The Hark-Aldonze ripostuary of antiphonal asininity
Episode 8: The Spaghetti with Gorgonzola Guide to Fascism
The "Receipts" Taos Green Chili | Aldonze gives it a miss SALUD my friend Haark and joyous greetings! This is Aldonze. Chef Aldonze-Luiz (Loo-eeze). I begin by not beating around the tree! Your last repose gave me great pain and, alas, I have come to a mountainous conclusion. The grizzled old man you speak of is none other than my old amigo, soused chef and secret operative Jean-Jacques Serrault. While I am oathed to silence regarding our clandustined operations, I can only say that Jean-Jacques was a loyal, trusted conrad who will be sorely missed by Aldonze. His wise contributions to my magical cooking stabilities will not be forgotten. I fear his death was no accident. I should never sent the poor old man on an assignment of such obvious danger. Aldonze must submit that he is ashamed. Au revoir and bon voyage Jean-Jacques! May you bake with the Angels! After so many years I thought it was safe to announce the writing of my compelling life tails. Evil forces remain dedicated to stopping this book from getting and I refuse to send any more friends bye-bye, including you. Therefore (you must now sit down), I have decided to put the book on held and I will not be visiting your lovely home. This will sadden you and the families but, believe me, it is the right thing to do! You will most certainly miss your planned trip to the outback. You must be strong and allow time to ease your devastating disappointment. Do not break downwards in front of your family. Perhaps, in the near future we can meet in a secret cornice of the world and resume this project, but it is not wise to discuss this life-threatening project at this time. As to the untimely death of your Aunt Doodie: you must not accuse Aldonze! Once again your big stupid act in a kitchen has caused disaster. Aldonze does not suggest criminal intentions on your part, but did the old lady leave you any money? This would explain you brainless actions.** There is little wisdom in mentioning Aldonze to the police. You may find yourself in the clinkers! I leave you to search your heart to certify your intentions for poor Aunt Doodie. My sinseared symphonies! Now to the biz! I offer a simple yet succulent receipt for my next offering. I was asked recently to cater a big time Hollywood party for a director (whom I shall not name) at his estate to celebrate the premature of his new film (also unnamed). I do not accept catering jobs in my older years but I was in need of money (which, had you sent what you owe me I would NOT have needed) so I accepted. Also, the party was to have many stars attending, including some nice looking babes! While there were many delicacies created by Aldonze at this event, my spectacular Spaghetti with Gorgonzola received the most complaintments. The party was a big success but the movie was no good. It bombed. The depressed director got plenty drunk and developed a bad platitude. The deranged man became very moody and was nasty to his star studded guests. When he pushed his producer into my lovely platter of oeufs in aspic, I chased the fool outside with my cleaver! Aldonze will not stand for this childish behaviour! Few were affected by this unnecessary display and kept drinking fine Champagne and savouring my cuisinary delights. I then presented my Spaghetti with Gorgonzola which was consumed by a robust Amarone. The guests gave Aldonze a standing ovulation! I was surprised when the insane director's beautiful girl friend made a pass at me. Since I drank plenty Cognac, who was I to refuse this lovely creature's advances? She led me down a dark corridor into a candlelit bathroom with a warm tub just waiting for a wild love thing. We made the passion while splashing happily in the giant bison. I may have foolishly knocked a candle over in my excitement. Very soon the mansion was filled with fire and smoke. Every one went screaming into the plush gardens. No one was seriously hurt. The crazed director created another scene by jumping off the roof and landed on my new catering truck breaking both legs. It was an obvious attempt to get attention. Unfortunately, a botched suicide! We all watched in silence as the once impressive estate was reduced to smouldering ashes. A film journalist asked me if I had thought to save a platter of my famous cheese puffs before exiting the fiery home, and some idiot asked why I was wearing only a towel. I dismissed these questions with suave aplomb. Few guests even noted the ambulance taking the squealing director off to the hospital. With nothing to drink or eat, the guests slowly departed into the moonlit night. I had thought of sewing the estate for serious damage to my truck.. A fireman began asking Aldonze questions. Since the wet wing ding with the girl friend (and the candles) I thought it better to take my catering cheque and quickly disappear in the confusion. A bon idée, non? Until next time, I remain Aldonze. Chef Aldonze-Luiz (Loo-eeze) at your service. ** If you have received any money from this poor woman, it is only ethical that you should share it with Aldonze. Without my zesty Albondigas you would be penniless! | Hark raises a fist Aldonze the Great! You will forgive my late reply to your missive sent some weeks ago, but events since then have caused Oz Family Hark to spin like a yoyo on a roller coaster in the hurricane of life. To begin with, we fell to celebrations which lasted an entire week. Not, may I assure you, because dear Aunt Dottie ... je répète, Dottie ... had left us any money. Unfortunately, the good woman had felt herself immortal and refused to make out a will. But more of that later. No, our week of boundless joy was caused by you, cher Aldonze, by your decision to call off the invasion of our peaceful little home. It was almost better than winning first prize in the lottery. Not to be mean, part of our celebrations involved cooking each of your recipes one after the other. With nary a mishap, may I add, thus proving, thanks be to the Good Lloyd, that your spell is finally broken! But no sooner had life returned to normal than a boatload of hapless refugees off the coast of Australia was discovered by our evil government to be a sure vote winner in the upcoming election. Here's what happened. 433 Afghan refugees had set sail in a rickety boat from Indonesia in the hopes of alighting at Christmas Island to be processed for eventual immigration to Australia. As often happens, the boat sprang a leak and began to sink. The boat's captain, currently on trial here for people smuggling, issued a Mayday which was monitored by Australian authorities. Our Navy asked a nearby Norwegian container ship, the MS Tampa, to come to the rescue. But our government then asked the Tampa to return the refugees and their crew to Indonesia. Captain Arne Rinnan, regarded now as a hero around the world, set sail for Christmas Island instead, afraid for the safety of everyone on board owing to refugee threats of violence and suicide if he did so. Thereupon Australia's usually neurasthenic leader, John Howard, seized his moment of glory by declaring war on the refugees, claiming they would "never, ever" set foot on Australian soil. His action was met with overwhelming support. For a few days the Tampa rested in International waters off Christmas Island, refused entry by our government. It was at this point that the ship began to be compared to the infamous St Louis, the ship which tried to land 900 Jews out of Nazi Germany, but upon being refused by several countries, including the United States, sailed back to Germany where most of the 900 went to their deaths in the concentration camps. Eventually Captain Rinnan moved the Tampa into Australian Territorial waters, claiming that many of the refugees needed urgent medical attention. Admiral Howard then sent his crack troops, the SAS, to board the ship and force it back to International waters. The captain refused and shut down the ship's engines. The stand off began. As did the disintegration of Australia as a civilised country. Xenophobic racists came out from under their rocks all over the nation, foaming at the mouth on talkback radio in the most hateful terms. Women urged the government to shoot the refugees and THEN send them back to wherever the dirty heathen came from. Nearly 80 per cent of the callers agreed with the government's heartless, fascist actions. Subsequent polls have confirmed the support. Fearing interference from the courts, Admiral Howard cobbled together the Border Protection Bill, which sought to use force to remove any vessel from its territorial waters, to give authorities power to put back on to any ship people who jumped overboard, to overturn "any other law" and prevent any challenge in the courts, and to protect Australian officials from civil or criminal legal action. One of Howard's own backbenchers, Petro Georgiou, said such a law would have prevented Jews escaping Nazi Germany to land in Australia. To its credit, the mostly invisible Labor Party opposition refused to pass the bill, for which they were roundly called traitors by Howard's henchmen. Now called Peg Leg Howard the Pirate, our leader became desperate to find a face-saving solution. He begged and pleaded with Indonesia to take the boat people back, but the Prime Minister there would not even answer his calls. Finally he conned New Zealand to take the women and children and families, while the remainder -- some 300 men -- he palmed off to Nauru. Nauru? An islandlet in the Pacific that sports a total land mass of 21 square kilometres, a population of 11,000, no industry, on again off again electricity because there is no diesel fuel to run it, and all of it's drinking water is imported from Australia. Oh, and it has suffered years of governmental corruption and become a tax haven for corporations. A swell place to offload traumatised refugees. Despite international outrage and a Federal court case here in Australia seeking to overturn his decision (impossible had the Border Protection Bill passed), Peg Leg Howard has pushed ahead with the deportment of his New Jews. They have been removed from the Norwegian ship and put on an Australian troop carrier, the HMAS Manure, which is currently steaming to Papua New Guinea. From there, Peg Leg hopes they will be sent to New Zealand and Nauru. The court case may foil his plan, but only temporarily, for he will then appeal, taking the case to the High Court if necessary. Meanwhile the costs of his folly have skyrocketed. Already the money spent on keeping the refugees out of Australia would have housed each one of them in Howard's concentration camps here for over a year. (Yes, when refugees are actually allowed into the country they must spend years in desert camps behind barbed wire.) In the end, they will be processed in Nauru and those that qualify (usually 90 per cent) then returned to Australia. Why has he pursued this insanity? To win the coming election by courting the votes of disaffiliated One Nation supporters and all the other ersatz humans found to be wanting hearts and souls. In his quest to secure Australia as the new world pariah, he has achieved a sort of stumbled-upon apotheosis. After his more than 20 years in politics, we must at last abandon our reticence to accept the bleeding obvious: John Howard is a truly small-minded, mean-spirited bigot. He has opened the Pandora's Box of racism and xenophobia, conditions which exist all over the world, but only come to prominence when leaders like him, like Slobodan Milosevic and others, play to the lowest common denominator. Already the leaders of the three opposition parties have been sent packages with live bullets and detonators inside, and one prominent female journalist has received a telephone call from a man whose fervent hope is that she will be pack raped by Muslims. This is what Peg Leg's legacy will be. Serbian style hatred and violence. So Oz Family Hark went from elation to depression over night. It is frightening to realise that 80 per cent of the people who live in our neighbourhood are cold blooded monsters. Here, I must admit to a dark side of my usually noble self. When I first heard of the boat people I had a moment of deep regret ... not just for their plight, but because I had so earnestly advised you to abandon your plan to come here. In a way, I had hoped you would take up my suggestions outlined earlier in The Albondigas Meatball Soup Guide to Invasion. Had you done so, you may have been one of those refugees and I would have had the sheer delight of knowing that for the next year or more you would be residing on the island paradise of Nauru! I missed my chance! As for Aunt Dottie, the lack of a will meant her estate was turned over to the government. She was a bit of a right winger herself, so she would no doubt be happy to know that her money is to be spent sending the oppressed back out to sea. |