Bosphorus-bound

Our pack of bearded blokes and some hamman-nervous Americans are about to board a flight for Istanbul, where minarets punctuate the skyline, dervishes whirl for tourists beneath Sultanahmet skies, the evil eye twinkles everywhere, and you are never too far from a glass of apple tea. Will tell you all about Turkish delights, culinary and otherwise, upon our return. Gule Gule.

Mmmm, doughnut?

Our friend Birgit's US citizenship came through last week, so we celebrated at her favourite Ann Arbor watering hole, Casey's Tavern. It's down by the railroad, with photos of sporting teams on the wood-panelled walls and bar staff full of 'tude who brook no posh wankers. They're famous for their burgers and for these battered beauties: onion rings. Fat slices of onion encased in a shamelessly plump ring of golden-brown crunch. Inelegant, but they make for fun bar snacks.
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More fun: a flock of the latest Cheney jokes.

Hockey blues

Friday night we checked out our first game of ice hockey, or rather, just "hockey" as they say in these parts. Watched the Uni team lose to Lake Superior State, ending a 10-game winning streak for Team Blue. I'm sure it wasn't our fault.

It's a very fast game, and ice is treacherously slippery, so the players seemed to spend a lot of their time slamming into the walls, pinning an opponent against the barrier with a certain amount of menace.

And now a small world story. Shortly before I left Sydney for Ann Arbor, during a stint as news editor, I ran a silly photo story off the front page under the headline "Gimme a B for busted". It reported a hit-and-run accident near the UM campus: a truck left the scene of a crash only to be tracked down after a cheerleading troupe, having witnessed the event, turned the truck's licence plate into a chant. At a bar on Friday night, I met the victim of the accident. She's a friend of one of the fellows, and couldn't be more surprised to have briefly been front-page news in Sydney.

And guess what made page three of Friday's New York Times? It was a relief to see a positive report from home, after the international embarrassment of December's race riots. The Times said the Senate debate on RU-486 "produced some moments unfathomable in the United States" with some "stunningly personal" statements from some senators. Fingers crossed we'll see some enlightened thinking in the House of Reps.

Group behaviour

You probably remember what it was like to be part of a tight group - maybe your high-school clique, or when on the road with your university sporting team. And the pleasure you took from your shared misadventures and pack behaviour? For our trip to Istanbul, the men in the Knight Wallace posse have decided to grow goatees in honour of "sexy Turk" Sedat, the spouse of Semiha, both of whom are sorely missed since they left the fellowship in December. Here's how Gerard looks under bristles.

Homesick, moi?

Our neighbour Heath Ledger is quitting Bronte (apparently it "scares him", poor pet) and has put his house on the market. The view is to die for but it faces south so its balconies won't get any sun in winter. Probably not a good choice of home for the publicity-shy either...

Loving the love apple

Despite the mild temperatures here (it was the warmest January on record), it's still undoubtedly winter. There's snow on the ground and, although the skies are a brilliant blue, the cold makes its way through your leather gloves and burns your hands. Enough to inspire a pot of chocolate-spiked beef and kidney bean chilli for Super Bowl Sunday.


But there comes a time when you need the taste of sunshine, and despite my convictions against eating food out of season (don't tell the macro police!), I succumbed to some tomatoes all the way from Mexico. Crimson orbs of heady summer warmth. Perfect when tossed with pasta and parmagiano - left raw (merely doused in some peppery extra-virgin olive oil and a few scant drops of balsamic vinegar to bring out the sweetness). For a few minutes in my apartment, as my skin dried out in the central heating and I watched squirrels play in the snow, it tasted like summer.

I am French's bitch

Le subjonctif m'tueras.
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