...a belgian babe

After a hard day's blogging in the Batcave, there's nothing I like more than cooling my brain with a nice cold beer. In fact I'm quite partial to a frosty one during blogging. Sometimes I've even been known to partake in a beer in the early part of a blogging session, say sort of mid-early afternoon, and then sometimes even middayish (with a meal), and occasionaly about three quarters of the way through the session, perhaps early-mid, late afternoon... and then sometimes late-late afternoon to early-mid-evening, and definately through the later part of the mid evening ....... but never at dusk! I'm not a savage.

So I wasn't surprised to find myself at the local bottle shop the other night, all post-dusky and looking for some short-term inspiration. I remember my brain wasn't working all that well at the time, probably due to too much... umm... blogging, and I was having difficulty making a rational decision as to which beer should have the privelage of coming home with me. I don't usually fall for blondes, but I turned out to be extremely satisfied with the selection I had unthinkingly made.

Actually, Hoegaarden (not at all amusingly pronounced who-garden) is a 'witbier' (white beer) named after the Belgian town where it has been brewed since 1966. And white it is, with a clean, uniform and quite appealing cloudiness that can deceive one into thinking that the glass it is served in is exceptionally frosty.
And Hoegaarden also surprises with it's light, jazzy body and crisp finish, quite different to the heaviness associated with the clay-like, swirling sediments typical of some other bottle-fermented brews. The head is tall and silky and it packs a surprising plethora of fruits, quite apt for it' summery good looks.

Hoegaarden owes much of it's and smooth body and delicate finish to it's 'secret' ingredients, the surprising combination of coriander and curacao orange peel from a recipe developed in 1400's. These ingredients lend it a consistency of palate and spring meadow aroma without the overly zesty punch or excessive sweetness of many contemporary, 'boutique' brews.

And Hoegaarden is also served in it's own unique glass, a thick, hexagonal pint or half-pint tumbler. Legend has it that the shape is so that it can be wrenched from the drinker's hand with a spanner at the end of a big night at the pub (or ye pubbe, depending on the century).

Hoegaarden is quite the rising star, and can be increasingly found on tap at quality drinking establishments (like the Espy kitchen; a great drop to quaff with food) and deservedly so. It's a bloody marvellous beer!

Hoegaarden (the regular one...I haven't tried the fancy varieties yet); 4.5 packets of beer nuts.


.

...flavour....where for art thou?

I was going to write a long and whimsical review on a new beer I tried the other day, but I soon realised it doesn't deserve the effort.



I never thought I'd say this but I'd rather have a Fosters. Richmond Lager, a very disappointing 0.5 packets of Nobby's.


This blog seems to have turned into a bit of a Myles Barlow ala Review of late, which is a great show but I always forget when it's on. Does anyone know?

...crikey!

Crikey! Throw another goanna on the barbie mate. I scored this hot date last Saturday night with my hot new wife so we opened up the gates on our white picket fence, jumped in our roo pouches and bounced on down to the local flicks. We got fat on pancakes (just doing my bit for the urban obesity epidemic) and went to see Austraya.

I have a bit of a thing about actually experiencing cinematic experiences in actual cinemas, so it was either that or the latest 007 offering, but I reckon the James Bond franchise lost it's mojo after Diamonds are forever and takes itself far too seriously these days. Where's the willing suspension of disbelief? Speaking of disbelief, despite all the Australia hype, controversy, promotional tie-ins, advertising, potential cringe factor and generally bad reviews, I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

Australia is fairy tale, in Baz Lurhman's trademark fantastical, flambouyant style. People who are looking for something else need not apply. It is simply a high quality popcorn flick, and an engaging tribute to the golden age of Hollywood through the screen of 1940's Northern Australia, a land and time of much mythology. It's not challenging. It's not dark. It's not historically accurate. It's characters are not well developed. But it doesn't need to be it be, nor is it trying to be. It's light entertainment and a visual feast. Just switch your brain off and go for the ride.

A movie that names itself "Australia" is destined to cop a shitload of flak in a modern society so historically young, diverse and idealogically divided, and perhaps the title hasn't helped locally. But its an international film and most other nations consider Australia a bit of an enigma, and Baz does nothing to stop the mystery, in fact he plays on it through lavish cinematography, enhanced to being super-real, aided through world-class digital effects. The cut of young aborigine Nullah rising slowly out of the marsh on horseback, framed by purple crocus, water reeds and a crimson sky was exquisite, a fusion of Monet and Arthur Streeton. Preying on our age-old attraction for the romanticised, noble savage and the "mysterious" walkabout, Baz does nothing to explain that when you're a nomad, you tend to walk about a bit, but it's the mysteries of life that make the world an interesting place, and the cinema is one of the best places to explore that fascination.

As you can probably tell, I'm going in to bat for this one. I know critic's job is to be critical, but I feel that many cultural commentators have missed the point of this film. It shows that anyone in this country who dares to put their head up and try to tell a yarn about a long time ago, in a land far, far away is likely to get their head blown off, and that's a shame. We really are a sensitive lot when it comes to representing ourselves to the rest of the world.

Such cultural obstacles will continue to inhibit the potential of the Australian film industry and will do nothing to foster investment in larger budget projects. It would seem that if you want to tell an Australian story, no matter how fanciful on the big screen, don't have a big budget, don't tell anyone about it and don't have any punters come to see it. Then no one will know if you are offending them or not.

Australia is the ultimate popcorn flick. Sure the Japenese didn't really land on Mission Island because the place doesn't exist, and the cliffs in the Kimberley aren't really the 1000m drop that is presented to you. And the characters are all cliched and the ending is a bit disappointing, though not the director's preferred ending, but it's a fantasy-cum-tribute movie, not a freakin documentary. Some people will judge a film by its ability to provide a thought-provoking and challenging experience, and movies that do that are great. But I like going to the movies to ecscape the realities of life, and I can forgive a movie that may have a dodgy script, acting, etc if it makes it up to me through cinematic experience and willing suspension of disbelief.

And I'd turn gay for Hugh Jackman. So I'm giving it 4/5 packets of beer nuts. What do you reckon?

...a good ole, green-eyed gal

I was never a big fan of Scotch whiskey, nor bourbon for that matter. Bourbon (cheap bourbon) was too sweet, and Scotch tasted like someone had made an ancient celtic rocket fuel and, added a pair of old socks but forgot to add a few ingredients to make the brew less of a solvent and more like something you'd want to pour down your throat. But by my late 20's I had warmed to a few Irish whiskeys, Jameson being the most well known. Jameson (Bammo) is a full-bodied, smooth and balanced drop, not too sweet and not too dry, though I still preferred to mix it with a generous dose of dry ginger ale and ice.

And after a while I even began to appreciate the odd cheapo Scotch and dry on winter's night out, a classic warmer, though I never thought I would be able to quaff the stuff neat or on ice (though that probably has more to do with a cold and fateful night in 1988 that involved three teenagers, a trampoline, a bottle of VAT 69, and consequently a bucket and alcohol poisoning. That night was enough to take Scotch off the menu for the next 15 years).

But I never used to like olives either, or capers or anchovies. Now I can't imagine life (or pizza) without them. Such adult-acquired tastes do more than just demand attention, they are the culinary equivalent of a right-arm uppercut to the cheek on the footpath outside the pub of a Friday night. Pow!

So I now have the pleasure of introducing you to my new love, my sparkling green-eyed beauty, my unlikely romance..... Ardbeg 10yr old Islay Single Malt Scotch Whiskey!

Like a shag on a dry-stone wall in a glade (sea bird or other), Ardbeg takes you there, and then some. Distilled with the crystal waters of Loch Uigeadail and infused with the rich, peat-smoke dried malted barley from a place that just made me throw up my tonsils on the keyboard like a startled sea-cucumber when I tried to say it. The barrels are exposed to the cold northerly gulf winds on a remote island in the Irish Channel, occasionally being pissed on by a Jack Russell Terrier for 10 years or more, bringing subtle hints of brine and seaweed, haddock and Pal to the heady, smoky but smooth vapours. And the shits kinda greenish too.

Whisky comes from the Gaelic word uisge beatha meaning 'Water of Life', derived from the Latin aqua vitae, which goes to show that there was fuck all to do pre-1700 except sit around getting maggoted. "Ooooaaaiiii, I likesh dis ere drink. Makesh my prize heap of dung seem more.... interestin'.... hic!" The good ole days, when rum to a poor man was like gold ("just need something to make me forget about my miserable existence for a bit!)". Well there's heaps more to do these days, with computers and shit ("Makesh my blog seem more.... interestin'.... hic!"), and I'm starting to realise that Ardbeg is a sometimes food (at ~$80 a pop, so not on the cornflakes) and that life is about more than just heaps of interesting dung and rocket fuel, it's a wonderful, lucky, comparatively privileged and perhaps indulgent life I'm having on this awesome, diverse, weird and incredible planet, Earth........



..........all made better with a tumbler of Ardbeg 10yr old Islay Single Malt Scotch Whiskey on the rocks!



Jim Murray's Whiskey Bible 2008 awarded the Ardbeg 10 year old expression the title of 2008 World Whiskey of the Year and Scotch Single Malt of the Year. If I had a Whiskey Bible, or knew any thing about whiskey for that matter, I probably would too. So that's why I'm giving Ardbeg 10yr Single Malt 4.5 packets of beer nuts.