updates. I’ve allowed a decrease in the amount of contact I have with those who are not on Facebook – unconsciously putting the contact into the ‘later’ basket. This, with friends who I have known for a decade or more. with whom I have travelled continents, mourned broken relationships and celebrated new unions and new lives. I have enabled a computer and a virtual network do this. Lately, this superficial level of contact has been making me feel unfulfilled.

A possible downfall

This means inevitably that my virtual social network will decrease. It’s just not possible to maintain contact with all 244 people with whom I am Facebook friends via older methods of communication like phone calls, letters or actual face to face contact. Facebook’s algorithms, and the digital social networks of which I am a part, require me to contribute in order to be a meaningful member of the community.

This move could even affect my brain. There’s a hypothesis that the size of a social network has a direct correlation with the neuroplasticity of individuals in that network. This article summarises a study that was based on monkeys and the theory applied to Facebook and other social networks.

However, I’m not a monkey and there are other ways to promote neuroplasticity – some of which I would like to explore. Quitting Facebook will free up my brain space to allow it to work in different ways.

Protecting memories

I’m a Gen X. My early relationships with friends and family unfolded across pages of letters handwritten and posted across the country. I read them now and I’m reminded of the person I was then and that I am now. Facebook moves very quickly and there’s no solution yet as to how to preserve the feeds as historical documents for individuals. Facebook posts also lack the depth that a letter can convey.

Procrastination

In the past few months I have procrastinated by trawling Facebook. This video helped me understand why I’ve been doing this. Humans, when faced with a new and daunting task will procrastinate by completing small, insignificant tasks because they are gratified by completing these and ticking them off their mental to do lists.

In the past few months I’ve had new challenges about which I have been daunted and overwhelmed. I have struggled to develop a clear vision of the end goal and so have gone for the easy way out. Rather than waking each day and considering what lies before me, and visualising how I will approach it so I get what will most make me happy, I have instead rolled over, picked up my phone from my bedside table and checked Facebook to see what the news for the day is. The result of this is that some projects, which could actually make a positive impact on my life, have not progressed in the ways that would make me happy.

More reasons to quit

There are many other reasons to quit Facebook. This Huffington Post article refers to study from the University of Vienna who studied 320 individuals who quit Facebook for several weeks or more. Their primary drivers were:

‘worried about who sees their photos, annoyed by Facebook’s constant changes, irritated by superficial social interactions and concerned by how many hours (approx 1.9 hours per day) they spend glassy-eyed and slack-jawed staring at their screens.’

Not replacing it with other networks

So what will replace the 1.9 hours of my day that I won’t be on Facebook? One thing I won’t be doing is engaging in other social networks like Twitter or Instagram as suggested by this article in Huffington Post entitled 11 Reasons You Should Quit Facebook In 2014. Online communication has become more visual and our networks want photos of what is happening for us. I recently went a bit far when I sent my team at work a graphic photo of my left eye which had puffed closed and nessecitated a trip to the hospital and a day of leave from work. My team said I had set a precedent for requiring photo evidence of sickness – a suggestion which is unlikely to materialise. However, the ease of taking and sharing photos has meant that communication via images has become more accepted and understood. But this has also meant a decline in our privacy, as every digital image shared has a permanent imprint on the network. Plus, I am a writer. Why would I use a photo to replace what I can illustrate with words?

Why quit for only two months?

As a marketer I love social networks. I’ve been lucky enough to live through times when the internet just didn’t exist, to today when it’s part of every day life. I love observing digital communities, being part of them and am grateful every day for the new information and ideas that I see through the friend and pages that I have liked. I joked years ago that I would only ever tweet if someone paid me, but the truth is that my digital inclinations are also part of my offering as a marketer.

Quitting Facebook for two months is a temporary move. A chance to reconnect with people in different ways. I can still be reached via gmail, Linkedin, this blog, phone and even snail mail.

Best day to buy petrol in Sydney

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Mon, 30 Dec 2013 23:02:00 +0000

This has been me for a long time . . .

Image pulled from http://stardust-designs.blogspot.com.au/
Original artist unknown

When it comes to money and finance, I have, for the most part, skipped merrily along with little thought about the future and my current spending. There are some pricey things I just won't consider (a Gucci handbag for example).

But I have also been ignorant about the real cost of living. I try to set a budget and it falls over. I think it's because I don't actually know how much my daily living expenses cost.

Over the past few days I have read 'Your Money or Your Life' by Alvin Hall and 'Hot (broke) Messes: How to have your latte and drink it too' by Nancy Trejos. Both have helped me realise that my ostrich mentality has been holding me back from future-planning and protecting myself from possible risks like job loss, illness or even things like my phone or laptop suddenly not working. And that I have been placing my values in spending patterns that don't actually reflect my own values.

But that's a post for another day.

Today I was curious about the best day to buy petrol. I only fill up my car about once a month, as I generally only use it to drive to see my folks in the countryside. When I do fill up the tank, I do it as a spontaneous and unplanned action. As I see the numbers tick over on the petrol bowser I get a niggling feeling that if I'd plan ahead, I could spend less money on petrol. But an even more niggling sensation has been the knowledge that I really don't have a clue about petrol prices.

Entering 'best day to buy petrol in Sydney' into google lead me to this page on the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission's website.

In particular I was caught by this graph.

From: http://www.accc.gov.au/consumers/petrol-diesel-and-lpg/recent-city-petrol-prices

Apparently petrol is supplied in cycles. These fluctuate based on the cost of transporting it and some other factors which are explained on the ACCC's website. In Sydney it's generally a fortnightly cycle. Buy your petrol around 4 days after the lowest dip in the cycle and you'll pay about 7.5% more to fill up your tank. The last time I filled up the tank of my Toyota Starlet it was $55. So if I had chosen a better point in the cycle, it could have been $51. But then add the discount of a Coles shopper docket and I could have saved even more.

Perhaps the overall saving is only $100 per year. Is it really worth it?

As this article explains - $10 a month can make a big difference to a mortgage:

Assuming you've got a $100,000 loan amount set at 4 percent on a 30-year fixed mortgage, that extra $10 payment would save you $3,191.78 over the full loan term. It would also shorten your mortgage by 13 months, meaning your 30-year mortgage would be a 28-year-ish mortgage.

So - back to the question. What is the best day to buy petrol in Sydney? Based on the tracked petrol cycles for December 2013, the best day to buy petrol in Sydney would be a Thursday or Friday, around the 15th and 1st of the month.

However, it's not just about the day of the week, or even the date, but about paying attention to average petrol prices. In December 2013 the cost of a litre of petrol ranged from $1.42 to $1.59 (almost 12%). So basically any day that the price drops below $1.50 per litre is a good day to buy petrol. In December 2013, there were 16 days where the price was below $1.50 per litre. Of course, this bottom figure may change as overall petrol prices rise and fall, but for today it's a good guide.

When it comes to saving money on petrol in Sydney, there are three tactics you could follow:

Try to purchase your petrol around the 1st and 15th of each month and you should be able to make use of the downward swing in the cycle
Keep an eye on the price. If it drops below $1.50 per litre, fill 'er up!
Keep your Coles (or other supermarket) shopper dockets in the car.

These easy steps could save me over $3,000 and buy me two years of freedom from my mortgage. And that would make me more like this ostrich:

http://50mostinfluentialdisneyanimators.wordpress.com/2011/05/08/48-howard-swift/

I know which one I would rather be. I'm starting to understand that simple steps now can make a big difference in the long run.

Film Review : Persepolis (2007)

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Sat, 28 Sep 2013 20:25:00 +0000

Persepolis weaves a rich tapestry of family stories and personal angst against the backdrop of war-torn Iran. In a genre dominated by 3D animation powerhouses like Shrek and Toy Story, Marjane Satrapi’s deliberate choice of a low-tech animation techniques and a mostly black-and-white execution allows the human story to unfold.

The result of a collaboration between Satrapi and her creative partner, Vincent Paronnaud, Persepolis is based on Satrapi’s autobiographical graphic novels by the same name.The story opens on a depiction of Satrapi’s halcyon youth. The only child of radical parents, she blossomed in a home environment that was sociable and relaxed. Occasionally stories of persecution and torture at the hands of the ruling regime at the time would intrude on this enviable private life, but were dismissed in the belief that the repressive regime was only temporary. Soon the individual incidents of repression (and public opposition to the acts) snowball into the 1979 Iranian revolution.

Iranian society undergoes massive change – the new laws and watchful eyes of the citizen ‘Guardians of the Revolution’ become so invasive that the Satrapi family’s radical behaviour at home starts to collide with public expectations. Satrapi’s independence and forthrightness, encouraged by her radical parents and grandmother pre-revolution, sees her expelled from numerous schools in Tehran. Her parents, concerned for her safety, send her to attend high school in Vienna.

In Vienna Satrapi tries to assimilate but is caught in the crossfire between Iranian and Western cultures. She makes friends, but misses the intimacy of her family and is betrayed by her first love. She can’t find a stable home and moves through a series of beds and houses, eventually ending up on the street. Despite her objections to the oppressive public regime at home, she returns to Iran to be with her family. She readjusts to Iranian culture and gets married, and is exposed to an entirely new set of problems.

Iranian-born Satrapi wrote and drew Persepolis as a way of processing her identity as an Iranian woman, to write a love letter to her family and to reconcile the dichotomy of the public and private lives in which she grew up. She also wanted to humanise the monoculture stereotype that the media perpetuates about Iran. On her Persepolis website she writes ‘If Western audiences end up considering Iranians as human beings just like the rest of us, and not as abstract notions like ‘Islamic fundamentalists’, terrorists or the ‘Axis of Evil’, then I’ll feel like I’ve done something.’

Technically Satrapi opted for traditional hand-drawn animation techniques because she felt that using modern 3D techniques would bring a mechanical, automated feel to what is a story about people – their feelings, faults and dreams. The simplified style allows the audience to focus on the story rather than being distracted by constructed and detailed scenes. Televised depictions of conflict end to sensationalise the events, but in Persepolis it is the lack of sensationalism that allows the human narrative to be told.

Stylistically Persepolis takes cues from the post-war film schools of Italian neo-realism and German expressionism with simple interior sets and candid street scenes. As an artist, first in Iran and later in Paris, Satrapi became obsessed with the German and Italian films and felt that they depicted the sense of hope felt by people who had lived through war.

Persepolis’ message changed with the adaptation of the original text to film. The internationally-awarded film takes Satrapi’s tender narrative to a global stage, with Hollywood actors like Sean Penn and Iggy Pop contributing as voice-overs in the US version. While the graphic novel was the work of Satrapi alone, the film is a collaboration, translating the original text into one that is more internationally palatable.

In the animated work, key events in Satrapi’s emotional history are condensed in the interests of keeping the narrative moving at the pace at which a film audience expects. Her emotional response to the stories she heard of family friends being tortured and killed is trivialized in the film by depicting her direct translation of the stories into playground games, bypassing Satrapi’s intense emotional response that is shown in the graphic novel. As a medium that requires a two-way dialogue, the graphic novel treats both the author and reader’s emotional responses with respect. The animation, for all its motion and speed, operates emotionally much like a still photograph - a snapshot of her reactions, depicting highlights or main events but little of the feeling that gives the graphic novel such rich texture.

Satrapi’s goal in the creation of Persepolis, as both a graphic novel then a film, was to dilute the mono-culture stereotype of modern Iran. Both texts achieve this, but take the audience on different journeys. Persepolis feels like such a big story that while the film skims the surface, the novel takes us well and truly behind the veil.

Film review: Life Lessons (1989)

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Sun, 15 Sep 2013 22:41:00 +0000

Scorsese sets the scene with a rocking soundtrack lead by ‘Whiter Shade of Pale’ and puts us in the mood to stay up late, drink lots of whisky and smoke until our fingers turn yellow. Welcome to the paint-splattered world of Life Lessons.

One of three short stories told in the 1989 film ‘New York Stories’, Life Lessons immerses us in the world of an artist riding high on the adrenalin of the eleventh hour with just three weeks to go until his exhibition opens.

Nick Nolte is superbly cast as Lionel Dobie, a tortured if successful, middle-aged painter. Rosanna Arquette plays Paulette – a precocious, 22 year old, aspiring artist who looks for her future in Lionel’s bed and his warehouse loft. The two fight to lead the sexual agenda against a backdrop of 1980’s New York, a landscape of shoulder pads, cocktails in martini glasses and performance art spaces in disused railway tunnels.

Fans of Steve Buscemi will find it a treat to see the bug-eyed, buck-toothed actor playing a floppy-haired cad who makes a game of Paulette’s affections and enrages Dobie.

The drama centres around a power play. Lionel tells Paulette “I indulge in love and I indulge in my stuff and they feed off each other”. He unapologetically uses his angst-ridden and frustrated relationship with her as fuel for his messy and Pollock-inspired masterpieces. She uses him for free rent and, hopefully, lessons in art. She begs for his advice, mewling ‘Am I any good? Will I ever be any good?’ but she never picks up a paintbrush in the time this drama plays out. Paulette wallows in self-doubt while Lionel ploughs through it.

Lionel persists with equal vigour in both his quest for Paulette and his creative work. At one point Scorsese focuses on Nolte looking up at an object, a potent, unwavering gaze, filled with lust and a calm, formidable energy. We don’t know whether he’s looking at his artwork or his muse.

In one of his ‘life lesson’ lectures, Lionel tells Paulette that he is a lion – a metaphor also suggested by his rough, greying beard and mane of silvering blonde hair. His behaviour echoes that of the savannah cat – capable of gentleness, or cunning and in equal turns fiercely territorial and utterly vicious. He holds his prey in his gaze and the future of the frolicking, long-legged Paulette is as unclear to the audience as it is to her.

Scorsese captures the panic and confusion of the young Paulette as she tries to make sense of her situation and Lionel's life lessons. We feel empathy for her search for truth, but also frustration that she can’t see what the audience can.

The story is loosely based on Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Gambler. The femme fatales in both stories challenge their heroes to childish and potentially dangerous dares in order to prove their love. The Gambler story also extends into the plot of Life Lessons – both pieces follow a hero’s quest to secure the object of his affections. Both stories unfold amongst the upper class of society – the New York art scene no less depraved than the Russian aristocracy.

The influence of The Gambler in Life Lessons is not only evident in the driving themes of sex and compulsive gambling, but also in key scenes which serve to drive the narrative forward. Paulette dares Lionel to kiss a policeman, Dostoyevsky’s Polina asks Alexei to insult a baroness. The Russian protagonist fixates inappropriately on his lover’s foot, Lionel fetishises the gold-chained ankle of his modern-day muse – tilting the power balance even further out of his control. Screenwriter Richard Price drew inspiration not only from the 1972 translation of the original Dostoyevsky text, but also from the accompanying diary of Dostoyevsky’s lover, Polina Suslova that included a short story ‘The Stranger and her Lover’. It was this edition of the Russian classic that compelled Scorsese to interpret the friction between the lovers.

In signature Scorsese-style the music soundtrack is another character within the film. Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ accompanies Dobie’s energetic painting sessions. Procol Harum’s ‘Whiter Shade of Pale’ opens, closes and plays at intervals in Life Lessons, while ‘Conquistador’ is the hidden narrator to pivotal scenes of sexual conquest and macho showdowns. The choice of songs by artists who were at their most popular in the year that Paulette was born places the ownership of the narrative unequivocally in Dobie’s court.

It’s not clear until the closing scene whether Lionel is the teacher or the student, but in telling his story Scorsese reminds the audience that the game of love and passion are always a gamble.

Film Review : Now You See Me (2013)

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Sun, 08 Sep 2013 06:10:00 +0000

A magician’s audience can choose between two options. Either suspend your disbelief and enjoy the ride. Or try to outwit the smartest guy in the room. My money is on the first option that requires you not to think too much – and it seems that’s what the makers of Now You See Me are banking on.

Now You See Me is an elaborate chase caper spanning New York, Las Vegas and New Orleans. Four magicians (Woody Harrelson, Isla Fisher, Dave Franco and Jesse Eisenberg) lead an FBI Agent (Mark Ruffalo) and his Interpol offsider (Mélanie Laurent) through a maze of stadium-scale magic tricks which involve Robin Hood-style theft from banks, giving to the needy and climaxing each time in a shower of paper currency. Their exploits are funded by an indulgent patron (Michael Caine) and followed by a TV exposé producer (Morgan Freeman).

The magicians are inappropriately titled ‘The Four Horseman’ – a name that might work well on promotional flyers but falls flat when no apocalypse is forthcoming. What is most disappointing about Now You See Me is that it promises magic, yet delivers none.

Stereotypes abound. Charming french Interpol agent, Alma Dray (Laurent), is bound up in her beige-coloured, spy-cliché trench coat for much of the action. She even wears Chanel-inspired stripes on her days off. Trés Chic.

The combined talents of Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine are assigned to small roles which amount to glorified cameo appearances. It feels very much that they were brought in to broaden the appeal of Now You See Me to an older audience at the box office.

It’s a visual pleasure to see the attractive ‘four horseman’ outwit their pursuers against the sequinned backdrop of stage-show magic. Unfortunately it’s all glitter and no substance.

Dialogue like ‘Time is a luxury I don’t have right now’ barked by Ruffalo, fills the script with clichéd cop-talk typical of any cat and mouse-type chase tale.

Overall Now You See Me has an arrogant street magician’s tone. The condescending catch-phrase ‘The closer you look, the less you see’, plastered over the promotional posters and sprinkled partonisingly into the dialogue, infers that the clues are obvious. When the twist is revealed it feels more like an unwanted Christmas gift than a bolt of enlightenment.

The story itself would be better suited to a graphic novel where the characters and themes could be more deeply explored. However, a graphic novel won’t help sell candy bar treats to packed movie-houses on a Friday night. The absence of gore, sex scenes or genuine intrigue make Now You See Me a perfectly inoffensive ‘date night’ film. I suspect that was the filmmaker’s intent all along.

Mejico, Sydney

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Mon, 22 Jul 2013 11:55:00 +0000

I was lucky enough to be taken for a business lunch today to Mejico.

I knew next to nothing about Mejico before we arrived – other than that a fellow food reviewer had been earlier in the year and raved about the guacamole, which is made at the table, and that the restaurant is next to Jamie’s Italian.

We arrived at 12:15pm to an almost empty restaurant and were seated immediately.

Service was fast, friendly and unobtrusive. We were advised to that the house specialties were the guacamole and the blackened corn, so we ordered both. Unfortunately the corn order never seemed to have been placed, but the guacamole was worth the hype.

In particular the lime and sugar that was added cut through the fattiness of the avocado and the freshness was a sign of what to expect from the rest of the meal. The accompanying plantain chips had a colleague reminiscing about her days living in the Caribbean.

One of my dining companions had eaten at Mejico before and recommended the mocktails. Each mocktail includes chia seeds and I saw it as an opportunity to make friends with the protein-packed super food whose appeal, so far, had eluded me. When I’ve soaked chia seeds in coconut water in the past, the slimy membrane around each seed had put me off. Here, in the ‘white nectar’ cocktail a few of us ordered, the chia seeds had a consistency like the bubble teas that are popular in Chinatown. This white delight really did taste like nectar of the gods and my romance with the chia seed was reignited.

We ordered each of the tacos: pork belly, lamb shoulder and salmon. Palm-sized flour tortillas became serving vessels for the succulent meats. Only the lamb shoulder disappointed. The guacamole was a flavour medley, but in the lamb taco the seasonings struggled to sing out amongst the generous serving of meat.

Ceviche reminds me of lazy days spent on Isle de Mujeres. Here mounds of fresh raw fish danced a happy tango amongst the chilli and lime seasonings in the salmon or kingfish served on tostadas.

For the main course we ordered the achiote chicken and the sirloin steak. I was keen to try quinoa in a restaurant as to date I’d only had the quinoa I’d made with great success at home. The quinoa served with the steak was no different to that which I have made at home, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The green chimichurri sauce lacked punch but the steak, served medium, had a texture I most certainly could not replicate at home.

The salt and pepper grinders on each table had me enthralled in an ADHD-like trance – a single press of the thumb producing a fine grind of seasoning.

For dessert we chose from a menu of three, and went for the fudge served with walnuts and a citrus cream. A fellow diner commented that if someone only bought caramel slice for the caramel, they would be in heaven with this dessert. The servings were just the right size to finish off the meal.

At the end of our lunch we were full, but not bursting, testament to the mounds of protein and vegetable accompaniments.

The fit out at Mejico is industrial with splashes of neon pink. It felt like being in the hippest restaurant in Mexico City – a city filled with modern art, ancient pyramids and a new wave of reinterpreting traditional recipes. It was surprisingly not too loud – a key factor in an enjoyable lunch.

We finished with coffees. A chai latte was ordered but we were told that chai was temporarily off the menu – last week a complaint had been received about the chai and until the Mejico team are happy again with what they offer, it would not be on offer. We all liked the idea that Mejico would not sell anything they didn’t drink themselves.

This same fair approach underpins Mejico’s philosophy. Dr Sam Prince is the owner, a medical doctor, humanitarian and a philanthropist. He’s currently working on a project called ‘One disease at a time’ in which he is looking to eliminate scabies from the Australian Aboriginal population. You can view his TEDx talk here.

The bill came to less than $50 per person – we all agreed it was very good value for money.

Mejico is a place I would take colleagues for a lunch, or the girls for a glass of wine and a few tacos. There were less kind reviews in SMH and the Telegraph earlier in the year, but we all thoroughly enjoyed our lunch. When it’s my turn to choose somewhere for a business lunch I’d include Mejico in my top five options at the moment.

The little tuckshop lady with big ideas

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Mon, 22 Jul 2013 08:12:00 +0000

I've started studying for my Masters of Arts in Creative Non-Fiction at UTS.

So far, I'm loving it. One subject down, eight more to go, two years and lots of study ahead before I put that MA after my name.

My first subject was simply 'Non-Fiction Writing'. Myself and 15 fellow classmates were lucky enough to have Gabrielle Carey for our tutor. Gabrielle was tough, fair, approachable and authentic. The class was a solid foundation for exploring non-fiction writing as a genre and getting a sense for which direction we may each want to head.

We had two assignments to submit - a 'place' assignment and a biography of someone who had a public profile.

I chose Nahji Chu as the subject for my bio and was rewarded with her generosity, creativity and a new perspective on the very public issue of refugees.

At 2,300 words it's longer than your standard blog post. So grab a cup of tea, find a comfortable seat and come with me as we enter the world of Miss Chu:

Over the past six years, Nahji Chu has emerged as a creative and culinary pioneer in Australia’s urban food scene. In 2006 she started selling rice paper rolls made in the kitchen of a home she rented in Balmain. Today her empire, whimsically named ‘misschu’, includes four tuckshops in Sydney and two in Melbourne. She employs more than a hundred people. Her delivery team, a fleet of pushbikes and motorbikes, dispatch more than 6,000 rolls each day. The business has an annual turnover of $20 million.

A little girl’s face decorates every misschu item – from the company letterhead to the delivery riders’ uniforms. The face of the brand, that little girl, is Nahji. The photo is a copy of her visa application from when she and her family, fleeing wartorn Laos, arrived in Australia in 1979 as refugees. Nahji was nine years old.

Nahji’s grandparents were originally from Vietnam but relocated to Luang Prabang in Laos when a plague destroyed their farm. Vietnam and Laos shared centuries of embattled history as larger countries’ armed forces fought to occupy pockets of Indochina. It was under this shadow that Nahji, one of six children, was born in 1970.

Luang Prabang sits in the foothills of forested mountains and limestone cliffs, on the banks of the Mekong River. The city is a patchwork of riverbank gardens, rice paddies and wide streets. French colonial buildings and ornate Buddhist temples sit next to traditional bamboo and wood houses.

Food was pivotal, not just for survival, but for the role it played in bringing the community together. Preparing the family’s meals meant a daily trip to the market for Nahji and her grandmother, mother or aunt. One of Nahji’s earliest food memories is that of her favourite dumpling dish Bánh cuốn – a Vietnamese crepe made from rice starch and stuffed with minced pork and shredded vegetables. Her grandmother would sell the pancakes on the side of busy streets, to make money and feed the family.

Indochinese culture is steeped in traditions surrounding arts, crafts, food, language, festivals and rituals. Daily life was punctuated by Buddhist and harvest traditions. Each April Nahji looked forward to the New Year ‘Songkran’ festival – a celebration of purity, clarity and new beginnings. To literally wash away the old year and to prepare for the new, people swapped armaments and farmers tools for buckets of water and united in a city-wide water fight.

In April 1975 the world changed for Nahji and the people of Indochina. The Vietnam War erupted. Laotian communist forces (the Pathet Lao) struck out against American forces in a bid to gain control of Luang Prabang. Hostilities threatened not just the livelihood, but the lives of the Chu family.

More than a quarter of the entire Laotion population fled in a mass exodus. The Chu family split up to increase their chances of survival and used various means of escape. Her father smuggled Nahji into a canoe and, with three other men, left Luang Prabang in a daring escape along the Mekong River. Other families’ young children were given opium to keep them quiet. Nahji was gagged to make sure she didn’t unwittingly notify the authorities of their escape attempt. After a terrifying ordeal, narrowly avoiding detection from the Pathet Lao, they arrived in Northern Thailand and found refuge in one of four refugee camps.

The culturally abundant city of her childhood was replaced with a muddy, makeshift community filled with tents, bamboo huts and desperation. ‘There is no order in a refugee camp,’ says Nahji, “the walls of the tents were made of mosquito nets and we had to get water from the well”. Meals often consisted of watery rice without any vegetables or herbs. Occasionally they would also eat eggs. Daily routines revolved around collecting water and firewood and then boiling water for cooking and bathing.

Despite the desperate situation they now faced, the refugees retained their traditions. The festivals that signposted the Laotian calendar were still acknowledged in the camps. Nahji’s short animation ‘Autumn Moon’, made in 2011, demonstrates the sadness and hope underpinning the rituals. Refugees in a camp prepare for an Autumn harvest parade, making dragonfly and star-shaped lanterns out of sticks and leaves. After the festivities, as the refugee children and their families lay down to sleep, one child says to her mother ‘Next year I’ll make a frog’. Her mother replies ‘Hopefully we won’t be here next year’.

Fortunately the Chu family was reunited, reuniting in one of the four refugee camps that Nahji was to stay in. Nahji’s parents and grandmother worked tirelessly on the process of applying for refugee status in Australia.

Meanwhile, Nahji and her siblings found entertainment everywhere. The New Year ‘Songkran’ festival was still celebrated in April. No-one in the camp was safe from the being doused by buckets of water. It was during this festival one year that Nahji encountered her first white person – an American soldier. ‘I remember we were hiding, waiting for the next person to come along.’ Nahji reminisces, smiling broadly, ‘This happened to be the first white soldier we ever saw. He was on a motorbike, approaching us and we yelled “Ambush! Ambush! Throw the buckets! Everything!” We pulled him off his bike, saw he had a beard and we said “Oh my god, look at all the hair! This person’s weird. He’s a westerner. Argh!” For us it was really freaky to come across this white person’.

In March 1978, three years after they arrived in the refugee camp, the Chu family was flown to Australia. They were processed through the Villawood detention centre and stayed in a hostel in Bass Hill in NSW. Nine of them slept in the same room – but the walls and roof were solid and they had immediate access to running water. ‘We had a tap with running water to ourselves, a house, not shared facilities,’ Nahji told Marie Clare magazine in 2011, ‘My parents said “We’ve made it, we’ll be fine.” That tap was a very powerful experience’.

Refugee services found work for Chu’s father on a farm in Cessnock, in rural NSW. As the first Vietnamese family in the area, the Chu family’s arrival caused quite a stir and was announced in the local paper. Curious, well-meaning neighbours brought the Chu family gifts of food, clothing and blankets, helping them to set up their new lives.

Two years later the Chu family’s application for public housing was approved and they moved to Melbourne. They settled in Richmond, which was fast becoming a Vietnamese stronghold in Melbourne’s cultural landscape. However, locals were not as welcoming as those in Cessnock. “We were like mushrooms sprouting and I think it was seen as quite a threat to the local community,’ said Nahji.

Nahji assimilated into her new life and culture. She did well at school, but didn’t get the grades to train as the journalist she wanted to be. She pursued other creative avenues – writing, acting, filmmaking, photography – always trying to find a way to tell her story and that of other refugees. ‘Everything I set out to do in my life was based on my circumstances, around the trauma of having come here as a refugee. And the trauma of the assimilation process of coming to live in Australia. And I really wanted to document it,’ said Nahji.

Food was always a fallback option, as a way of making a living. Her Aunt Yen had joined them in Melbourne and had started her new life from a simple bowl of soup. She first sold pho (beef noodle soup) to other Vietnamese refugees in the area, and eventually opened Indochine - one of the most popular Vietnamese restaurants in Melbourne’s Box Hill. While Nahji tried to find a job that would fulfil her storytelling desires, she worked in her aunt’s restaurants. She also worked for Melbourne hospitality icons Italian chef Maurice Terzini and caterer Vernon Chalker.

Nahji relocated to Sydney in 2004, to move away from hospitality and to reinvent herself. ‘I always wanted to steer away from food because I didn’t want to be a Vietnamese woman doing the typical thing, where I just sell Vietnamese food, that’s all I’m capable of,’ she tells me when we meet on Anzac Day this year, ‘I didn’t want to be that person’.

She found a job as a credit analyst – a role that won the admiration of her family. Nahji says ‘Going to work in an office was exciting and exotic, and for me seemed to be “I’ve made it”. A lot of Asian families are proud to say “She works in an office. She doesn’t work on the floor making things with her hands, she’s not physically on the ground”’. However glamorous her new role seemed, Nahji became frustrated with the processes and politics of corporate life. She still felt the need to find a way to tell her story.

Nahji explains, ‘When it became apparent that all I’m capable of is selling you Vietnamese food, it was a cold reality for me. It was all, the reality is, this is how you’re going to make your living. Because every other path is going to be really difficult for you’.

She worked casually in the Sydney catering scene and saw an opportunity amidst the mini pizzas, blinis and other carb-loaded canapés that were popular at the time. In 2008 she started making traditional Vietnamese rice paper rolls, filled with light, fresh ingredients and bold flavours. At first, she made them at home and sold them wholesale. She came under scrutiny for how expensive her product was, but she remained uncompromising about either the cost or quality of her food.

Word spread and the orders kept coming in. A government grant, secured through the New Enterprise scheme, gave Nahji the opportunity to grow the business. She moved to a commercial kitchen on Darlinghurst’s Bourke Street, to be closer to her catering customers. So many people stopped by, asking if they could buy lunch, that Nahji opened a cafe at the front of the kitchen. She told Smart Company magazine, in January 2013, that she ‘called the new cafe a “tuckshop” because she didn’t want people complaining about the service and the fact nobody spoke English’.

The café’s success catapulted Nahji into the public spotlight. Crowds snaked along Bourke Street. The press used her self-made, headline-friendly title ‘The Queen of Rice Paper Rolls’. The public gave her a few different names, comparing her to Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi – a character whose food was so good it was worth offensive service. Stress and dealing directly with the public forced the diminutive Nahji to revert to her cultural roots. Her Vietnamese tone and nature was not always understood by the Australian public. She quickly gained a reputation for being blunt.

Nahji had no patience for customers who didn’t understand the new menu or have the right change. One very busy lunch hour, in 2009, Nahji ordered a dithering customer to step aside until she knew what she wanted. The affronted woman complained ‘You are the rudest person I have ever met!’. Having heard something about a new social media platform called Twitter, Nahji precociously snapped ‘Well, why don’t you go and tweet about it?’. The customer, with uncensored brutality, tweeted a message to the public - unleashing a virtual storm in the new social media teacup.

Since then, Nahji has harnessed the power of social networking. The misschu Facebook page has become an essential two way conversation with 12,000 of her customers who ‘like’ the page. It’s also a platform for Nahji to use humour to break down the barriers posed by racism. Members of the public complain a few times a year that her home delivery service slogan, ‘You ling, we bling’, encourages racism. Nahji replied to one of the most recent complaints with a Facebook post, ‘My staff and I joke about our Vietnamese accent all the time. It makes us all laugh and we love it that our customers do too! It breaks down the barriers faster than any silent racist undertones I see so often as a Vietnamese growing up in Australia.’ Ever the straight-talker - she tagged the disgruntled Facebook user and commented, ‘Thank you for taking the time to comment and please don't be so uptight’.

Nahji likes to challenge the status quo. Last year the mobile food truck phenomenon posed a threat to her business. She focused on one of misschu’s competitive advantages – the home delivery service. She updated the staff uniforms - adding grey Vietnamese workmans’ jackets and personally stitching a cloth patch onto right arm of each uniform. A two-wheeled ‘army of Chu’ was dispatched across Sydney and Melbourne. The update was a strategic branding move, says Nahji, ‘Let’s brand the delivery service now, let’s own it and make them look really official. It was also playing on the whole communism, propoganda thing. Accentuating everything that is Vietnam. So it was a play on communism and fun’.

It’s these brave decisions that help Nahji Chu forge new ground. ‘The little tuckshop lady with big ideas’ is how she now signs off her emails. The business has given her new opportunities. She has appeared on the ABC television program Q&A, representing a refugee perspective. Her empire continues to expand – she’ll open a new tuckshop in Manly in September, and, later this year, will open her first tuckshop in London.

Despite global expansion of her misschu empire, Nahji’s focus remains firmly on Australia. In her proudest moment to date, the Refugee Council of Australia invited Nahji to be their Ambassador for Refugee Week 2013. She hopes that the public respond positively. ‘I plan to get on stage and say “Look Australia, I think we need to take in more refugees,” she tells me, ‘and I hope they’ll say “Let’s listen to her. She’s obviously smart, she’s done all these things, we eat her food anyway, come on, let’s just see what she’s got to say. It might just make sense.”’

Nahji has captured followers with her food and hopes to capture minds with her story. For a little girl smuggled out of her homeland 38 years ago, being heard is all she has ever wanted.

You hungry? Order Miss Chu's food here.

Bernie's Diner, Moss Vale

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Sun, 21 Jul 2013 10:24:00 +0000

I was overdue a visit to my folks in Bowral, so I picked up M at 7:30am on Sat and by 9:15am we pulled up to a rock-star parking spot in front of Bernie's Diner Moss Vale (gotta love parking in country towns!).

The bright red and white light bulbs made it easy to spot at the start of the Southern Highlands tourist drive.

Bernie's was mostly empty when we arrived - so we had our choice of benches. I was tempted to sit nearer the stove in the corner . . .

But instead chose to sit in the picture windows at the front and watch Moss Vale pass by, in all its winter glory.

By 9:45am almost all the booths were full - word about Bernie's Diner has certainly started to spread.

Deciding what to eat was easy - the pastrami and corned beef are made in house and served with coleslaw with russian dressing, gherkin and fries. Had it been a bit later in the day I would have gone for one of the amazing looking burgers or hot dogs (yep - it's a real diner all right!).

M went for a chocolate milkshake that had a fantastic cocoa after taste and added a new dimension to what could have been a standard shake. I had a coffee.

I was lucky enough to have a chat with Ioannis Benados, and fell in love the back story of this place. Bernie's has been in Ioanni's family for decades. His grandpa Emmanuel Benardos opened Bernie's in 1925. Locals had trouble with pronouncing Benardos, so his nickname was Bernie. There's a constellation of greek-owned diners up and down the east coast of Australia - with names like: Olympia or Paragon. Bernie paved the way for his grandson Ioanni to continue innovating decades later.

There's a brilliant photo on the wall - showing the Bernie's of old. Shelves stacked to the ceiling with groceries, a small boy wearing overalls is in the foreground - the little boy is Ioanni's uncle and is now 77 years old.

Until recently Bernie's Diner was a takeaway shop and the booths in which we ate our breakfast were hiding behind wooden hoardings. Ioanni knew the shop was still in the family, saw an opportunity and joined forces with Guiliano Colosimo to do a top quality fit out and to offer something quite different, and very welcome in the Southern Highlands.

You can read a bit more about Bernie's Diner in this SMH article.

Even better, head to the highlands in spring for the tulip festival and you'll find Bernie's Diner is the pot of gold at the start of the Southern Highlands.

I got 8,000 problems but the trash ain't one

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Mon, 08 Jul 2013 10:40:00 +0000

Just 10,000 pics left to filter through . . . representing the past 10 years

Just over a week ago I had 18,573 photos in my iPhoto. And since then I've deleted more than 8,000 of those photos.

And I won't miss a single one of them.

They were photos of people I can't remember the name of, places that not much happened, or replicas of scenery or particularly good photos.

Why delete so many? Decluttering your life, from digital files to daggy clothes is believed by many to be cathartic. It enables you to make room for, and enjoy, those things in your life that mean the most to you.

So gone are the multiple pics of ex-boyfriends (unless it also happens to be a very flattering pic of me!), the blurry pics, the ones who just got uploaded because they happened to be on my digital camera at the time.

The ones that remain have highlighted for me the moments over the past 10 years that mean the most - babies born, birthdays celebrated, weddings, even photos from work that remind me how I have grown mentally in that time.

I'm trying to edit them down to just 250 photos to represent a year (based on a 100 page photo book, that equates to 50 pages with one photo and 50 pages with 4 photos). I may never print the photo books. But it's much easier to flick through 2,500 photos that bring back memories from the past 10 years, than it is to wade through 2,500 memories of a single year.

And with every photo I delete, I feel just a little bit more free.

Le Pub, Sydney

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 02:47:00 +0000

Descend a flight of stairs at the corner of King and Kent Streets and enter Le Pub - a busy French bistro-style pub – perfect for a work lunch.

Head underground to Le Pub for respite from the rat race

Despite the bistro-style furnishings it is still very much a pub. There’s a pokie room and huge plasma screens blasting sports right through lunch. But there’s also little nooks in which to hide and make share office gossip, should the mood take you that direction.

Le Pub's nooks are cones of silence for debriefs on the week's office gossip

A velvet, burgundy-and-brown-striped banquette snakes around the room. Generously-sized wooden chairs and stools upholstered in turquoise velvet were a pleasure to look at after a morning staring at computer screens. The interior designer seems to love tiles. I’m not sure if these were a relic from Le Pub’s previous incarnation as Irish pub PJ O'Gallaghers, but they were everywhere from the black and white mosaic floor, to the scrabble-style white alphabet tiles above diners’ heads to the completely black-tiled bathroom (studded with replica gas lights). I would have liked some french tunes, but they may have been there under the Friday lunch-crowd din. The soft furnishings helped to absorb the noise and we had no trouble catching up on the week's events and weekend plans over our lunch.

No shortage of seats at Le Pub for corporate derrieres

This underground pub won 3 schooners in the 2013 Good Pub Food Guide. The menu, created by Executive Chef Ronny Ghantous (ex-Union Hotel, North Sydney) features French favourites like escargot ($15), french onion soup ($14) and duck confit ($26).

Brass corners to protect from nasty table-corner injuries

I was drawn to the Beef Bourginon Pie ($24), served with a side of Paris Mash, but as I was at the end of a week-long detox I wanted something a bit lighter.

Twice-cooked soufflé with gruyere, chevre and walnut crostini ($22)

The twice cooked soufflé with gruyere, chevre and walnut crostini ($22) was less fluffy than I had imagined. To be fair, the last soufflé I had was at the Boathouse in Blackwattle Bay, so my expectations may have been misplaced. The baked top had just the right consistency and has helped me delay a trip to Pasticceria Papa for baked ricotta cheesecake by a few weeks. The microherbs seemed to miss out on a light vinaigrette dressing, the sort that has me scouring friend’s plates for any tender greens left behind. The crostini complimented the soufflé, but I would have liked one more.

Onion Rings ($9)

Instead I got stuck into the detox-be-damned-onion rings ($9), which were more batter than onion but the sort of fried tasty treat that you somehow justify in Friday lunches. Lucky for me, my only meeting later that day was with my team. As we all had onion rings together I wasn’t worried about single-handedly fumigating any meeting rooms with onion breath back in the office.

Steak Frites ($23)

Two colleagues ordered the steak frites ($23) with their choice of sauce (Peppercorn, Bearnaise, Café de Paris or Mushroom). By all accounts the steak was cooked perfectly to order. The chips had the right amount of crunch, without being too oily.

Warm chicken salad with avocado, almonds, feta, compressed watermelon, eschallot and strodolo leaves ($24)

I had meal envy over my colleague’s warm chicken salad with avocado, almonds, feta, compressed watermelon, eschallot and strodolo leaves ($24). We were both curious about the compressed watermelon. It glistened like a slab of fatty tuna and tasted like . . . compressed watermelon. It balanced nicely with the feta. If I could choose again I think I would have liked that.

The Friday lunch crowd kept staff busy yesterday – but the service was fast and friendly. We weren’t kept waiting for long at any stage.

Bathroom 'graffiti' - could be the meaning of life, but knowing the French is more likely to be something witty, sarcastic or both.

I’d take a French friend there to get them to translate the bathroom ‘graffiti’, which may actually be very profound. But I’d be curious to see whether the food makes them homesick. I’ll add it into the rotation of places to go for a work lunch, but with so many CBD lunch venues to choose from it may be a while before I return.

Momofuku Seiobo, Sydney

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 06:27:00 +0000

I popped onto the Momofuku website on a whim at 5pm on Thursday and saw they had availability on Saturday. I whipped out my phone with one hand to call Karen and my credit card in the other – 10 mins later we had our Saturday plans sorted.

It can be difficult to get a booking at Momofuku Seiobo. The restaurant team only post availability 10 days in advance and only allow bookings online.

Seems the stars were aligned for us that afternoon.

Once admitted to the inner-Momofuku-sanctum, all difficulty melts away. The booking is confirmed by email (with a firm warning that a no-show will result in a $100 charge on the credit card). A follow-up phone call comes through to confirm the booking again and to check dietary requirements.

On arrival at the door, I’m welcomed by name. We’re seated in the a la carte area but it’s no trouble to have us moved up to the bench surrounding the kitchen –easily the most popular seats available.

I start off with a St Germain (elderflower liquor) and Soda drink. Then the gastronomic games begin – 10 mini courses of degustationary delight.

Course 1/10

First up is a smoked potato puree with apple crisp and apple jelly – crisp and smoky, it turns out to be one of my favourites.

Course 2/10

Steamed bun pork belly. This is the signature dish and the dough is light and fluffy, the pork belly caramelized and juicy. I think my cloud 9 would be made out of that dough. It took me to a happy place.

Course 3/10

Pink snapper, celery and mustard oil. I love ceviche, so this was also a favourite dish

Course 4/10

Potato, trout roe, parsons nose. This was an interesting combination of flavours and textures. I’ve never eaten parsons nose before (it’s the cartlidge from the base of a chicken’s tail) but I barely felt the texture and was just left with a strong chicken taste. The saltiness of the roe worked well with the fried parsons nose.

Course 5/10

Eel dashi with turnip and almond. The prettiest dish by far. The eel flavour came through the dashi but I didn’t really like that flavour in a jelly format. That’s kinda the point of going to a restaurant like Momofuku – expect to have your mind blown, but in exploring new frontiers there are a few you won’t really like.

Course 6/10

Zucchini, onion mustard, yolk. The ‘yolk’ in question was cooked at 66 degrees for 1 hour ‘sous vide’ style. Sous vide refers to the process of sealing food in an airtight bag and putting it in a water bath for longer than normal cooking times. This might become a common trend as the result is very tender food, retaining a lot of flavour and moisture. Although doing it well, as with lots of tricky techniques, isn’t easy. Thankfully the team at Momofuku knew what they were doing with this yolk and it was really creamy.

Course 9/10

Goats curd, blackcurrant, mint. By this stage I had also indulged in a glass of wine and was so engrossed in conversation that I didn’t really give this dish the focus it deserved.

Course 7/10

Mulloway, cucumber and black garlic.

Course 8/10

Lamb, eggplant, lettuce. The lamb was tender and juicy. But the lettuce was sensational! Now I’m back at home I’m googling sautéed lettuce recipes. Between this and the lettuce with sesame and tahini that I had a Harts Yard a few weeks ago, I think I’m hooked!

Course 10/10

Pear, honey cream, muntries. The muntries, despite sounding like the name of a folk band, are native Australian berries. This dish also had ‘toasted milk’ in it – another tricky molecular gastronomy-type maneouvre that tasted like milk and felt like unsweetened, shaved white chocolate.

Surprise 11/10 Course!

Burnt caramel doughnut

The verdict

Experiences like eating at Momofuku Seiobo are just that – experiences. The meal cost $125 each including two drinks. You don’t go to Momofuku to eat until you’re full, or to have one dish you pop in for once a week.

Some people would pay $125 to see a band they like – but at the moment it’s food and chefs that are my pop songs and rock stars. And for the price of admission you enter a world where everything is stylish, classy, beautiful. Everything works, is in the place it should be. It’s an escape into a world different from the one I regularly inhabit. And that, to me, is worth a $125 meal once or twice a year. Provided you choose the right moment to get in, where the stars are aligned and you find yourself nonchalantly popping onto the website to see if there are any bookings available, prompting you to duel fate with a phone in one hand, and a credit card in the other...

What kind of rabbit are you?

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Wed, 06 Jun 2012 08:15:00 +0000

There are times when I feel like this fluffy guy from Alice in Wonderland, always running late. At least I manage to wear pants (most days) but I think the White Rabbit and I fret just as much.

So I wanted to remind myself of the best ways to take control of time, rather than running around chasing your own tail (no matter how cute or fluffy it may be):

The Pomodoro Technique

Introduced to me by a dear writing friend, it’s actually got a cult following around the world. The idea is that you identify what you want to do, then break it down into 25 minute sections. Then you set the timer to 25 minutes and start, not working on anything else at all until the timer goes off. Then you take a break, walk around for a bit (maybe 15 mins) then settle back in and do another ‘pomodoro’. If something crosses your mind while working on the project, you put a mark on your notepad, like a notch. In practice I have found that when I start off doing one pomodoro session, I end up doing another because I really start getting into a project that I had previously been thinking a lot about but not actually doing. It’s important to take breaks, which can be hard if you’re finally slaying that demon of a task. But the first cut is the deepest and that demon will still be there when you get back, just a little weakened after you had your first go at it. It’s called the Pomodoro technique because the original timer used was in the shape of a tomato. The technique has a global following (and range of merchandise).

Eat that Frog

This means ‘choose the biggest, ugliest task you need to tackle and do it before you do any other task’. This is a concept from Brian Tracy who is a best selling author of anti-procrastination books. He says “If the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is eat a live frog, then nothing worse can happen for the rest of the day!" Truly this, for me, should be exercising as it’s the easiest thing that gets shunted along by just about anything else, but it also delivers the most benefit. As the ugliest frogs do . . .

‘You don’t have to go to every fight you’re invited to'

I saw this on Pinterest (do you think I can find the pin??) and it’s something I think about when I’m working to a deadline and someone tries to involve me in something that I really don’t need to be involved in – whether it’s a fight, or even something really nice that I would love to do, but that I would actually prefer to do, other than eating that frog. We all get annoyed by things sometimes, but it can be a real time-saver (and energy-saver) to tell myself that I’m not going to buy into it and to ask whether it really matters in the bigger picture. Doesn’t always work but when it does, it feels really good.

Remain single-minded

Why is it, when I’m short on time and there is one thing that I really need to do, a little voice inside says ‘Ooh, I wonder what’s happening on Twitter/Facebook/email/Pinterest’ and before you know it I’ve lost an hour, made 3 new pinboards, laughed at people’s posts, retweeted a bunch of stuff and then end up like the white rabbit fretting over the nasty frog dragging on my heels. But when I do stay single-minded, when I shut down the apps, ignore emails, tell people when I’ll get back to them and do not move until I have finished the task (or at least a couple of pomodoros) I feel so much better – like I’ve prized the clammy fingers of the frog and left him back in the middle of the path in a pile of frog slime. Also – the only thing worse than eating a whole frog is eating half a frog. Twice.

Turn back time

Cher wished for it, but one way to actually do it is to set your watch back by 15 mins. I’m working on this one, but I started today and I spent the morning enjoying getting ready for work, having breakfast and walking to the bus stop instead of running around and racing to the bus stop.

I’m no expert – there’s an entire industry of people who present and write techniques for getting better control of time.

But it’s helpful to remind myself of these from time to time, so I’m a little less Wonderland Rabbit, a little more Rabbit in a Hat.

Wherever I lay my hat

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 11:48:00 +0000

Here are my top 5 favourite unusual places that I have stayed the night (pics are not my own):

1) A 100 year old cottage on an island, Finland

It was Juhannus, the longest night of the year, in the land of the midnight sun. I was in the lakes district of Finland, staying in a little complex of cottages owned by some family friends. Dogs and kids ran around, we ate salmon that had been caught and smoked that day. We gathered wildflowers for midsummer rituals and drank beer and ate pancakes until the sun dipped toward, but not beneath, the horizon. I went to sleep while it was still a dusky twilight outside at 4am.

2) On the sand in the Great Thar Desert, India

Travelling with friends in India, we went on an overnight camel trek into the desert. This sounds like we would have travelled for miles, peering into the distance like Lawrence of Arabia, squinting against the heat shimmers and hallucinating oasis, traversing great shifting dunes, before setting up camp in a bedouin style tent temple. The reality was quite different. A two hour drive from Jaiselmer, a three hour bumpy camel ride through a scrubby landscape. Not a dune to be seen for hours, until we finally ascended a sandy summit and looked out across the scrub-dotted landscape. There was enough sand for convincing photographs of camels silouhetted against the sun, but not much more. A small fire was lit and we ate a hastily prepared dhal and drank soft drinks bought from the 10 year old boy who had followed us on foot out into the desert. With not much to entertain us, we retired early amongst a nest of blankets that had been our saddles on the camel's backs. The desert was quiet, save for the quiet chatting of our tour guides on the other side of the 'dune' and the occasional jangle of a bell around the neck of a camel stirring. Huge black beetles circled us, occasionally I pulled one from the blankets and had covered my head with a sarong so I wouldn't wake with one in my hair. At around 3am I woke and lay staring at a massive moon, larger than I had ever seen, and I lay awake for a while, listening to the quiet wind gently shifting the tiny sand dune we were on.

3) Middle-class carriage, overnight Indian train

I'm not going to say that I have slept overnight on a train full of chickens and goats, because I haven't. But I did catch a few overnight trains in India and I guess I just fall under the spell of travelling on a train overnight and waking up in a new place. I've always loved the romance of the experience. Even when it's hot and sweaty and there are middle-aged salesmen travelling on business trips who are leering and laying in the cot across from you. You just build a tent around you with the sheet supplied by the train service and fall asleep to the rocking motion of being swept along the tracks. It's just so 'other' that it's impossible to feel anything but lucky to have such experiences. I'm sure if I had to do it more often, the novelty would wear off, but I caught overnight trains from Varanasi to Jaipur, then Jodphur, then Jaiselmer, then Udaipur and I didn't grow tired of them.

4) Botanic Gardens, Pamplona, Spain

I arrived in Pamplona for 3 days of San Fermines fiesta (the running of the bulls), without having done any preparation, or having any supplies. We drank and danced through the night on the first night, resting only when the octagenarians out-danced us or we stopped for paella. The second night was not such a hedonistic story - I was tired, friends had bought a tent during the day and after they had run with the bulls, and we drank sangria in the streets, joined the locals for a siesta on the sun-warmed pavers in one of the town squares, visited the fun fair and got free rides in exchange for some of our sangria, watched a bullfight and ate yet more paella, it was time to find a place to sleep. So we set up our tent in what looked like a comfortable clearing amongst some trees in a park, and went to sleep. We were woken in the morning by the police shaking our tent, laughing as they pulled down the guy ropes so the tent collapsed around us. We rolled out of the tent to beat a hasty retreat to the bus station to travel back to San Sebastian.

5) Swag in the outback, Red Centre, Australia

The stars in the desert night sky have to be seen to be believed. The night is so clear and just when you think you can turn away from how beautiful the sky is, you capture the glimpse of another constellation. A swag is like a cocoon made of drizabone type material. The one I stayed in had a mattress at the bottom, a little pillow and I had both a blanket and a sleeping bag to keep me warm. Once you're in, you're in. It's not easy to get out and undoing the zips in the stillness of the night as welcome to the people around you as a jackhammer at dawn. Turning is also not easy - you end up sleeping for hours in the same position. But it is all worth it for those stars.

What were the favourite places you have stayed a night?

Jiro Dreams of Sushi - Film Review

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Sun, 03 Jun 2012 12:32:00 +0000

I don't see many films these days. When I was at uni, studying film, I could watch up to 10 films in a week. Now I'd be lucky to see 10 films in a year. But Jiro Dreams of Sushi would have to be one of my favourites so far this year.

This feature film debut for David Gelb tells the story of Jiro Ono, an 85 year old sushi chef who owns and works at Sukiyabashi Jiro - a sushi-only restaurant in a Tokyo subway station. Bookings are taken months in advance, the average meal will cost $300 and will be over in less than 30 minutes, during which time guests will have consumed approximately 20 pieces of sushi.

The story is artfully told, accentuated by a classical music soundtrack and a flowing narrative that takes us through the restaurant's history, processes, kitchen hierarchy and vendors. As a documentary it works, because I left without having any more questions - all the stones had been turned.

There were a few things that I really liked:

1) Tsujiki Market scenes - the film explained the selection and selling process which I did not understand when I visited a few years ago. As a tourist it's a cold, noisy, busy, confusing and not entirely comfortable experience to stand in the auction room in the pre-dawn chill of a Tokyo morning. But through the documentary I got an insight into the way it worked and saw the auction as a sort of performance, the auctioneer's skills and those of the vendors, as an art. I was glad for the new perspective.

2) Of course I liked seeing Tokyo again too. And as sushi is truly one of my favourite foods, it left me hungry for more. I even walked past my local sushi restaurant hoping to stop by to satiate my craving, but will need to wait for lunchtime today.

3) Most impressive was Jiro's single-minded commitment to being a better sushi chef. And his love for his work - there has not been a single day that he has not wanted to work. That, in itself, is enviable and inspiring.

See the film if you like sushi, food, Japan or documentaries focusing on one person's real-life story.

A little Gatsby magic

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Sun, 03 Jun 2012 00:58:00 +0000

The release of the trailer for Baz Lurhmann's film 'The Great Gatsby' marks the start of what I hope will be an influx of art deco and Roaring Twenties style accessories and design for the next few months until the film's release in December.

Here are 5 elements of Great Gatsby style - whether you're dressing for a theme party or just to give your average day a little Gatsby magic:

1) Red Lips - In Gatsby's era, women chose to wear dark red lipstick as a symbol of their new-found independance. While lipstick dates back thousands of years it was in the 1920's that make up was available in portable containers and it became acceptable to apply lipstick in public. Up until then, lipstick was sold in pots and it was taboo to apply it anywhere except in the privacy of home. The lipstick swivel tube was invented in the 1920's and make up brands like Elizabeth Arden and Estee Lauder started to stock the new format. Usually worn with dark kohl eyeliner (a look sometimes created by using burnt matches).

2) Bobbed hair - Boyish cuts and bobbed hair were another symbol of women kicking back at pre-war expectations. Tired of styling long tresses and encouraged by the likes of Clara Bow, a popular actress, it became fashionable to wear short hair, often adorned with art deco style headbands, or hidden under cloche hats.

3) Knee-length, box-shaped dresses - The 1920's also represented liberation from previously constraining fashion. Hemlines rose, waistlines fell and shapely curves all but disappeared.

4) Language - Every era has its slang and the 1920's was no exception. Bring back a little old-school style by saying something is 'the cat's meow' or 'the cat's pajamas' if you like it.

5) Attitude - The 1920's were characterised by the cultural shift after WW1 towards a break from tradition. Modern inventions like the automobile, moving pictures and radio entered the mainstream consciousness, acting like a pressure-valve on long-standing traditions. People felt a greater sense of freedom than before the war and it turned up everywhere, from fashion to a spirited enjoyment of jazz and dancing.

Rolling with the hunches

noreply@blogger.com (alteville) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 13:36:00 +0000

The food truck movement has struck Sydney and, until Tuesday night, I didn't quite 'get it'.

Sure - there was a new version of meals on wheels. But Harry had been doing this for years with his Cafe de Wheels. And there were chefs from big name restaurants involved. But experience and talent is no guarantee of success, as was seen over the last two weeks with the closure of both Montpellier House and Manly Pavilion.

I had a hunch that it was good, but I didn't really get to the soul of the idea. Until Tuesday, when I ate at Eat Art Truck.

The pulled pork roll ($12) alone is enough to have me lining up for 45 mins or more. The beautifully seasoned meat, mustard cabbage and sweet brioche-style rolls are worth a $10 cab ride, or 15 minute detour, from wherever I am in the city. Because the late night offerings for food in the city range from thawed pies heated in microwaves, to meat chiselled off days-old bricks of meat rotating on skewers. And just because you want late night food, does not mean your choices should be limited.

But I hadn't seen it from the chef's perspective until I saw Stuart McGill address the assembled crowd (it was a media launch). McGill, who left his post as sous chef at Tetsuya's to work on the project, clearly articulated the team's vision. Eat Art Truck want to deliver restaurant quality food, at reasonable prices in a way that is accessible. The style of food is Japanese BBQ with a Korean twist. The menu includes Kinpira salad $8 (gobo root, carrot & edamame) and Annindofu $6 (almond milk jelly with seasonal fruits) which would normally only be accessible in the restaurants or maybe at food festivals like Taste of Sydney. They are also incorporating the 'Art' part of the moniker by having a range of artists showcase their work on the side of the truck for up to one month at a time - kicking off with Phib's street art.

The idea is simple and bold, as with most successful stories. But in reality it's a little more complicated. It's almost like inventing the wheel . . . or 4 wheels as the case may be. Despite the support of City of Sydney, cutting through red tape, legals and liabilities has hardly been like a hot knife through butter. But doing anything for the first time is literally like breaking through a metres thick ice flow.

And there is still fine tuning to be done. These chefs are accustomed to working with military precision, within a certain space, however small. And while the Electrolux ovens they have installed in each van are great - its not like having an industrial sized oven. And at this stage they haven't quite hit the sweet spot they're hoping for of being able to serve food within five minutes of ordering.

But they have a vision, and they're pursuing it. No matter what hurdles fate puts in their way, they're rolling with it. And this, I get.