Images of Melbourne

Wendall -- every other Thursday

I am just back from Australia and have only had 4 hours of sleep in the last 40 hours so, today, photos are all I can manage. I'll be back with tales of the trip on the 20th.

Two shots of the entrance of the National Gallery of Victoria when it's closed at night.

 

 

And here is the outside fountain during the day. It's a wonderful museum.

 

 

It's also a city of gorgeous streetlights. This one is across from the museum, on the bridge across the Yarra River.

It's a city of churches and skyscrapers

    

A city of modern architecture. . .

 

And interesting restaurants and bars down hidden alleys and lanes.

Like one of my favorites, Arlechin, which is hard to find from the outside. . .

But once you get inside you can get a bespoke cocktail, complete with crystalline ice cubes from Japan, like the one below.

Melbourne has been rated as number four in the world for best restaurants, including the long-standing Cookie. Here's one of their gorgeous cocktails.

And it's Australia, so you have to have a Shiraz with your Beef Borguignon at the French Brasserie.

As you can see, it was a truly fab working trip, which I'll report on fully next time I'm up.  Hope you are all have a lovely summer.

 

-- Wendall 

 

Tales of the Piano Bar #10, The Italian Tale.

Every once in a while I get Jody Duncan wound up enough to share another of his unique stories about life behind the bar at the La Cage aux Folles-style cabaret he owns together with Nikos Hristodulakis on the Aegean Greek island of Mykonos.  For thirty years they’ve run Montparnasse Piano Bar.  That in and of itself is a testament to their business acumen. Staying afloat in the bar business is tough, especially where you go out of your way to treat everyone as family.  Here’s a Jody Duncan Business School example of how to deal with party-minded customers who do not return the respect for your business that you show to them. 

It was 1985, as I recall.  August, of course, and Mykonos was rapidly filling with Italians on their summer holidays.

At the Piano Bar life was normal, with one exception: We were seeing groups of Italian tourists arriving at the bar to spend the evening listening to the show, but only a small percentage of each group ordered anything at all.  The others would simply say, “niente”— nothing.  What we learned was that groups of friends would go out for the evening prepared to pay for only one drink per person per night. 

To achieve that they’d take turns ordering drinks, so that the group could go to three or four bars and still have only one drink per person over the course of the evening.  So, in the ordering process, I was hearing from a group of eight,  “Coca-cola, niente, niente, oranjiatta (orange juice), niente, niente, niente, vino bianco.”  A thirty-six percent rate of sales, not even enough to cover expenses, sadly.

What made things even more difficult was that no one in these groups seemed to understand the business end of our operation, or perhaps they just didn't care.

After a couple of days of this ritual, and faced with another night of  “Niente, niente, coca-cola, niente, hot water with lemon, vino bianco, niente, niente, niente,” I was at the end of my rope and my patience had run out.

I went behind the bar, found some white paper the size of a business card, and began to write:

NIENTE

Our special cocktail for the month of August

A champagne cocktail, featuring vodka, cherry brandy, creme de cassis, and grapefruit juice, generously topped with champagne

700 drachmas

I pinned the cards to the inside of the drink menus and waited for the next group to arrive. I didn't have to wait long.  A group of six arrived. I greeted them, handed each guest a menu, and left them to peruse the cocktail list.  Upon returning a couple of minutes later I asked if they were ready to order.  Yes, they said, and began their “Oranjiatta, niente, niente, coca-cola, niente, niente” routine.

I thanked them, took the menus and went to prepare the drinks.  When I returned to their table with a tray of drinks, an amazed, bewildered look came over their faces.  I handed the first member of the group his cocktail and he said, “I didn't order anything.”

“You certainly did,” I said.  “You ordered a ‘Niente,’ which is our special cocktail for August, and that's exactly what I’ve brought you.  And I have three more for your other friends who also ordered ‘Niente.’  Enjoy your drinks!”

Thank you for the photos from your films Maestro Federico Fellini

Needless to say, our sales improved, and we still get a laugh out of the memory.

And what other cocktail could properly accompany this tale but the infamous “Niente,” currently listed on the Montparnasse drink menu as a Pink Russian:

In a champagne flute, add ½ ounce vodka, ½ ounce cherry brandy, ½ ounce creme de cassis, 1 ounce grapefruit juice, top with chilled champagne (or prosecco), and serve. Salut!!!

Thanks, Jody, but I’m frightened now to ask you for water.

Jeff—Saturday

Tales of the Piano Bar #9, Shenanigans

Today I am in New York for the wedding of my daughter.  It's obviously a busy week and so I thought I'd use another Tale of the Piano Bar to cover for me.  I should have known better.  The teller of this tale, Jody Duncan, and his partner, Nikos Hristodulakis, are proprietors of Mykonos’ Montparnasse Piano Bar.  His story is in keeping with the bar’s reputation as the La Cage aux Folles of the Aegean—which is about as subtle a way as I can think of to say that Jody’s story (notice how I distance myself from the telling) will undoubtedly offend some readers.  Sorry about that, but from my years as a lawyer involved in the personal travails of my clients, I can assure you that similar sorts of events occur everyday, every where, though rarely ending as peacefully as this did.  So, with for those with an open mind…here’s Jody.

It was just after sunset, the sea was silver and the sky blood orange.  It was a few hours before our live entertainment began but customers were gathered around the bar enjoying sunset, including two gay men from Seattle, Arthur and David. 

A conservative looking couple strolled in for a drink.  A friendly sort, they introduced themselves as husband Liam and wife Maureen from Ireland, on holiday with their two teenage children.  It was their first time on Mykonos, they’d heard a lot about it, and were thrilled to finally be here.

One drink led to another and soon Liam and Maureen were deeply engrossed in conversation with David and Arthur.   

Arthur was regaling Maureen with recommendations on places to explore and things to do on Mykonos, while a few feet away husband Liam and David were engaged in an animated exploration of a different sort.  Their hands were deep inside each other’s respective pants.

Nikos and I were in a panic, because if Maureen turned around, she couldn’t miss what her husband and David were up to.  Arthur already knew, because he was facing Maureen and could see everything going on behind her.  He pumped up his efforts to keep Maureen distracted and did a pretty good job of it for far longer than I thought possible.

Just when it seemed Arthur could no longer keep Maureen’s attention away from her husband—and Nikos and I were seriously considering launching a cold water bath across the bar—they withdrew their hands.  

Whew, the moment of crisis had passed.  But then David suggested they all go to dinner together and Maureen agreed.  As the British say, this shall end in tears.  But at least not in our place. 

Or so we thought.

Around midnight Maureen returned to the bar, alone.  She sat on a sofa across from the bar, weeping.  Nikos went over and asked her what was wrong.  As if he didn’t know.

She said she would like a Metaxa but didn’t have any money with her. Nikos told her that wasn’t a problem and called for to me to bring her a snifter of that Greek brandy.  She said, “Thank you,” and assured Nikos she’d pay as soon as she found her husband who had their money.  Nikos said not to worry and innocently asked, “Where is your husband?”

After another round of tears, Maureen said, “He's run off with a man!”

Nikos feigned shock and assured her all would be better in the morning.  He even made her smile when he said, “Darling, at least he didn’t run off with a woman.”  He followed that up with, “This is Mykonos, and that sort of thing happens here all the time."  That wasn’t true, but even if it were it’s not the sort of slogan the Mykonos Chamber of Commerce would want bandied about to tourists.  But it made Maureen feel better to hear it, and that was all Nikos cared about at the moment.  She composed herself, thanked us, and left.

By the following afternoon things seemed to have settled down between Maureen and Liam.  They showed up together at the bar to settle Maureen’s tab and stayed for a round of drinks.  Liam even thanked us for keeping Maureen calm while he was “off doing his thing” the night before.

What husband Liam didn’t do was show a bit of remorse or offer an apology for his behavior.  We’ve no idea what happened after the couple left our bar that day, but we seriously doubt we’ll ever see them again on Mykonos—at least not with each other.

I’m sure there’s a moral to this beyond a cliché-like “all relationships are complicated,” but frankly, I don’t know what it is.

 

How about, “Men are all alike”?

***

From past experience, many of us who make it through a Piano Bar Tale need a drink.  So, with that in mind and as a public service here’s the Montparnasse recipe for a doozy involving Metaxa…sans snifter and tears.

Our Lavender Sidecar.  To a cocktail shaker filled with ice, add 1½  ounces Metaxa  5 star brandy, a healthy dash of tincture of lavender, ¾ ounce of Triple Sec liqueur, and ½  ounce fresh lemon.  Shake very well and strain into a large old-fashioned glass rimmed with sugar and filled with fresh ice.  Add a twist of lemon peel to garnish.  Cheers!

Thanks, my friend, for picking this tale on the day of my daughter's wedding.  I just hope everyone else out there cuts me some slack because I'll be getting more than enough grief from my daughter and her fourth-degree black belt husband-to-be for it appearing under my byline on this day:).  Lots of love and congratulations, Karen & Terry.

Jeff—Saturday

Tales of the Piano Bar, Part 4

It’s the third Saturday of the month and time again for another story from Mykonos’ Montparnasse Piano Bar, the Greek Aegean’s own La Cage au Folles.  For those who haven’t read the bar’s first three tales, over the past thirty years the Piano Bar is where tourists and locals go to see and be the characters making up Mykonos’ legendary 24/7 in-season lifestyle.  The Piano Bar is the creation of Nikos Hristodulakis and Jody Duncan, and they’re behind the bar every night.  This story is told by Jody, followed by a recipe for their classic Elizabeth Taylor’s Eyes cocktail, named in honor of the film legend who inspired what this tale is all about.

Tale Four: The Camel and the Movie Star.

The recent passing of the great Miss T reminded me of this story, and with her legendary sense of humor, I think she’d have laughed too.

In the early days of The Piano Bar we actually served as a library of sorts—emphasis on the “sorts.”  Two friends of ours were the on-island representatives for what I’ll call Happy Time Tours and if any of the company’s vacationing clients wanted to swap one book for another, the Piano Bar was the place to do it.  We were also the venue for the company’s nightly “duty hour,” when at least one of our friends had to be there to assist clients and listen to their complaints.  Our friends euphemistically called it “the bitching hour.”

It was around my third or fourth season of eavesdropping on the bitching when I noticed the girls had become a bit bored by it all.  They’d been fielding the same questions and complaints for almost as long as I’d been telling the same jokes.  So, I decided to take it upon myself to lighten things up for them.

I suggested to one, let’s call her Brenda, “Why don’t we start a rumor and see how quickly it makes it around the island.”  Obviously, Brenda was as devilishly mischievous as I because she leaped at the idea.

Now, it was the spring of 1989 and billionaire Malcolm Forbes (of Forbes Magazine) had just hosted a mega 70^th birthday party for himself at his palatial residence in Tangier.  He’d chartered a Boeing 747 to fly his guests to Morocco and enlisted the aid of his great friend, Elizabeth Taylor, as hostess for the party.  The event was all over the news.  

Eureka, inspiration for a far-fetched tall-tale to come.

But we needed the right person to get it rolling. Brenda wasn’t the sort to do this and no one would believe the story if it came from me.  [Ed.  You don’t say.] A little while later Brenda’s co-worker, let’s call her Susie, came in to cover duty hour.

BINGO!  It sort of went like this. 

Me:             Susie, did you hear the news? 

Susie:          No, do tell! 

Me:             Elizabeth Taylor is on the island. 

Susie:          You’re joking! 

Me:             NO, she’s here, really. She was in Tangier for Malcolm Forbes’ 70th birthday party.  Michael Jackson was there, too, and Michael gave Malcolm a camel for a present. Malcolm didn't want to keep it, so he gave it to Elizabeth who had it shipped with her to Mykonos.  She arrived here yesterday.   Today, she was on Psarou [Ed. The chicest beach on Mykonos] riding the camel up and down the beach.  It was hilarious!

Susie:          Really?  On a camel? 

Me:             Yes, really.  From what my friends told me she was there most of the afternoon. 

Susie:          Well, I’ll have to see this for myself.

The next evening I’m behind the bar, Brenda is on a barstool, and in walks Susie. 

Susie:          Jody, I went to Psarou today and Liz Taylor was not on the beach, and neither was her camel! 

Me:             I know, with all the talk around town about her being here, Psarou was crawling with tourists.  So, today she went to Plati Yialos.  [Ed. A beach beyond Psarou] It’s a bigger beach and she could ride there without people taking too much notice. 

Susie:         Of course, that was a much better idea.  I'm going to find her tomorrow if it’s the last thing I do.  Brenda, we have flights to meet tomorrow, but after we get the clients settled into the hotels, I’m going to the beach to find Liz.

Needless to say, Brenda and I had to dig extraordinarily deeply into our professional pranksters’ pride not to lose it completely, but not even the glimmer of a smile crossed our faces.

The next day Brenda and Susie were with clients at the airport when an Irish fellow who considered himself the omniscient one when it came to what was happening on the island [Ed.  There are many such sorts] literally ran over shouting,  “Susie, do you know who’s on the island?”

“Elizabeth Taylor, and she’s got a camel with her,” said Susie.

He gave an all-knowing smile.  “Yes, I know, and what’s more, I know which hotel she’s staying at!  She’s at the Rochari in room 202!”

That night Brenda came into the bar ahead of Susie and told me what happened at the airport.  I laughed so hard I think that’s how I got my hernia.  Our non-scientific, but none-the-less carefully planned and executed, experiment proved that it takes no more than two days for the most wild-ass, unbelievable rumor to become fact on Mykonos.

And yes, when Susie stopped in later we told her the truth.  She wasn’t happy at being made the stooge—though I did buy her a drink, make that several—and she definitely saw the humor in our little test.  But, to be honest, to this day I don’t think she believes a word I tell her.  [Ed.  And I’m sure you wonder why.]

There is no cocktail better suited to this tale than our own favorite Elizabeth Taylor’s Eyes.  It’s a simple martini, delicate in flavor, and specific in color:

In a mixing glass, add two or three drops of Blue Curacao.  Add two ounces of vodka, a healthy handful of ice cubes, and give it all a couple of stirs.  Next, holding the glass at eye level, carefully add and stir in a bit of cranberry juice. The amount should be small, and you can gradually add more as necessary. This is the crucial point, for you want to add just enough to give the drink a pale violet color to match the color of Liz’s eyes.  Mix well to chill, and strain into a chilled martini glass.  Garnish with a twist of lemon and offer up a toast in tribute to the magnificent Miss T! 

The proprietors.

Thanks, guys.

Jeff—Saturday