ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Betoota Heights sexagenarian Gary Morrison has taken a bold step into the world of fine dining.
The retired automotive paint salesman stunned his family last night with a dinner request that could only have come from hours spent watching MasterChef or possibly a mid-life crisis.
“Some black truffle oil on your shaved radicchio salad?” Gary asked his bemused family, a phrase he delivered with the same gravitas he uses to declare the winner of the weekend’s footy match.
Gary’s wife, Linda, who had only moments before been contemplating whether baked beans on toast was a viable dinner option, blinked in astonishment.
“Truffle oil? Since when do you know what truffle oil is? Where did these stupid red glasses come from?” she said.
Their teenage son, Toby, glanced up from his phone, eyebrows raised.
“Is that the stuff that doesn’t even have real truffles in it?” he asked.
Ignoring the skepticism, Gary ploughed on.
“Yeah, it’s top-notch. They use it in all the fancy restaurants. Saw it on MasterChef the other night. Figured it’s about time we bring some sophistication to the Morrison household.”
The truffle oil in question, purchased from Aldi for a modest $6.99, had taken pride of place on the kitchen counter. The bottle’s label, featuring an elegantly scripted brand name and a generic photo of a truffle, suggested a product more ‘new money’ than haute cuisine.
The radicchio, meticulously shaved by Gary using a vegetable peeler he found at the back of the drawer, looked forlornly at the truffle oil as if knowing it was about to be drowned like a Salem witch.
“Gary, you know truffle oil is just olive oil with a bit of chemical flavouring, right?” Linda said.
Undeterred, Gary drizzled the oil over the salad with the flourish of a man who had seen it done on TV and was confident he could replicate the magic. The family watched as he took a triumphant bite, his face a mix of determination and hope.
“Yep, just like they make it at the Ritz. Here, put some on your pie, too,” he declared.
“Plus I’ve been adjacent to panel beaters my whole life so a bit of chemical in my olive oil is the least of my worries.”
Meanwhile, Gary was already planning his next culinary adventure.
“How about some foie gras on our sausages tomorrow?” he mused aloud, taking time to wink at his son.
“Bit of fancy for Friday.”
More to come.
