PM Scott Morrison invites Michaelia Cash to The Lodge in Canberra, to share a curry and plot tactics regarding Western Australia.
MORRISON: Michaelia. So good of you to come. Love the hair. I‘d love some hair for myself, to be honest. This PM gig sends a man bald too quickly for my liking.
CASH: Always good to see you Prime Minister.
MORRISON: No formalities here. Scott, not Prime Minister. I thought we could knock up a curry meal as we talk.
CASH: A curry for the country. Love it! Why not? Marie Antionette would have hung on to her head if only she’d said, “Let them eat curry”!
MORRISON: To the kitchen. Butter Chicken; Rogan Josh; Vegetable Masala and naan.
{They go to the kitchen, grab the curry ingredients and place them on the bench.)
MORRISON: I love this kitchen since the reno has been completed. I’ll do the Butter Chicken and naan, you do the Rogan Josh and Vegetable Masala.
CASH: Sounds good.
(They start chopping the food, heating the pan and so on. Morrison notices Michaelia is lavishing butter into the pan.)
MORRISON: What the fuck are you doing? You don’t use butter. You use ghee for Rogan Josh and vegetable oil for Vegetable Masala. Butter will make it too heavy. This is "Curry in Canberra" not Last Tango in Paris, for God’s sake, Michaelia!
CASH: Trust me, Scott. You’ll love it with butter.
MORRISON: You’re asking me to trust you?! Am I your Prime Minister, Leader of the Government?
CASH: Of course.
MORRISON: Check your track record supporting your prime minister of the day. It sucks. I’d be crazy to trust you.
CASH: Be that as it may, but regard the Rogan Josh and Veggie Masala as my areas of responsibility.
MORRISON: Okay. But see that whiteboard over there?
CASH: Yes.
MORRISON: While the food is cooking I want you to write your ingredient quantities on it.
CASH: With pleasure.
MORRISON: You know I prefer Thai green curry, but we’ve got to shore up our stocks in WA, so I want you to spread the word, back in your home state — I deferred to your preference for Indian curry.
CASH: Of course, Scott. Our little mate Clive is stirring up trouble for us west of the Nullarbor.
MORRISON: Little mate?! Have you seen him lately? He looks like he is eating his way through the Elvis Presley cookbook.
CASH: Pity I’m not still the Minister for Employment. I could raid Palmer’s office, find some dirt on him and get him to agree with the way we see things.
MORRISON: How good is my Butter Chicken looking! Just wait till you taste it.
(Morrison dips a spoon into the butter chicken, has a taste and goes into rapture.)
MORRISON: Gldbergoogoohabadeeyo. Oohynderblubshkookoo.
CASH: Scott. Scott! What are you doing?
MORRISON: Err, err ... sorry. Must have gone into rapture. Praise the Lord! How’s your Rogan Josh going?
CASH: Have a taste.
(Morrison puts his spoon into the simmering Rogan Josh, has a taste and instantly spits it out.)
MORRISON: What the fuck have you done? Fucking terrible!
(Cash, shocked, moves to the whiteboard and seeks refuge behind it.)
MORRISON: It’s not fucking clove stew, you idiot. How many cloves did you put in? Rogan Josh only needs a few cloves at best. Really, Michaelia.
(Cash sheepishly steps out from behind the whiteboard.)
CASH: All the top Indian restaurants – and I’ve eaten at each one of them – say the secret to a great Rogan Josh is to be generous with cloves.
MORRISON: I don’t accept your premise. Fish some of the cloves out of the pan. Now.
(A forlorn Cash retrieves most of the cloves from the pot. They continue preparing the food in silence. Cash attempts humour with her boss.)
CASH: It wouldn’t surprise me if the cuisine at The Last Supper was all Indian curries.
MORRISON: That is not funny.
CASH: Jesus, Scott — I was only trying to lighten the mood.
MORRISON: Do not use his name in vain, ever. And I think it is better you address me from now on as Prime Minister.
(Cash lurks behind the whiteboard until the meal is cooked. They both move to the dining room to consume their meal.)
MORRISON: Try my butter chicken with some naan. Mmm. Not bad.
CASH: Mmm, indeed. Yes, it’s very good, Prime Minister.
MORRISON: Time for your Veggie Masala.
CASH: Hope you like it.
MORRISON: So do I.
(Morrison loads his plate with Vegetable Masala, takes a mouthful and furiously spits it out.)
MORRISON: What is it with you and butter?! It’s Vegetable Masala, not butter masala. Fuck this. I’m not eating this crap. I’ll order a pizza. Better not make the night a dead loss. What will you have?
CASH: Fish and chips always goes down a treat.
MORRISON: Which fish with your chips? Blue Grenadier? Whiting?
CASH: Flake.
MORRISON: Did you say, flake?
CASH: Yes.
MORRISON: Do you know which aquatic creature flake comes from?
CASH: Yes. Sharks.
MORRISON: Yes. Sharks. And who do I barrack for?
CASH: The Cronulla Sharks.
MORRISON: Finally you get something right. No one ever, ever, fucking well eats shark in front of me. Get it?
CASH: But...
MORRISON: But what? You ate Red Rooster chicken in front of that loser Turnbull, that big-time Roosters supporter? And look where that Commie is now. Well, I’m not him.
CASH: Sorry, Prime Minister.
MORRISON: I’ve had a gutful of tonight. Your curries are so fucked. I’ll freeze them and give them to Albanese first day Parliament's back.
Rocky Dabscheck is a musician/songwriter and front person for Rocky and The Two Bob Millionaires. He is also the author of '42+1: The (Real) Meaning of Life' and ‘Stoney Broke and the Hi-Spenders'.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Australia License
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