St Kilda, breaking the fast

It is always tempting to declare this joint, or the other joint, as one's favourite cafe ever! Evah is a long time, and encompasses many sins. However, I do enjoy 'Il Fornaio' which is on Acland near its intersection with Fitzroy.

My friend, Di, is not a coffee drinker, but instead is a gym-junkie. So, we have an agreement, that when she is slogging it out on the mats, I go down to MY cafe and have a delicious flat white together with a plain croissant, whilst skimming The Age.

Bliss!

Sugar Cafe, early

To have and to have not

Hemingway published his novel in 1937. Harry is an essentially good man, out of his depth. He lacks the moral courage to cut through, instead going with the flow. His life spirals beyond his own control.

It is a chicken and egg situation. A nature versus nurture connundrum. A set of circumstances rarely resolved by a 'you made your own bed, lie in it' response.

Nattering into a FaB week's end

The sun was sinking behind the city skyline and, being weary, I was simply not fast enough to catch that stunning woman as she walked into Forbes-And-Burton. It is a grand little cafe, on the Darlinghurst ridge, immediately before the tumble down into East Sydney. All these inner city areas are pocket-handkerchiefs.


They are still over there, nattering, fiddling with their hair, occupying a table for yonks with only a coffee a piece. And here I am over beside the out-of-view National Art School, which began life as the Darlinghurst Gaol.


They pay no matter as I sidle back in their general direction, except this time looking along Burton Street in the general direction of St Vincent's Hospital, along the route of the 389 bus.

Whereas Kings Cross is sleazy, Darlinghurst is merely shabby. I have just moved GPs, from Edgecliff to Darlinghurst. Feel more comfortable with shabby than with spic'n'span.

Cafe Omer

Cafe Omer is in Comber Street, Paddington, off Oxford Street where the Three Weeds pub is. It prides itself on the quality of its coffee. However, being about 100m down on the left, it needs to be 'in-yer-face' with the identification. So this sign is on the corner. It changes regularly.

The morning milk

6am

The pigeons do not startle ready for flight as I wheel the corner at Five Ways to tramp up Heeley Street. They claim the early morning as their time: the air is damp, and cool; the latte-set stirs under the covers; people movers snooze in the garage. The pigeons wait, but not too patiently.

Having cleaned up the crumbs of yesterday, they bill and coo anticipating the arrival of Madeleine and Gaston, for it is they who throw open the shuttered shop, slide a batch of croissants into the oven, and double ristretto the first two coffees of the day. The pigeons clatter their claws on the footpath, expectantly.

Once aromas like this permeate Five Ways, people and their crumbs are not far behind.

12 noon

Cafe - Tiger Mottle

Meandering down Heeley Street after returning my library books (and paying my fine!) I was mesmerised by the sun glinting off the waters of the harbour down below. Five Ways is my local High Street/Main Street/shopping strip. It is a delight.

The folk at Tiger Mottle were very welcoming and provided unassuming service. From the blackboard, I chose the Trout with poached egg, on a roast pumpkin pattie all on a bed of wilted spinach and avocado salsa. Very yummy, And their double ristretto on Golden Cobra beans produced a coffee so to my liking, I had two.

A pleasure of the flesh

Out along The Finger Wharf, jutting into Wooloomooloo Bay, there is a small Spanish cafe, Velero, which serves exquisite tapas and Rose to take one's breath fair away.

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Sat'day night - Use a little muscle to get what you need

Please click to enlarge

Flicking along the jaw, a bob defined her face and accompanied her brittle laugh, much as a mellow Shiraz accompanies a rare fillet. The winds of August were bleak, and gusty. A toxic mix of pollen and urban dust swirled across her Jimmy Choos. Elaiine could feel the train wreck coming.

Her mouth was dry and her mind more vacuous than empty. That she no longer cared might be putting too fine a point on it, rather, she no longer minded. Geese and ganders came to mind. Sod them – two can play this game.

She lengthened her stride and as they turned across the footpath to mount the stairs, out of the corner of her eye she saw the white parcel slip from fist to palm. Another deal was done, another train readies to leave the station. Her eyes glistened with possibility, as she lowered her gaze to feign oblivion.

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MMM mmm ... hot coffee

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a cafe with a queue must have an excellent barista. And "Camps" has three of them. Having been over at Missenden Road twice in the last week, and in need of a heart-starter, I was overjoyed to not have to battle the early morning crowd.


And a lovely ambience it was. Their own roasted beans, organised service, chewy brownies. Just what was needed. Shall drop in every time now. On Missenden Road, just down from King Street. Same block as the Marlborough Hotel.



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