Until last night, the two most memorable occasions in my life where I’ve eaten garlic bread have both related to restrictive alcohol laws.
Back in the 1980s, I recall, you had to have a meal to drink at a bar in Brisbane. It didn’t matter how much you drank (of course). But I vividly remember going to bars in Fortitude Valley (during my university years) where you were always handed a ticket for food as you entered clubs like The Beat and The Terminus. It was a quirk of the liquor licensing system. Often there was a simple curry, mostly though it was garlic bread. I suspect a fair few of the older people in those bars threw the tickets away, but as a university student, I can assure you, it was welcome sustenance.
Many years later, living in Sydney, I encountered something similar at the legendary late night bar, Barrons. Barrons, located in Kings Cross was a bar where you would go for a drink when everything else was closed. Famously, a friend who fell down the stairs in an alcoholic stupour, was once asked by one of the bouncers… “So are you coming in or leaving…?”
Like Brisbane in the 80s, Barrons had a “must eat” policy. Vividly I remember going through the farce of having to order a meal before you were allowed to go upstairs to have a drink. “What would you like to eat?”, they’d ask, for which the only answer was “Garlic Bread, thanks”. You then had to wait for the garlic bread to arrive before you could go upstairs. Being a little older (and probably having already eaten), the sustenance angle was no longer relevant, and so I remember waiting, making a token effort to eat the garlic bread, and then heading upstairs.
Let’s face it. Garlic bread is mostly pretty crap.
But last night I went out with friends and ate what was possibly the world’s greatest garlic bread at the Mad Pizza Bar on Crown Street. Admittedly we had enjoyed a few drinks earlier, and we were all quite hungry, but the garlic bread was incredibly tasty, and such a long way from everything else I’d eaten previously. The garlic was sweet (probably roasted) and so was the bread. The pizzas were okay. The garlic bread was amazing.
As we sat and waited for the performance to begin, I had little idea of what to expect. My friend invited me, on the recommendation the work had been curated by a colleague at the ABC, Daniel Browning. Daniel presents “Awaye”, a weekly program about Indigenous arts and culture. And one of the most awesome segments on that program is “Word Up”, a weekly insight into the estimated 500 Indigenous languages spoken in Australia prior to European settlement/occupation.
There are many things at the heart of “Blak Box” (by Urban Theatre), including some of the words commonly spoken by the Gadigal people around the time of first contact. Throughout the performance, you also learn some of the Indigenous words which quickly came into existence, as a result of occupation.
Over the course of an hour, you learn these words, and hear the many words and sounds associated with both the early days, and more recently. It’s a wonderful soundscape that lasts about an hour, so you can either close your eyes and absorb the sounds (as many people did), or (like me) take part in the experience, absorbing the words, the sounds, and the associated lights. Tickets are free. http://urbantheatre.com.au/2018/blak-box-2/
Deep listening at Sydney Harbour: Past, present and future coexist. If the speed of sound warps our sense of time then we can still hear the crackle of fires lit thousands of years ago on the foreshore of the world’s most magnificent harbour. The presence of the First People is inscribed in the acoustic memory of the place they now call Barangaroo. Contemporary voices share stories of country. Are you listening?’
– Daniel Browning, Urban Theatre Projects, BLAK BOX Curator.
Winter has well and truly arrived in Sydney. And though I often dismiss Sydney-siders complaints about the cold (I’ve experienced far chillier conditions), I was feeling it earlier tonight, as I wrapped myself tightly at home, consuming more of the cheese I took home from yesterday’s market.
With both things in mind, I thought I’d share a few photographs I’ve snapped over the few days around the theme of “Winter Nights” from the area in which I live.
“I don’t want to come to work tomorrow. I just want to spend the whole of tomorrow watching television” I told my boss at the pub today. A few of us had gone to a nearby pub to watch “Melbourne Cup”. Quite frankly, it’s an event I no longer feel any interest for or excitement in. I agree today’s photo finish was pretty good. But I’m far more interested in the outcome of tomorrow’s US election.
As the results should be clear by mid-to-late afternoon, Damo and I have made tentative plans to catch up after work tomorrow to conduct our own “post-election analysis”. We’re both “election junkies” who find as much, if not more excitement in watching an election night on television, as others would find in a world cup soccer match.
Melbourne Cup, on the other hand, is just a bit of a yawn to me personally. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a betting household, where my grandmother (in particular) was always putting some money “up the field’ or “both ways” on her latest horse. I swear I knew as much about horse-racing by the age of ten as I knew about anything else in the world.
Of course we had an office sweep. You have to, don’t you? And I drew #13 “Boundless” which was doing fairly well for a while. “I’m gonna peak early, just like last year”, I said to a colleague at the pub, noting that I always seem to end up drawing those horses who, after a good start, fall dramatically behind in the last 1000 metres.
So we watched the race, had a beer and wandered back to the office. I was back at my desk by 3.30 or thereabouts.
Melbourne Cup day also meant a reasonably small turnout at Swedish class tonight. There were just four of us, this week, meaning most people have probably declared their own public holiday.
I found class a little bit harder tonight, as I haven’t practiced for a few days. That, and I was also a little bit tired. “It’s hard to work a full day concentrating and then having to come to concentrate again”, the bloke next to me at class confided.
Coming home tonight I was pretty mentally exhausted so I slumped in front of the television and watched further coverage of the US election. I’ve been watching the Breakfast and Morning Shows on Fox News where they’ve been offering “advice for the undecided”. The polls have already opened.
As great as it would be just to stay home tomorrow and spend all of my time watching it, I’ve got quite a bit on. Still, it’s gonna be fascinating to watch it all unfold. And who knows, despite the polls, it might also be a photo finish?
It’s been four weeks since I last went to Swedish class, and I was feeling apprehensive. I’ve had a few commitments over the last few weeks which have kept me busy and unable to attend class. I’ve also been neglecting study, and haven’t really listened to or read much Swedish in the intervening period. I was anxious the class would have moved well beyond me, and I would have found myself struggling.
Yes, I struggled a bit, especially with a grammar exercise, but it wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was a lot of fun, especially as we spent most of the class chatting. There were three new classmates who have arrived in the intervening period, and it was great to meet them, and interesting to hear about the reasons why they’re learning Swedish. One had been a student in Sweden years ago, another had a wife, the third had a Swedish mother, and although he spoke well, he was there to learn to read and write better.
And then the subject got around to jeans. We had an exercise where we had to talk about a photograph in a Swedish photo book. The subject of one photograph got one of the classmates talking about Swedish fashion, and in particular jeans. He’s quite fashion-conscious, I think, and has quite a collection of Swedish clothing. He listed off half a dozen different Swedish clothing brands. Not being as fashion conscious myself, the only brand I recognised was ACNE.
Another classmate chipped in, and mentioned the difficulty he had in buying jeans in Sweden, since Swedish men tend (and this is a broad generalisation) to be quite tall and thin. A 34″ waist is a bit of an oddity in Swedish clothing stores, he noted. It’s a problem I shared a few weeks ago in Stockholm, when I asked for a 34-36 inch waist and was immediately taken to the “Grandpa Jeans Department”.
The original guy, who is reasonably short, complained he always has to have his jeans mended because jeans in Australia tend to be far too long. Another classmate chipped in, noting that at least H&M sell more varieties of sizes in terms of waists and leg length in Sweden than we find in Australia. I agreed. Until now, my best fitting pair of jeans was a pair I picked up in Copenhagen which recognised that some people are short and fat, not everyone is tall and thin. We all sighed that H&M hasn’t opened a store in Australia yet.
And then I chipped in with my anecdote about buying a pair of Swedish jeans from a store in Surry Hills, “Somedays” a few weeks ago. I couldn’t find the right size in Stockholm, but I found a perfect pair in Sydney.
Despite my apprehensions, Swedish class was great fun.
Afterwards, I had a drink with my friend The Best Judge about a project I’m planning to undertake. He provided some wonderful, sound advice.
Hollywood couldn’t possibly release a film called “Men Who Hate Women”, could they? Even though this was the original Swedish language title of the book by Stieg Larsson and movie, it just wouldn’t work for Hollywood, would it? “The Girl With The Dragon Tatoo” sounds far more reasonable, far more exotic, doesn’t it?
Aside from the name change (which was also adopted for the English subtitled release of the Swedish books and films), I thought they’ve done a pretty good job of turning the Swedish crime page-turner into a Hollywood blockbuster.
“There’s nothing to worry about”, I told my friend Grant on the phone as I left the cinema. Like me, he’s a big Swedophile, and we’ve both approached the release of the English language translation of these films with some trepidation. I’ve read the books in English, a third of the first book in Swedish, and I’ve seen the original films made for Swedish TV a couple of times. In fact, the first, “Män som hatar kvinnor”, Grant and I have both watched in Swedish without subtitles. That was really hard-going. Grant has also been on the Millenium Tour in Stockholm.
The second of the three Swedish films, The Girl Who Played With Fire is probably my favourite. It pumps along at a cracking pace.
The pace of this first Hollywood adaption of the Millenium series is similar. Even though it’s close to three hours in duration I never once found myself distracted or bored. Significantly, only one person left the cinema during the showing for only a brief toilet break, and the friend I went with, who normally needs to take at least one toilet break during a long movie, and who usually complains “most films are twenty minutes too long” also never once found himself bored or distracted.
The plot for this film differs in a few areas from the original film, though not distractingly so. It’s still very much the story of Mikael Blomkvist and his relationship with Lisbeth Salander, as they deal with their own dramas/demons and try to resolve the mystery of the death of Harriet Vanger. On a slightly parochial and disappointing note, Harriet Vanger doesn’t end up living in Australia, as in the original. Instead, she’s in London.
As much as I love the characters created by the Swedish actors, Noomi Rapace and Mikael Nyqvist, I thought Rooney Mara and Daniel Craig were also very good in their roles. And of course, Daniel Craig has the advantage of being even more sexy than Mikael Nyqvist, while still carrying off some of the “foppishness” of the original character found in the Swedish films and books.
About the only part of the film that I didn’t like were the opening credits. Set over a Trent Reznor composed soundtrack, and with high-tech animation graphics, I thought it seemed a little “try hard”. A little hipster. A little too groovy. A little too contrived, to be honest.
An article about the art collectors group I’m involved in has been published in the Newcastle Gallery magazine, written by group member, Ian Andrews.
HawkesburyOne : The evolution of our collecting by Ian Andrews
Joining Hawkesbury One required quite a leap of faith, when long time friends asked if I was interested in joining their new group investing $2000 per year for a period of 10 years and collecting art which reflected the first 10 years of the new century. Saying yes meant hoping the group, most of whom I had never met, would all get along together and all work towards this goal.
Our members come from a variety of backgrounds: Journalism and policy making, law and finance, medical and many more, some were confident and assertive in their pursuit of art; others preferred a more cautious and reflective approach whilst some members were happy to follow the group consensus.
Hawkesbury One usually met at one of the members houses for a Sunday lunch once every four months. During this lunch amongst good food, wine and general conversation a formal meeting was held, chaired by one of the members and minutes were taken.
Initially whilst finding our feet, discussions centred around new and emerging artists, indeed what was an emerging artist, how we would transport the art, insurances, and rotation rosters. These topics and finance remained common as part of nearly every meeting held.
Members would visit galleries, attend events, talk to gallery owners and scour art magazines to find artists they considered met our criteria. If during our meetings an artist was considered for further investigation, a small sub-group usually of 2-3 people was nominated to pursue works by the artist. A budget was given to the subgroup at the meeting so they had a range of prices to consider. After talking to gallery owners, viewing works and exhibitions, the sub-group came back to the group with suggested works.
Emailing images, on line discussions and correspondence through our webpage format all helped the group reach a decision without having to meet. One clear focus of Hawkesbury One has been to purchase works that are key pieces by the artist, works that are truly worthy of collecting and will hold their value. If this aim could not be met we would rather bypass the work. This process on some occasions would take six to twelve months depending on whether key works were available.
A majority vote allowed the work to be purchased. Having the same treasurer for the 10 years made record keeping and payments to galleries much easier.
The collection in some ways has been limited to a domestic size and scale. Gallery size works while discussed were often excluded. Although artworks rotate through our houses every six months we have still tried to be ambitious in the range of works collected. Long and intense discussions were held over whether photography, digital and video art and sculpture were appropriate for transportation, display and storage, but as you can see we managed to purchase the range. Limiting the collection to one or two media forms would not have truly reflected the art of the last 10 years.
Fluctuations in the art market, our financial position, agreement and confidence in a decision being made all meant adopting a changing and flexible approach to the purchasing of our art.
In 2008 after years of self direction, perhaps from exhaustion, we pursued a different approach to collecting. For a period of 12 months we employed an external consultant to investigate emerging artists on our behalf. Being immersed in the new art scene with access to University graduates and young committed artists the consultant provided us with a quarterly assessment of the art scene and committed artists possibly worth collecting.
Another change in approach saw the group keen not to just purchase, but commission our last work. With many members having ties to Newcastle and The Hunter three stainless steel cut-out sculptures all involving an aspect of the Hunter were commissioned. The first work being completed late last year while the chosen artist was resident at the ‘Lockup’, It was made in collaboration with Newcastle University students and involved local companies in its manufacture. The concept of a commission put forward by one of our members would not have been considered several years ago, this rewarding process has been only possible from gained confidence working together as Hawkesbury One.
My leap of faith made ten years ago has now proven to be one my most rewarding decisions. It has provided me with an opportunity to find, discuss, purchase and enjoy works of art I would not have done on my own. Hawkesbury One has been for me the vehicle to have made many new friends, to have interesting and challenging conversations about art, and to have learned a great deal in the pursuit of art for our collection.
I needed to be up early this morning – waking at 6 – to catch the train from Sue’s place into the city, and then out to the airport.
Six AM isn’t early I guess after years of waking early. But in my current job, I can usually sleep in a little later, since a lot of my attention is now focussed outside of working hours.
It was tough though, since it was very cold and dark in Melbourne this morning, and quite a contrast to when I arrived a few days ago.
As I recall, catching the bus FROM Melbourne Airport into the City a few days ago was quite good. Along the way, they played a video which featured advertisements for various attractions around Melbourne.
Watching the advertisements as I caught the same bus back to the airport wasn’t as much fun, and didn’t make much sense. Why were they advertising attractions in Melbourne to a group of people who were leaving?
And why did it have to be so loud at seven o’clock in the morning? Even with my headphones on with some thumping electronica at maximum volume, I could still hear the innane chatter of the television screen.
I was already a little grumpy having to get up so early to catch the bus. The sky was grey, and the weather was overcast and cold. In fact, I was colder this morning than any of the times I was in Sweden this year, except maybe for the day when I nearly got frostbite.
With one exception I think I must have looked like the woman from the “Melbourne Ad” a few years ago. It was the one in black and white where she walked around looking in shop windows with a sad expression on her face. “The only time she ever looked happy was in the cab back to the airport”, I’ve joked with friends over the years. The one exception was my four day growth.
I love flying with hand luggage only, though of course you need to compromise on some items including razor blades. Generally I don’t have much facial hair, so I attempted this trip as a non-shaving trip. Colleagues said I looked good with my “Melbourne Look” (black, leather, unshaven), though I just felt scruffy by the time I got to work this morning.
And I felt tired. Being away from home for four days can be quite exhausting. And even though I’m a champion sleeper, I was quite tired today. I hit the couch pretty soon after arriving home tonight.
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What a crazy system. And now in Brisbane, it’s forbidden to eat where people smoke (rather than the other way round). Garlic bread for me was always a mushy foil-wrapped affair – and I used to have a lot of it because I don’t eat pizza. So whenever anyone ordered Dominos, I was always left with the soggy garlic bread.
What a crazy system. And now in Brisbane, it’s forbidden to eat where people smoke (rather than the other way round). Garlic bread for me was always a mushy foil-wrapped affair – and I used to have a lot of it because I don’t eat pizza. So whenever anyone ordered Dominos, I was always left with the soggy garlic bread.
Whenever I ordered pizza, I always gorged on the garlic bread (in foil) and found there was no room left for the pizza :)