THE STARS
CFMEU corruption report, 3.3 litre nitrous canisters, ex-Prince Andrew
Everybody loves the Sunshine (Library, home to Brimbank Readers & Writers Festival). We had a great time there last weekend, talking about reporting and hearing some yarns about the scene at the local aquatic centre, the St Albans black market for steak and lollies, and the dramas at Derrimut Gym. We’re still soliciting pitches for our very first open call out. Submissions close this Sunday, so grab a notepad and get out there, subs. We want to hear from you!
★★★★★ Chicken Soup
Those who have been reading THE STARS for some time will know that our soup archive runs deep. With every seasonal change, we hone in on some broth, bisque, or consommé—and they frequently occupy the five star slot. For this we offer no apologies. And now, as the first gloom of autumn descends, we strongly recommend that you indulge in Claudia Roden’s classic chicken soup. This exceptionally easy and cost-of-living-friendly recipe asks that you simply place a whole chicken in a pot, cover it with water, let it come to a boil (while skimming residue off the top), before adding onion, leek, carrot, parsnip, parsley, white pepper and salt. Cover and let it simmer for 2.5 hours, removing the chicken at the one hour mark, stripping the flesh, and returning the carcass to the pot. Serve with noodles of your choice (we prefer stelline, the tiny stars). It’s really just the perfect chicken soup, no notes.
★★★★ Andrew O’Hagan on (former) Prince Andrew
The London Review of Books is at its best when it leans into literary esotericism or withering bitchiness. Andrew O’Hagan’s evisceration of the Prince Formerly Known as Andrew is a pitch perfect execution of the latter. It’s ostensibly a review of two recent books: Andrew Lownie’s biography of Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor and Sarah Ferguson, Entitled: The Rise and Fall of the House of York, and Virginia Roberts Giuffre’s memoir, Nobody’s Girl: A Memoir of Surviving Abuse and Fighting for Justice. But really it just seems like O’Hagan used these publications as an opportunity to gorge himself on some of the lowest hanging fruit around. The story he tells is of two utterly ghoulish hedonists who use their royal status to leech off Saudi princes, arms dealers, and property magnates to make ends meet (read: to summer in Tunisia and winter in Verbier). The review is packed with zingers (“In time, the Yorks’ privilege would be passed down to their children, sociopathic holidaymakers both of them, behaving as if freebies are the only thing that can make you believe you are loved”) and gossip (allegedly Prince Harry had a go at punching Andrew out). Basically, it’s like reading The Sun translated into Oxbridge.
