What I Cooked Last Night

How long does red wine last, opened? I had opened the bottle, a very rich, purplish-black Langhorne Creek shiraz of 14%-alcohol strength, only a day or two earlier, and I had left it unfinished, stored in a dark cupboard. I had forgotten to replace the screwcap, which was sitting by its side. The bottle had just over a glass left. It should be fine, I thought to myself. I decanted it slowly into the glass and there was still an inch left. * I cooked the steak, flipped and turned it so that the grill marks made perfect squares. Ninety seconds each side. Rare. The potatoes were already done, as were the asparagus and the fried onions and the pepper sauce. I served it up and sat at the big round table in the kitchen of the beach house where I can eat and read at the same time. I had been going through some old online newspapers from the 1940s researching a job I'm working on. (It's taking longer than it should, because I keep finding interesting items in the old newspapers...

Monday. North Melbourne fails to poach star players: "After missing out on (Josh) Kelly's prized signature a year ago, North (Melbourne) will ... try to tempt the slick left-foot midfielder to Arden St once again with one of the game's richest long-term deals. The Kangaroos are desperate to land a big-name midfield recruit after missing out of Richmond's Dustin Martin, Collingwood's Adam Treloar and Jordan De Goey, and Sydney's Isaac Heeney." (Jay Clark, Herald Sun) Tuesday: North declares North is a winner because no other team got them: "Losing out on Andrew Gaff was not a 'kick in the guts' for North Melbourne, according to chairman Ben Buckley. ... 'I don't buy they rejected North, they just chose to stay in an environment which was very dear to them ... if they had chosen to go, they would've chosen to come to us and that's a very positive thing.' " (Mark Robinson, Herald Sun) Keep trying to buy a flag, Roos - lik...

Haven't seen one for a couple of years - snakes. Jumped over one when running along the Merri Creek path a few years ago. Couldn't stop in time; it wriggled across the path as I ran past and it reared up at me but missed. This weekend I drove over one (didn't hit it) when driving into the Gunnamatta surf beach car park. A few minutes later, I walked up the path towards the beach and a brown snake crept out. I nearly stepped on it. The children had run ahead and were on the beach. If I've seen two snakes in five minutes the place must be crawling with them.

Blake Browning Burns is holding a casting session for a television commercial at the studio of Rodney Jay Films. On arriving, Paul, the agency copywriter, has driven his sports car through the cyclorama wall at one end of the studio. He and Rodney Jay, the producer/director, are trading insults while they wait for the extras to arrive. The person to be cast will have to pretend to be a basketball player and throw a goal. PAUL: By the way, is there going to be any casting done today or are we going to just trash talk each other until it's time to go home? Because if we are, I'd rather be doing it over lunch. Being insulted makes me hungry for some reason. RODNEY (LOOKS AT HIS WATCH): Katja's got some tall extras coming in for the basketball scene. If we get one who can do it and looks half OK we might even be able to slip away for lunch .... PAUL: Tall? Was that all? I said he had to be able to shoot a goal. RODNEY: Well, we'll see ... Half an hour later. Some...

No, he didn't catch it.

A casting session for a bit-part actor in a television commercial is being held at Rodney Jay Films, a converted warehouse which encompasses an open-ended film studio. The studio is used to park the crew's vehicles when shooting is not taking place. It has white walls which curve around to the floor to avoid shadows and create a seamless background during film shoots. This is known as a cyc (cyclorama) background. Lighting cables snake around odd bits of furniture and chairs. In one corner of the cyc, a table is scattered with scripts, unwashed cups and a plate of cold, tired toasted sandwiches. Rodney Jay is sitting at the table with a cigarette stuck in his mouth when a red sports car drives blithely into the studio through the barn door, parks too close to the cyc wall, and its rapier-like nose impales the set with a splintering crash of plywood. PAUL (COPYWRITER WITH AGENCY BLAKE BROWNING BURNS; GETS OUT OF THE CAR AND SLAMS THE DOOR): Where did that fucking wall come fro...

1. The meal Chop three medium onions finely and fry on low heat in half butter and half olive oil - about a tablespoonful of each - until transparent. Add a cup of white wine and the juice of a lemon. Grate some nutmeg into the onions (or nutmeg powder if you haven't a nutmeg) and add salt and pepper. Keep the heat low and cook the onions until the fluid is reduced and the onions are shimmering. Remove onions. Using the same pan, quickly fry thin slices of floured calves' liver, adding a little more butter and olive oil if necessary. A few minutes either side is adequate depending on thickness. Place fried liver on the onions and serve with spinach and polenta or baked scalloped potatoes. As the onions in the recipe melt down with the lemon juice, wine and nutmeg, the resulting aroma will have your neighbours at the door if you're not careful. You don't want your neighbours over tonight. Lock the door from the inside before you start. Call the dish Fegato Alla...

George Orwell , 1947: ... the answer can only lie in a sort of mass hypnosis, or 'epidemic suggestion'. ... one is not dealing with a reasoned opinion but with something akin to religious faith. Throughout history, says Tolstoy, there has been an endless series of these 'epidemic suggestions' ... over which the whole world grew violently excited for no sufficient reason. There are also sudden short-lived crazes for new political and philosophical theories, ... especially in literary circles ... Paul Monk , 2018: The problem with social media is that prairie fires of moral outrage and tribalistic sentiment keep sweeping through it. ... as in the present case, the atmosphere is reminiscent of the cultural revolution in Mao Zedong’s China, with mobs denouncing ... Maureen of Craigieburn, Herald Sun letters, Friday: To all the critics: get over yourselves.

Beetroot and horseradish cream. Peel and grate a beetroot. Chop a small onion finely. Mix the two in a bowl with a dressing of olive oil, red wine vinegar and lemon juice. Add salt and pepper to taste. Fold a tablespoon or two of horseradish cream and the same amount of sour cream through the beetroot and onion mixture. Spoon generously onto thick slices of well-done rib roast, or porterhouse steak ... or roasted potatoes ... or in corned beef sandwiches on sourdough ...

Reason 1 No-one briefs jobs any more. They send emails. You cannot stack emails in an in-tray. So you forget what you're supposed to do by the time six million other emails have arrived. And, no, don't tell me to print the fucking email. I don't have an in-tray six million emails deep. Reason 2 No-one debriefs jobs any more. They send emails. The other day, I received an email with the following message: Good morning writer The client has now read through the copy and has supplied feedback as follows: Headlines to be more visually eye catching. Re-visit the copy contents as some of it is not factually correct. The client has supplied a couple of PPT presentations containing lots of info re the product. Signed Idiot account director. The idiot account director just signed his death warrant. How do you write a visually eye-catching headline? I wouldn't know. I'm just a writer. Get the art director to use a different typeface. Or something. As f...

Cut a couple of large chicken breast fillets laterally into slices about the thickness of a slice of bread. Intersperse the cut chicken with slices of ham. Place fillets into an oiled baking pan that holds them snugly so the slices don't slide around. Cover fillets with your preferred napoli sauce, topping up with a little water if necessary. Top with grated tasty cheese and parmesan on top of that. Plenty of cheese. Sprinkle parsley over. Cover baking dish with foil. Bake 20-30 minutes. Chicken should be moist but not pink. Serve with baked potatoes and steamed broccoli.

Having spent what feels like most of the day - in fact, it has quite literally been most of the day – trying to get to a meeting, Kate, Hamish and Vijay walk into a meeting room on the eighty-eighth floor accompanied by client Charles, who handles a six million dollar account for multinational pharmaceutical company Alchemy. Six people – Blake Browning Burns media buyers – who are sitting around the table, stand up as they enter. A screen hangs down ominously at one end of the table. (The BBB media department operates out of a separate office to BBB creatives. ) CHARLES (TO KATE): I thought we'd double up on the presentation by bringing your media experts in to present their recommendations. I know you won't mind. KATE (SMILES A LITTLE TOO EARNESTLY): That's fine, Charles. I'd like to present creative as you know but why don't we get media out of the way first – and then they can leave. VIJAY (TO HAMISH): Not subtle, is she? There goes another hour. Why does...

Kate, Hamish and Vijay are visiting a major client at its CBD glass tower headquarters to present a new campaign. After being brusquely issued with ID like cows being branded, having an argument about nothing in particular and sitting around in an uncomfortable waiting area, they had to hurriedly reschedule the meeting because Vijay the writer had forgotten the scripts - even though, technically, it was Kate the account manager's responsibility. Four hours later, Kate, Hamish and Vijay endure the reception charade again. After about fifteen minutes a young blonde-haired man wearing a pinstripe suit and a red tie bustles across the acres of marble, gushing 'Hi! So glad you could make it!' which, given the rescheduling, sounds sarcastic, but you can never tell with clients. It is Charles, vice-president of marketing, international consumables, supermarket lines, drygoods, major brands and house brands. Yes, that is his title. Despite the designation, Charles is just ano...

Three executives from advertising agency Blake Browning Burns are calling on their client, a major corporate giant in the food manufacturing industry at its headquarters, a modern glass building about a mile high in the CBD. They are Kate, account manager; Hamish, art director and Vijay, copywriter. They get out of their cab in front of the building, walk fifty steps up to the building's forbidding facade, and enter through sliding glass doors big enough to let in a jumbo jet. They trek across a solid marble floor towards a reception desk the size of a battle ship, Kate's high heels clicking in a disturbingly echoey manner. KATE: We're here to see Charles. (TO HAMISH AND VIJAY) I'll sign in for you two. Take a tag. VOICE BEHIND THE DESK (YOU CAN ONLY SEE THE VERY TOP OF A HEAD. IT IS BLONDE): Sign in before you proceed, thank you. KATE SIGNS THEM IN. HAMISH: Thanks, Kate. Vijay, have you ever wondered why the reception desks in these buildings are always talle...