Tag Archives: cafe

third wave to the power of two

South Melbourne – home of the brothel! At least that’s what my rudimentary ‘research’ (Googling) has led me to conclude. It makes sense – South Melbourne is primarily a business district; lots of workers need to be ‘serviced’, apparently.

Now the only thing South Melbourne seems to have more of (than brothels) is third-wave coffee places. Between St Ali, Dead Man Espresso, Padre and a slew a smaller cafés the area’s not exactly a coffeeless wasteland. That’s why I was a little surprised when I happened upon a still-being-renovated Freestyle Espresso a few months back, whilst causing a ruckus in the back-streets of South Melbourne (read: lunch-time stroll). Once back in the office I utilised my computer to ‘research’ the venue, and seeing that its presence had already caused a disturbance in the ‘force’ (in food blogger wankster circles), I took a mental note to check back in when it had opened. Fast-forward a month, and the lovely Ms G and I were in South Melbourne, hungry and looking for breakfast action.

Walking into the place it all looked rather pretty – cute little tables, polished concrete floors and pristine shelves of gourmet foodstuffs; not at all out of place amongst the more seasoned South Melbourne cafés. Happy in the place’s ‘swishness’ I moseyed on up to the counter, ordering a latte and Moroccan mint tea to wet our whistles. The tea as pictured above, came in a cute and oh-so-shiny teapot. The tea itself was quite sweet and refreshing, and Ms G seemed to enjoy it immensely.

Opting for my default latte (as I do when confronted with a new venue), I found the coffee to be very drinkable, but not in the same oh-my-gawd league as some of the aforementioned cafés.

We grabbed some of the gorgeous menus (pictured above) and began to scrutinise them over at our table, and scrutinise we did – we were like two hipsters at an op shop, poring over piles of clothing to clad our fashionably emaciated frames, only to lock eyes on the same outrageously ‘ironic’ 80s rainbow coloured mohair cardigan.

In our case the delicious ‘cardigan’ of the morning was the Welsh rarebit. Being the utter gent (or lord, as my brothers would say) I acquiesced to Ms G having the rarebit. From her account it was a tasty bit of fare, and from the mouthful I had it was a good bit of winter food.

In recent times I’ve had a gaggle (or is that swarm?) of good cassoulets (Libertine, Cafe Vue at Heide), so spotting the cassoulet with streaky bacon with the offer of an egg on top (a free set of steak knives is the home shopping equivalent) I was sold. However reality did not quite meet my home shopping network exceptions: what I was presented with was not cassoulet. It ostensibly had the cassoulet ingredients, but really tasted more like a standard breakfast of bacon, sausages, egg and beans. As Ms G noted, stewed beans with assorted other ingredients in a dish does not make cassoulet. Also, being a man of ‘large appetite’ the meal felt a little small, and could have done with a piece of sourdough or similar to hold it together.

While I may have had some issues with the food, the staff were fantastic. Extremely friendly and informative, with the barista giving me a run down on their house coffee, Allpress. While the coffee isn’t at the same level as some others in the area, and there are a few ‘teething’ issues with food, I will most certainly be back to give the café another try.

Given the lacklustre coffee at Freestyle, and the ominous ‘headlight wiper of doom’ spotted in the street (not to be confused with Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom) Ms G and I decided to navigate the unwashed masses at South Melbourne Market and pick up a coffee at Padre.

The crowds waiting for their Saturday morning fix was a good sign; I thrust Ms G into the line, requesting a latte with the house blend. It was delicious. While I’m not a coffee snob (at present), I do ‘know what I like’ and this was it. I can’t recall the exact flavours, but it reminds me of the blend used at Cup of Truth.

Ms G, the real man in the relationship (not to be confused with ‘The real Julia’) got a long black, delivered in a gorgeous bit of crockery. For her it wasn’t bitter, and very flavoursome in a savoury way.

The wait staff seemed very attentive and efficient, even amongst the fury of Saturday morning markets. If you’re in the area on the weekend or during the market’s weekday trading hours and need your ‘fix’, this is the place for it.

doing the fandango

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Fandango is a teensy-tiny cafe situated in the less busy part of Errol Street in North Melbourne. A couple of years ago, I was proud to call it one of my local breakfast joints, though on weekends it was always understandably packed. Not too long ago, I had the pleasure of catching up with my girlfriend C for a quick bite to eat and some overdue nattering before I headed to work.

While C very sensibly sipped on lattes, I ordered the pesto scrambled eggs on sourdough with a side of bacon. Pesto and eggs don’t sound like the ideal combination but the smoothness of the eggs and the crunch of the nuts in pesto is actually pretty bloody awesome. I’m a convert!

Because it was the start of my day, I got tea rather than coffee. Apparently, I got one of the ‘strong’ tea cosies! The last time I visited, I got a pink and white one. They’re so cute!

Fandango is such a great place to have as a local breakfast spot. The staff are really friendly, the breakfast dishes are solid (I’ve had the bircher muesli, beetroot eggs and French toast before and all have been delicious). They always seem to have cool music playing in the background too.

je ne suis pas un traiteur*

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I am an idiot.

But you probably already knew that, so let me be more specific. Before work, I decided to pop into Earl Canteen for the duck baguette I’d yet to salivate over. Despite living in Melbourne for twenty years and spending at least ten in the city, I managed to hop on the wrong tram and thus be whisked away far from Earl.

Serendiptously, I was near the brand new Le Traiteur. Rather mussed up (due to rain) and amused (due to having to walk past a strip joint), I went in and squinted myopically at the menu, pondering what baguette to take away.

They had just started making them when I’d arrived, and not being able to wait long, I told them what appealed and they could give me what was ready. Thus, I met the salted beef, organic Emmenthal, gherkin and mustard mayonnaise baguette.

I’m a massive gherkin and mustard fan, so this was guaranteed to satisfy. But the beef! So tender. The baguettes are very soft, which is great for me as sometimes I struggle to chomp the crustier versions. It didn’t quite fill me up and left me wishing I’d chosen a pastry as an afternoon tea snack.

Under much less idiotic circumstances, I found myself invited by Penny, Billy and Tristan to have breakfast at quite the anti-night owl hour and got my transport shit sorted – Le Traiteur is a two-minute walk from Flagstaff station. Coffees and tea were ordered as we strategically selected our breakfast choices. I liked that there was an unwritten agreement that everyone could take photos of each others’ dishes and that the staff were so cheerful and accommodating about photos of the premises and them at work. Suck on that, Stuart White!

I chose one of the simpler, heartier dishes on the menu – the semolina porridge with poached fruits quatre épices. You should have seen the look on my face when I bit into that glorious confit cumquat. This is as close to Ready-Brek as I’ll ever get in my adopted country – nourishing, not too sweet and fortifying. I felt ready to be bundled off into the cold after this. There are lots of ‘sexier’ breakfast options on the menu, but don’t neglect this because it sounds plain – it isn’t.

Partner in crime Tristan got the pikelet stack with Calvados apples and crème fraiche. Having anything with Calvados so early in the morning has got to be labelled decadent!

Billy had the croque madame. This would make a great takeaway breakfast. Feel free to pick it up with your hands and eat it like a sandwich!

Penny chose a dish I would normally choose (I seem to prefer savoury breakfast or brunch dishes to sweet) – the confit eggs, cured trout and fromage frais on seeded loaf. The confit egg piqued up everyone’s curiosity as it is poached in warm oil. That’s right. And yet, its edges look so crispy, as if fried…Penny vowed she would experiment in her kitchen. As for myself, I can barely poach an egg…can’t quite slide them out properly so they look pretty. It’s most likely that if I ever went to a Masterchef audition, they’d just see me and laugh. They’d know.

Not much to add, really. The staff are very friendly, the food’s great and I want to go back. I’m very likely to duck in again for a meal before work even though it’s not at all on my way – would you not agree that that’s a firm endorsement?

If you’d like to read my fellow breakfasters’ reports on this lovely place, head on over to Half-Eaten and Addictive and consuming. Aside from being ace food blog wanksters, they are consummate company for pre-work city breakfasts. Hope we can do it again, guys!

*Fr. I’m not a caterer

eat, drink, stagger

a very tame lone wolf (formerly in cahoots with riff-raff) who loves to do the above

Tag Archives: cafe

third wave to the power of two

doing the fandango

je ne suis pas un traiteur*