Penny Farthing

Buyer’s remorse hits hardest at breakfast time. Forget the stresses of whether you bought the right house, if you got the best car for the right deal, or even if you really needed to buy a new dress. You can always talk yourself into believing you made the right decision – the house is close to transport, the car is a beautiful shade of purple, and damn it – you’re almost 30 – you can buy whatever damn dress you want.

Buyer’s remorse, however, is not so easily abated when it comes to breakfast foods. This specific kind of pain comes from attempting the adventurous culinary route, which I stupidly did, expecting brunch-glory only to be left staring weary-eyed at a pallid pot of regret; Baked-eggs.

The Other One told me to try something new, pointing at Penny Farthing’s beautifully handwritten specials board. Indeed the entire décor of the café, is as handsomely antiquated as the board’s perfectly curved script; dark stained wooden table tops, an historic penny farthing bicycle at the front, vintage bags of coffee lining would-be-bookshelves. It’s marvellous at taking you out of yourself, which would normally would be a good thing had it not lured me into trying something other than my favourite “avocado-with-more-avocado”.

The Other One ordered corn fritters with bacon (god-forbid he orders anything that does not come with a side of something that has recently died) and a long black. I ordered the baked-eggs with pumpkin and a strong soy latte and was disappointed when the waitress did not congratulate me on being bold. The meals arrived and I felt only shame for abandoning my traditional favourite.

“Is anything wrong?” The Other One asked.
“It’s too small … who even makes pans that small? And too many colours … and the yokes are hard … and why is there half a loaf of bread on the plate? And why I am sad now.  I want to go home and make avocado on toast…”
“Is that all?”
“ Did I mention it’s small?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes, that’s it.”

The Other One instructed me to finish my meal and half-heartedly praised me for tying to be adventurous. I smiled meekly and pushed the baked-pan of eggs across the plate – wondering if the woman sitting on the table across from us might be happy to swap her avocado with me.

Mixed Business

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

A trip to Clifton Hill introduced me to this small and insanely busy cafe. I did not understand how there could be so many people in one place at such an early hour on a Sunday. The Other One assured me that in most circles, 10 am was not considered an early hour for breakfast, but this goes against my entire concept of “brunch”.

I order a soy latte, apprehensive as usual, and although I am handed my coffee with speed and panache, the coffee is weak and overly milky. The Other One has been ordered off caffeine for a week, so asks for a decaf long black and regrets it instantly.

Although the menu has quite a few vegetarian options, nothing jumps out at me as the meal, the meal that sets a cafe apart, and turns a typical breakfast into brunch.

I order poached eggs with avocado and potato and rosemary hash. My breakfast came with the inclusion of a small dish of chutney, which was my favourite thing about the meal. Although my poached eggs were perfect, soft and gooey in the centre, the hash was overly salted and the toast was hard, almost too hard to cut with the butter-knife I had on hand.

The Other One ordered mushrooms with an extra egg, and not being a fan of mushrooms, I paid his dish little attention. From what I gather based on every meal he has cooked following, The Other One really enjoyed the addition of hazelnuts.

All in all Mixed Business offered nothing sensational to add to the quest for the perfect brunch, and with a veritable crush of cafes to choose from, I do not imagine I shall return.

Discussing the meal on the way home, The Other One gave it a 6/10, ever the Margaret to his David, I gave the cafe 7/10 purely for the chutney.

Fitzrovia – A Southside Special Feature

A trip across the Yarra causes me to panic… Is this cafe enough to broker a peace treaty in my Southside/Northside war?

An impromptu early morning quest to go paddleboarding leaves The Other One and I stranded on the Southside with a need for brunch. A quick search of Urbanspoon led us to Fitzrovia, and while my tastebuds rejoiced, I was left in anguish about having to give up my irrational hatred of everything south of the river.

The Other One ordered his long black, and it arrived, just as long blacks should, quickly and hot.

Thinking I would break with tradition, I ordered a regular latte…. Well, actually, that was a lie, I ordered soy. My soy latte was good, long held prejudice prevented me from saying anything else to praise the south. The coffee was not burnt, nor was it too milky or too watery, that is praise enough from me.

Oh god, the food, the food broke down all walls in the war of Northside/Southside dominance. My fritters on a bed of mushroom and sauteed pea greens even made me set aside my hatred of mushrooms, though I did leave quite a few of the mushrooms for The Other One. Topping this glorious concoction of pea greens, were two perfectly poached eggs and a slab of ouzo soaked saganaki (booze and cheese, together at last).

The Other One ordered Creme brulee toast with bananas, mascarpone, bacon and vanilla sugar. The Other One was in heaven, and I was a little bit jealous.

So with a vow to take up paddle boarding, comes a vow to return to sample the multitude of delights on Fitzrovia’s menu, and I don’t feel bad at all.

Quote of the Day

People who love to eat are always the best people.

– Julia Child

The Breakfast Club

If I had known detention was this tasty, I would have been a bad bad girl in High School.

The Other One and I had a fight over a game of scrabble the night before, I was pouting because The Other One totally cheated, though I was the one with a couple of vowels stashed in my pocket for future use. The air was still tense the following morning when we made our pilgrimage to the next breakfast spot on our list, The Breakfast Club.

Named for the classic John Hughes movie, I somewhat expected the decor to be 80’s kitsch, but I was pleasantly surprised by the classic wicker chairs, crocheted blankets and apple-crate shelving.

The menu was diverse and exciting, this was not the kind of cafe for lovers of the full English breakfast or stock standard eggs florentine. The Other One was getting animated by the prospect of eating and seemed to momentarily forget we were fighting and held my hand. Food ordered, we started on our coffee.

Ah, the eternal problem of the soy drinker, adding a new level of uncertainty to ordering coffee at a new cafe, but Breakfast Club goes above and beyond. The milk substitute is Bonsoy, and they don’t charge a ridiculous amount extra as a tax to the lactose intolerant. Creamy and strong,  with a perfect amount of foam, I am very pleased with my soy latte. The Other One ordered his favourite long black, which was strong enough to wake the dead, and was consumed faster then I could say “hey wait, I need to take a picture for my blog”.

I was still on three down (Affluent 10 letters) when the food arrived, 10/10 for speedy service.

My corn and corn on Brioche was amazing, the perfect portion size, (for me, The Other One would have needed to order seconds) tasting of spring and happiness.

The Other One didn’t talk for 5 minutes, quickly stuffing his face with his Potato croquette with bacon, avocado, poached eggs and chipotle mayo… Even my vegetarian stomach gave a little lurch in “oh god, that looks amazing” appreciation.

I saved The Other One a small portion of my corn and corn covered brioche, and all scrabble wars forgotten, we walked home together hand in hand.

I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend the Breakfast Club to anyone who is looking for a cafe off the beaten track, though I am pretty sure St Georges Rd is as beaten as tracks come. I know that I will return again, hopefully next time without the scrabble induced pouts.

Quote of the Day

We’ve been rehearsing a classic from antiquity, Green Eggs and Hamlet, the story of a young prince of Denmark who goes mad, drowns his girlfriend, and in his remorse, forces spoiled breakfast on all whom he meets.

– Christopher Moore

 

Masterchef Lipton High Tea

And now for something completely different… It may not be brunch, but there were vegemite flavoured desserts.

Trust me, a Masterchef event is the last place I thought I would end up on a Sunday afternoon, yet, there we were. Due to a skill in 25 words or less competitions, I won a high tea for two at the Masterchef/Lipton high tea pop up on the roof of Crown Melbourne. Sounds fancy, right?

The napkins were tied up with yellow ribbon, there’s nothing that fancy in the kind of establishments I usually patron.

What can I say about the Masterchef/Lipton high tea except they took my peanut allergy very seriously and quickly cobbled together a pile of desserts that in no way resembled what everyone else was getting. I took a sneaky photo of the neighbouring tables dish of desserts, cause I always want what other people have.

The tea presentation went above and beyond anything I had seen outside of a T2 shop.

But alas, the tea was still served from a teabag.

The Other One ate his plate of desserts rather quickly, perhaps fearing that they would take his sugar away from him.

Looking around the venue, you could see the amount of money that went into the temporary restaurant, but with the airtime that show gets, I am not too surprised.

Our high tea was short and sweet, we left, glad we did not have to pay, but pleased with our goodie bag of lipton tea and a brief chat with a previous Masterchef winner… My brush with z list celebrity for the week.

Palomino

The diner downstairs… Better the devil you know.

It was the morning after the night before, and yet again neglecting to remember about my inability to handle hard liquor, I overindulged, made a fool of myself, and cried in a taxi. The morning was hard, and I was too hungover to hold a fork.

I always thought of Palomino as the kind of cafe you go to when you’re not up for surprises, and in my seedy, feeling sorry for myself state, I could not think of eating anything more adventurous than eggs – with avocado. The Other One, without the throbbing head and problems with cutlery, went for the foreign holiday version of breakfast. Cornbread, pea salsa and fried eggs. I was impressed, and also slightly nauseous.

The Other One reported favourably on the quality of his meal, and I must admit, even in my state, I was jealous of the meal placed in front of him.

My own scrambled eggs with feta, were what you would expect, creamy, eggy and easy on an upset stomach. If you are looking for a cafe where the meals are fast and the coffee hot, then this is the place for you. Palomino is a Northcote institution, the cafe that started it all, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

Quote of the Day

CHEESE – Milk’s leap towards immortality

– Clifton Fadiman

Gallery Cafe

Where the toast is thick and the barista is even thicker…

I am a human, so I don’t go about pretending to be other things. I don’t suddenly decide I want to be a cow, or a horse. I am a human and I am good at it. If I pretended to be a cow I would only let people down – mainly farmers I guess. But the moral of the story is that pretending to be something you’re not does not help anyone. Gallery Café should know this – but they don’t. And this makes me sad. The NGV is a fantastic gallery – really, top notch – but a rather depressing café. I ordered fruit toast and The Other One ordered a toasted croissant.

My issues with my brunch are best expressed on point form.
(Gallery Kitchen, please take note)

– Why? Why must the chairs be so uncomfortable? Do you hate us?
– Why did my toast take 20 minutes? Were you cooking it over candle flame?
– Why did you put the croissant in a sandwich press? It resembled something that had been run over by a car.
– HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO OVER-COOK THE OUTSIDE OF THE CROISSANT WHILST LEAVING THE CHEESE INSIDE COLD?
-Again, why do you hate me?
-Why are you so expensive? Your gallery’s art works are beautiful, rare masterpieces. They should be expensive. Your fruit toast loaf is just bread with fruit, and yet you seem to think it’s worth $12 for two slices of bread.

We ate brunch and left, stopping off to get some sushi on the way home to fill our half empty bellies. Dear NGV, you are a great gallery. You are not a horse. You are not a cow, and from today’s experience – you should not pretend to be a café.