Archive for January, 2010

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Dear Rice, it’s been fun, but it’s over…


2010
01.14

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Posted in Dear..., Food | 14 Comments »

Dear Rice,

You’re cheaper than pasta, tastier than bread and when you find yourself in the company of a little avocado salsa and some beans, you go even better with sour cream than a baked potato. Until yesterday I thought you were infallible. You were the food equivalent of the friend who is always there at the end of the night to wait in line for a taxi while everyone else passed out on a footpath. You knew the quickest way home, you knew where the spare key was, you knew who I wasn’t allowed to drunken text at 3am and you never tagged me on Facebook unless I was looking particularly hot.

The humblest of all carbohydrates, no matter what the cuisine you were always content to lie there on the plate and let everyone else have the glory. Your starchy whiteness made you the star. You were the bed that brought coconut milk and chilli together, but like an exclusive Hollywood madam you kept silent, letting dashing ingredients have their way above you without so much as a snap, crackle or pop.

No matter what mood I was in, no matter what was in the fridge, you could be relied upon. If you saw me come home with limes we’d drink a bottle of wine together and make risotto. There was nothing you loved more than seaweed, raw fish and wasabi; a flavour combination no other staple could stomach. If ever you sensed I was losing interest in the relationship you’d stretch yourself into kinky noodles and spice things up with a little laksa. On special occasions you’d put on that see-through Vietnamese number, invite some prawns over and let me dip you in sweet chilli sauce. My God, but those were the days. I thought you were the Queen of all carbohydrates. But you let me down. Big time.

The fact that you got along with just about everyone should have been warning enough. You’d partied your way through every continent on the planet, and like a horny Scandanavian backpacker, I should have realised you’d bring more than a bikini and a pair of cargo pants along for the ride. When I came home late one night and you didn’t mention Bacillus cereus had shacked up in my pantry with you, things were never going to be the same. I know I’d been away for a couple of weeks and you had nothing on your shelf for company other than broken cannelloni tubes and Home Brand iodised table salt, but getting intimate with some beta haemolytic bacteria was a low blow.

Despite drinking dank diuretics in Vietnam and feasting on foul fish tacos in the backblocks of Baja, I’d never had serious food poisoning before. In fact, in 29 years on the planet I’d never even been seriously sick by myself. In my darkest, illest hours, there had always been a mum, or a girlfriend, or at least a concerned band member somewhere nearby to pat my head and tell me it was going to be OK. Kicking me in the guts when I was alone the other night was just plain cruel. Sure, I got to learn a bit about myself as the dizzying fever took hold, in fact I even fancied that like Alfred Russel Wallace the hallucinations might lead my mind to spring forth some dazzling new, undiscovered scientific theory, leaving me with a footnote in history. I spewed forth some dazzling and previously undiscovered matter, that’s for certain. But all I was left with was dysentery and a feeling like I was hiding a missing piece of Evander Hollyfield’s ear in my stomach and he was trying to punch it out of me. It still hurts to laugh. Not that I feel amused.

I’ve got other options you know. You never liked cous cous, but we spent some time together recently in Perth and I think there might be something there. Unlike you, cous cous is all fluffy and warm, almost cuddly, and it doesn’t take forever to get ready. I’ve always liked that about cous cous. Pasta is a blast too. And pasta goes really well with garlic and red wine. I always hated it how you and red wine never got along. Red wine is such an important part of my palette, I can’t believe you didn’t make more of an effort to get to know each other.

Rice, I think it’s time we spent some time apart. In fact, after what you did to me, and after all I’ve been through, I don’t know if I can ever love you again. It’ll be hard knowing that I’m going to see you in all my favourite places, putting smiles on random people’s faces, but I’ll get over that.

It’s been fun rice, but it’s over.

Matt

3 comments

Dear Silverfish


2010
01.10

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Posted in Animals, Dear... | 3 Comments »

Dear Silverfish,

Oh little leviathan of the insect kingdom
I thought you were mythical, like Robin Hood in England
I thought you’d been made up as a bit of a joke
By a graphic designer named Alan who smoked
Pencil in hand and a pipe in his jaw
He’d sit there all day with labels to draw
Some were for fly spray, others for repellent
They’d give Alan a story and a package to tell it

One day his boss had come along with a cry
A wonderous new product had entered the line
“Alan dear boy, I’ve something for you”
“This one kills EVERY insect, it’s brilliant: all-new”
“Every insect?” Asked Alan. “That’s rather a lot”
“Can I fit them all in? I’ve only eight spots.”
“Well how many insects exist in this world?”
Asked the boss, whose brow was now somewhat furled
“Well, there’s flies and mosquitoes”, said Alan. “Fleas and moths,”
“Cockroaches, spiders and ants; that’s the lot”

“Well that’s only seven”, said the boss, thinking wrapping.
“We need one more creature or the artwork looks lacking.”
They paused for thought and both scratched their heads
“Mice?” Asked Alan. “Does it make them dead?”
“No, it’s only for insects,” said the boss, looking worried.
“They need six to eight legs, and preferably scurry.”
Alan gave in, and put his pen in its cradle
“I haven’t seen anything else hiding under the table.”
“Nor have I,” said the boss. “We’re clean out of luck.”
“Alan dear boy … just make something up.”

Packaging was fun, and Alan liked to draw,
But he’d secretly been hoping one day he’d do more
Here was his chance, a challenge divine;
It was time to create his own Frankenstein
And so Alan put his pen down to paper
And started creating a creature with lasers
And guns, and venom, and daggers for claws
An insect that killed things, breathed fire and roared
“Goodness me Alan, this thing will not do,”
Said the boss, he was frightened, “it’s all so brand new”.
“Make something less scary, something less evil”
“Or it’ll never get past the marketing people.”

And so a new insect came to be born,
Without any poison or fangs or sharp thorns
The boss liked the roach head, and the long slinky lines
“But now it’s too harmless, can we give it some spines?”
Alan drew them, and then let out a wail,
He’d accidentally put the barbs on the tail
The boss said he loved it “It’s not a mistake”
“The public will buy it, it’ll sell like hot cakes”
“The tail gives it purpose, a reason for hate”
“It’ll make people kill it before it’s too late”
“And in case they think they’ve only got mice”
“We’ll say it eats paper and clothing and rice”
“Alan, dear boy, a name if you wish?”
Alan thought for a moment and said “Silverfish”.

Head office loved it and the packaging stuck
The new insect helped them sell heaps of stuff
Scientists questioned but never complained
The creature looked common and normal and tame
It was there on the label, and that was the proof
No one was courageous to call out the spoof
But I’d never seen one so I was suspicious
I feared I’d been fooled by a plan quite malicious
Of course I’d seen roaches, and spiders and flies
But a silverfish never once passed my eyes
I’d written it off as a ploy to sell spray
And figured the hoax would be over one day
I figured the creature just couldn’t exist
Because if it did, I would have seen it.

But then late one night on my white window sill
A small creepy insect was sitting there, still
It looked quite familiar, like I’d seen it before
But not on a table, or carpet or floor.
And then I remembered the thing on the can
So off to the kitchen sink cupboard I ran
And sure enough, drawn near mosquitoes and flies
Was the six-legged creature I was supposed to despise
I took aim with the spray and prepared for the kill
But I stopped before the poison could make him feel ill
A moonlight walk was this guy’s only crime
Did he really need punishment with insecticide?
A slow painful death didn’t sound like much fun
So I opened the window and told him to run
In a flick he was gone as my finger went swish
The first, and last time, I saw a silverfish.

2 comments

Dear Mum


2010
01.09

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Posted in Dear... | 2 Comments »

Dear Mum,

I launched this new blog/website about two hours ago, so you will no doubt have found it by now because I know that since I put you on limited profile on Facebook you like to Google me and check my Twitter account to see what I’m up to. Firstly, welcome. This is a blog, it’s where I write things down and they won’t be about marketing so they won’t bore you as much as the other blog. In fact, it’s going to be semi-personal, so I’ll probably talk about things I don’t tell you about on our monthly phone call. I may even allude to drinking, and possibly having sex from time to time, which is going to freak you out, so sorry about that. Also, I’m going to swear sometimes. I probably won’t say anything worse than the F-word, but you should be pre-warned because I can’t make any promises.

I’ll write you a proper letter here soon, because you are a pretty awesome mum and I’d like to tell the world about you and how you don’t like me swearing, but I thought I’d just get this in first before you find this site and figure out how to use the comments section.

Lots of love, hope dad’s blood pressure is OK, say hi to Dave for me
Matt xx