Blast From The Past

Tupperware Parties.

Like dial-up and cheap petrol and Tyrannosaurus Rex, I thought these did no longer exist. Little did I know that they are alive and well, right here in Australia, thriving amongst suburban and city women alike, in search of companionship and a 500 gram cereal dispenser. Imagine my surprise when I received an (oxymoronic) email invitation to this apparently oft-occuring but seldom mentioned all-women event. Resembling a curious inqusitive child visiting the museum of corded phones, VHS tapes, and manual car windows, I accepted, wondering how this icon of the 50's had evolved, anticipating new and improved ways of keeping my potatoes dry and my cupboards neat.

My preconceived notion about this domestic adventure (besides that Tupperware was a relic of the past) was that they were one excuse for a bunch of ladies to get together without their husbands or significant others or their diets, and eat and drink and shamelessly giggle about everything and nothing and plastic containers. Such a notion was partially alluded to in the invitation, disguised as an suggestion for all to bring a sweet or savory creation in their Tupperware (also a clever euphemism for potluck!). This was also, in part, verified upon entering the kitchen, where brightly frosted cupcakes were lined up, just waiting for a rebellious finger to steal a smidgen of their sugary tops. And not a single guest ignored the suggestion - they all arrived with Tupperware in tow, fat with savory mini quiches and corn pancakes and crudites, and sweet chocolate cake and reallllly good brownies. The wine appeared and the giggling began.

In all earnestness, the Tupperware Lady began her sales pitch, but my impression was that these were products that would sell themselves. Although helpful in explaining the purpose and usage of the various contraptions, the TL could have just sat and taken orders from the swarm of container-starved women armed with cash and credit (and some chardonnay). I was truly surprised at the necessity to purchase large volumes of high-quality yet expensive plastics - enough to earn the hostesses some pretty sweet freebies, and prompt some others to host their own party-plan sales undertaking. You, too, can earn extra money and provide a valuable service or product while simultaneously bonding with your girlfriends! Yay!

And yes, I caved, I yielded to this retail influenza and will be returning to the hostess to retrieve my paid-for vegetable crispers. Sssshhh.

The Epitome of ... Pizza

Pizza. Those crispy cheesy tomato-y oven-baked inventions that if done to perfection, are like your own little mouthful of pure foodie bliss. Thin crunchy crust, fresh mozzarella, a slightly sweet sauce, and a bit of basil (and garlic?), or whatever your preference, there are a multitude to choose from in this multicultural metropolis, in all different shapes, sizes, and flavors. I have been included in a mission to uncover some of the best authentic pizzerias in Sydney. Twist my arm!!

Pizza Mario Republic in Darlinghurst is so authentic, it is certified by the Associazione Vera Pizza Napoletana, an organization founded in Italy, whose approval is indicative of genuine Naples style pizza, integrity and traditional ingredients intact. And, this open-air yet cramped and miniscule eatery is the only Australian pizzeria (as of this writing) to have reached this culinary apex. But, you ask, is it worthy of such high praise and commendation? If the wait for a table is indicative at all, then I would volunteer an enthusiastic "yes!".

I arrived with my companions on a Thursday evening and we were informed that the wait would be an hour. The tiny accomodations were packed and it didn't look like anyone was leaving any time soon. With stomachs growling, we witnessed animated conversations, half-full bottles of wine, serious servers dressed all in black, running back and forth.

Instead of restlessly loitering and staring at the seated patrons, drooling at their food and speculating on when they would leave (hurry up would YA??), we instead chose to scour the nearby streets for some wine to accompany our Associazione approved meal. One person in my party expressed an unwavering determination to find ... the Holy Grail of wine. Or something. It was not to be found on the streets of Darlinghurst, or at least not in the 3 or so wine vendors to which we ventured, so we instead selected random bottles of red and white.

Upon returning, and finding ourselves still waiting and wanting, I think the servers were uncomfortable with the holes we were burning into their backs with our incessant and expectant glaring, and thus one of them appeared with a portable table and efficiently went about setting it up for us in the adjacent courtyard. It was my impression that our server was none too happy, but whether it was due to having to attend to additional guests/pains in the butt or something else, I couldn't tell ... however, I imagine with a secret and silent glee she announced that they were not BYO, and we would have to select from their slim pickins if we wanted wine. Bummer.

The good news is, the pizza was pretty good to an amateur pizza consumer like myself. The previously mentioned wine seeker labels himself somewhat of a connoisseur, and he was also pleased, albeit not ecstatic. At Pizza Mario, as might be expected at other "authentic" such establishments, the safest and best bet was the classic margherita with a thin crispy crust and few but fresh and quite tasty toppings. I think I ate the whole thing. Oink. (Disclaimer: Thin crust Italian pizzas are not that filling!)

Although we had to wait an eternity to truly begin our pizza-rating quest, and although our server took her time in bringing us the bill, Pizza Mario is a pleasant and cozy little place, worthy of one evening spent with friends and a little bit of Italy. Mangia!

Reservations

Waiter: "Do you have a reservation?"
Frazier: "I have an appointment."
Waiter: "May I take your hat?"
Frazier: "No you may not. Go get your own."

Thus goes one of the brief yet memorable exchanges in Spike Lee's film "Inside Man", his fourth collaboration with Denzel Washington who is, as usual, quite good as Detective Frazier. And it is quite an attractive hat, so I don't blame the waiter for asking him.

I viewed this film in the confines of a cool, dark, stadium style theatre, oblivious and shielded from reality for a precious 2 hours. This is thankfully facilitated by the roomy, cushy movie seat, enveloping me like a giant red bean bag, sans the squeaky beans. The temperature would have you believe it was a cool summer evening, perfect for that favorite tshirt and a light pair of jeans. You will not encounter the stifling stench of artery clogging trans-fatty salt crusted popcorn, the incessant crinkling of a box of poly wrapped Red Vines, or some shlump slurping his liter of sugary watered down fountain drink. Instead, and almost certainly before the movie begins, you might hear a brief and very subtle unwrapping of a chocolate covered ice cream cone, appropriately named a Choc Top. Everyone who eats anything eats these. Everyone. (Curiosity and an unnatural adoration of all things chocolate dictates that I must try one next time ...) Almost certainly, too, will you be spared an array of annoying ringtones followed by undoubtedly inane mobile phone speak. If not, threatening great bodily injury to the offender may prove to be effective.

The ensuing food, beverage, and phone silence will be music to your ears and all you will hear is Denzel denying the waiter his request.

The movie-going experience in Australia for me has thus far been quite a favorable one ... but the one thing that completely threw me for a loop was the reservations. That's right, at select Greater Union theatres you can reserve your seat if you purchase tickets online for a small extra fee. It's as if you were going to see Rent on a Saturday evening on Broadway, but you're just going to see Denzel! Now, thanks to the ingeniousness of the cinema in conjunction with the Internet, you can see his pearly whites as close or as far to the screen as you so desire ... and even if you don't reserve, when you buy tickets at the cinema they assign you a seat. Smile and bat your eyelashes and 10C may be yours.

But wait, that's not all folks!!

For just the price of your child's college education, you can gain entrance to the exclusive Gold Class VIP experience! What is Gold Class, you ask? Silly, it's the ultimate moviegoer's quasi-orgasmic and delectably indulgent happy pill, complete with wall to wall screens, reclining Moran armchairs (arranged in pairs with a wine cooler and small table between), and enough space for 30 to 40 of your closest friends. What is that table for? Didn't you know they also have a "deliciously different Movie Menu", from which delectable gourmet items can be delivered to you by a member of the waitstaff? If you slip him or her an extra dollar or two and ask really nicely, they might even give you a foot massage. Oh my GAW have you died and gone to cinema heaven? The children might have to work for their education funds.

Not to be outdone, Hoyts theatres has created a similar swanky utopia, romantically named LG La Premiere, equipped with loveseats in a digital surround sound Cinemaxx (apparently no longer a cheesy soft core porn cable channel) auditorium. Or, if you desire a cinephile roadtrip, you can travel to Victoria, where the Director's Lounge and the Director's Suite await you, both providing a secluded lounge/bar with an array of gastronomic delights, the latter with leather recliners (gasp!) for you and 60 of your friends. Will the fun never end?

For those who prefer a modest black coffee over a double shot half decaf skim one sugar latte, or perhaps a Madza over a Mercedes, your entrance fee is a mere $15.50 for one adult general admission ... and if you reaallly want to silently protest these increasingly hedonistic and gluttonous trends, you can go on a Tuesday and pay only 8 bucks!! Yay! Pass the ice cream cone. Make that two cones! Now you can afford it!

... Life is Good.