phik

A month or so ago, Malones opened their newest branch of pre-fabricated Irish pub right next to my office in KL, so like any obedient western ex-pat, I headed there with my obedient western ex-pat friend for a pint. I think it was perhaps their third day open for business.

The cuisine looked stereotypically Irish, I’ll say that. We did not sample it.

One pint of delicious Paulaner — I was unwilling to discover what kind of Guinness they’d pour after three days in business — led to a second and, as you do, a second led to a fourth, and eventually it was That Time.

I walked to the back and chatted with the affable new manager, who cheerfully and without any hesitation informed me that the toilets would be installed next week.

Nat’s overheard-in-KL reminds me of a similar experience, in reverse:

When we were first building expertise in our KL office, we would hire top graduates fresh out of Malaysian universities and bring them to Perth to learn our business.

One of these grads had been in Perth for two or three years, and was getting ready to return. One day he saw me walk over to the kitchenette and down a big mug of water from the tap.

And he shouts across the room, “The water is safe to drink here? We have been boiling it needlessly the entire time?”

My credit card company’s crack team of fraud prevention softwares flagged a transaction today as “unusual” because it occurred “out of state”. By which I can only assume they mean Massachusetts.

After three and a half years of almost exclusively Australian transactions, minor car service is the one that finally, at last, tipped them off.

Bra-vó.

I know intellectually that I must have been colder at some point in my life, but I struggle to think of when.

do not buy this book

It takes a rare talent to transform a subject as theoretically exciting as the Irish mob into such a thoroughly lifeless bore, a talent which was deftly employed throughout Brutal.

The first nine thousand pages were dedicated to the author regaling us with tales of how sweet he was at punching dudes in the face. To hear him tell it, he was basically the best at face punching.

The next couple of chapters are a list of all of the black people he punched in the face and why they totally deserved it.

Then he and his ghost writer went on about some boring murders and shakedowns, and the boring people who were doing them for their boring reasons. Lucky for Kevin, he apparently never took a direct part in any of those activities, but was always close enough to the action to be a credible state’s witness. That was both super convenient and entirely 100% believable no seriously guys I am being serious here.

I am so glad I got this book from a library, because I would have felt like a real jackass if I’d paid for it.

My feet hurt. Not when I abuse them during exercise, oddly, but a bit when I’m going down stairs, and a lot if I apply pressure to the top of either foot.

I assumed for a long time that it was just a sore muscle or strained connective tissue. I took four weeks off while I traveled, and the pain subsided, but it returned with exercise. Four months later, I thought perhaps it was time to see a doctor.

He was a bit puzzled at first; I knew I hadn’t dropped anything on both my feet, and he ruled out stress fractures, but light pressure on most metatarsals produced sharp pain. I was skeptical, but went for an MRI of one foot: AU$345 from a private clinic, about a quarter what it would have cost me in Boston.

The MRI turned out to be the perfect diagnostic tool for this case. The white areas indicate fluid within and around the bones that hurt when pressure is applied, which is apparently a typical response to major stress. An x-ray wouldn’t have told us anything.

left: healthy bone / right: big problems

I asked if things would stablise here; if I don’t mind the pain, can I just carry on as usual? The answer was unambiguously no: if I don’t let them heal, I am reliably informed, stress fractures are imminent.

As a result, I am prohibited from stressing either foot for twelve Earth weeks. He gave me orthotics that are supposed to reduce stress when I walk, but so far it feels like they’re doing more harm than good. Given how slowly they make me limp around, I think I’ll move faster if I scare up a set of crutches.

Interestingly, according to this article, it seems to be a common affliction among basketball players, and is only being diagnosed prior to stress fractures now that MRIs are widely available. I also find it mildly alarming at how much more complete the oedema appears to be in my films, compared to those shown in the article.

I no longer, it seems, have the body of an eighteen-year-old.

Last week, sensationalist newspaper articles ran across the country — this is a representative example — breathless with the news that, somehow, knives, guns, and ammunition were carried on an airplane as checked luggage.

Truly, if this non-event is “one of Australia’s most serious breaches of airport security” then I look forward to finally being able to carry toothpaste, leave my shoes on, and cut my steak with a real knife again. I get it. We won the war on terror.

Although I’m still not clear on why this even warrants a newspaper article, let alone what will no doubt become a full parliamentary inquiry, my favourite part of these articles is this: they spend 500 words whipping up a frenzy about airport security and baggage handling over nothing, but virtually no discussion — certainly no breathless outrage, calls for inquiry, or quotes from rabid anti-gun nuts — of the fact that a duffel bag full of guns and knives was traveling in the care of eleven- and fourteen-year-old boys.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you Australian society doesn’t have their eye on the ball.

But when it comes to waste, fraud, and mismanagement, Alan has impressed me for a while. I watched this hearing, and this is a pretty good six-minute summary:

When it comes to this $1.2 trillion, I’m willing to bet that virtually zero of it was lent. Lending implies that there’s some chance of being repaid. When you loan to an insolvent institution, that’s called a donation.

The only issue I take with this report is this idea that there’s no cap on these gifts from the Fed. There’s a very clear cap, and that cap is zero. Congress — not the President, and certainly not Bernanke — gets to appropriate taxpayer funds. There’s no authority in the Federal Reserve Act of 1913 for making loans against worthless collateral, backed by the full faith and credit of the US Government.

If you’re prepared for the taste sensation of your sweet, young lives, today I shall deliver it to you, like a tiny robot with a silver tray, your small mechanical servant.

Perfection does not come easily or without toil. It is the culmination of years of scientific testing and refinement, asymptotically approaching that which refreshes most completely and delights the palate unerringly.

If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants, and the Giants of this beverage, nay liquid banquet, take the mortal forms of deb and shaver, who laboured and suffered beside me those long years, testing and improving with each tortuous iteration. To them I give thanks, indeed, we all must give thanks.

THE AUTHORITATIVE BLOODY CAESAR

small lime wedge; about 1/8th
celery salt to coat
vodka
Worcestershire sauce
Tabasco
celery salt
ground pepper
grated fresh horseradish
tomato-clam juice
pickled green bean or asparagus

Wet the rim of a glass — these ratios are for the traditional pint glass serving size — with the lime wedge. Dunk the rim in celery salt to coat.

For those of you already skipping this critical instruction, listen carefully: each step and every ingredient is important. Do not treat this with the same disdain for order and slipshod craftsmanship that you apply to the rest of your life. Do not trifle with your destiny.

If you like ice, add it now; cubes, never crushed. Squeeze the rest of the lime wedge into the glass and toss the spent wedge in.

For a pint-glass caesar, add one shot of vodka, 45-50ml. You’re old enough to decide for yourself, but this is serious refreshment for serious people. Pay no heed to the Government of Australia: a single shot is not, nor has it ever been, 30 ml, and it’s an insult to the nation to assert otherwise. shaver informs me that certain flavoured vodkas, such as lime or pepper, constitute a permitted substitution, but do not materially move the needle.

Add 5 splashes of Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce, being careful not to substitute an inferior product. This libation requires a sauce certified and produced by appointment to Her Majesty Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia and Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith.

Add 5 splashes of original red Tabasco. Do not add it “to taste”. This is what you’ll taste, and you’ll like it.

1/2 tsp celery salt and five healthy turns of a pepper grinder are now required.

If you enjoy your caesar in the style of Big Daddy’s oyster bar, and you do if you know what’s good for you, grate a teaspoon or so of fresh horseradish into the glass. This is the one regard in which you may deviate from the ordained scripture before you.

Top the glass off with Clamato, or your favourite tomato-clam cocktail mixture. Let it be known that clam juice is essential. Without clam juice, you’re just making the best bloody mary in the hemisphere. A respectable concoction, but not one to be mentioned in the same reverent tones as the elixir that you will soon hold in your trembling hands, palsied with anticipation.

Finally, and without exaggeration, the unifying element so often overlooked in centuries of mixology: a single pickled green bean or asparagus spear. This is an area in which shaver is more willing to compromise than I, but when it comes to the authentic experience, celery is not a substitute. If you put a celery stalk in that glass and say it’s your best effort, you insult not only me, and of course yourself, but the very fabric of society. You are committing an offense against nature, and there is no place for you on this Earth.

shaver asserts that by your ninth or tenth pint, celery provides a welcome contrast in texture and a refreshing cleanse to the palate. I am in no position to contradict, and I will concede that although the one true recipe has no room for this weak cousin of the vegetable kingdom, celery may be permitted in subsequent efforts subject to the conditions that it be trimmed, clean, and impeccably fresh.

To return to the critical matter at hand, because of its singular importance I can say with some certainty that you will not have an acceptable brined legume on hand, and will not able to acquire ready-made one of sufficient quality through any means, licit or otherwise. You must therefore prepare your own.

When you have obtained your pickled spear, stir very well and sip carefully, then with great enthusiasm, and finally respectable restraint. Practice until you can make ten or fifteen of unerring consistency in a long afternoon’s session. Question your life to this point, and how you can now make the most of your remaining time.

PICKLED BEANS / ASPARAGUS

a pint of green beans or asparagus
1 cup vinegars
2 tbsp sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp ground black pepper
1 tsp ground mustard or crushed mustard seeds
2 tsp crushed red pepper
2 crushed garlic cloves

Trim the vegetables as usual. If you’re using asparagus, thinner stalks are better.

Simmer until just cooked, about 4 minutes for green beans. Beans should still have crunch, and asparagus must not droop. Drain, then directly into an ice water bath.

Bring the remaining ingredients to a boil, stirring occasionally, then let cool. For my vinegars, I like to use 1/3 red wine, 1/3 white wine, and 1/3 cider.

Fill the jar 1/3 of the way with the brine and garlic, then pack it with your vegetable of choice. Asparagus tips up for safety. If the rest of the liquid doesn’t quite cover, top it up with vinegars. If you’re going to can them for real, remember to leave headspace.

If you want to properly process the jars in boiling water, a topic outside the scope of this singularly driven and focused memorandum, they will keep for a very long time.

Otherwise, refrigerate and allow them to embark on their private journey to Flavour Towne for at least a week before using. They’ll probably keep for 2-4 more after that; you’re on your own there.

The Hope is very contagious, no? Everyone, including me, wants to be optimistic, particularly during such uncertainty, and particularly after the last eight (twenty? fifty?) years.

But the nearly religious exuberance covered in the media, and to a lesser degree among friends, is sickly sweet, cloying. It’s almost painful to watch, and I almost feed bad calling it out.

He deserves a chance to deliver, and he will, no doubt, execute on some high-profile promises, like the closing of Gitmo, and ending our shameful policy of torture. These are important, and I salute him.

On the other hand, he will probably also be given a free pass, for a long time, on equally serious issues where there is the merest illusion of Change, or indeed none at all. A pass that another administration would never receive.

Remember, despite everyone’s attempts to complicate the issue, spending a trillion dollars isn’t actually the goal; the goal is a strong economy. I hope that America doesn’t throw a party next week when we embark on the former, to the detriment of the latter.

When the Senate confirms Obama’s Drug Czar to continue policies that destroy lives, waste money, and trample liberties, I hope people acknowledge that the behemoth of government rarely changes course without sustained pressure beyond one man and a single election.

When we withdraw from Iraq, yet leave thirty, fifty, seventy thousand troops indefinitely, I hope the protests continue as they would have under a Bush administration.

As we continue to spend unsustainable, unconscionable amounts on global empire, even as our economy crumbles, I hope people seriously question their blind trust in government to do the right thing when it doesn’t even sink the easy buckets.

For those satisfied to welcome anyone but Bush into government’s highest office, yesterday was a celebration for the ages. For those who seek peace, freedom, and sound fiscal policy, it still feels like a wake.