Ph 9480 2500

The Pearl of the North

There’s four sections. Street, inner right, central in, and out the back. I’m here inner right, at a large brown table surrounded by stools bolted to the floor. There’s also a generous sized round table for four and two tables against the wall for two or three. A sideboard has various articles on top including a butcher paper dispenser and crayons for kids to draw with. The walls are white and the floor a blueish grey. A collection of pictures are hung on the wall to my right, a child holding a koala bear, ballerinas, seascapes. A large round mirror is mounted to the wall in front of me and there’s a captain’s hat hanging from the wall to my left. The windows to the street are wide and tall.

The phone’s stopped ringing so I’ve escaped here to Pearl on this blustery sunny Melbourne day. I order field mushrooms with goat’s cheese and a long black. This cafe is spacious, friendly and warm. I know it can get busy too, but today it’s a relaxed crowd of those lucky enough to take part or whole of their Friday off. Who knows, maybe every Friday’s a day off for the folk here?

The cafe is here to serve and thus represents the gradual northward march of Melbourne’s hip crowd who value the shopping strip over the shopping centre, have a distaste for McMansions, and like to keep their public transport options open. The No. 47 West Preston tram can be seen to rumble past occasionally from Pearl’s wide street facing windows.

My long black is excellent, coming out at the proper hot temperature which allows me to take my time with it. The field mushrooms and goats cheese is also well received and comes with a surprise: whole roasted garlic cloves.

Ph (02) 9660 3797

A mere two nights in the great city finds me in a bus on Broadway that steps me down at the start of Glebe Point Road. I must confess to a love of Sydney and its inner locale—Glebe, Rozelle, Balmain, Redfern, Potts Point, Paddington, Newtown. I am pulled, inevitably, to one or the other.

I wander until I reach the corner at Francis St, and the cafe that etches itself here. I enter, and find a nest of little wooden booths, some with single seats, solid parquet hardwood floor (yes I like hardwood floors and the gain of timber), soft off-red walls and wide windows out to Glebe Point Road and Francis St. Service is excellent—genuine friendly people—and efficient. Music comes at correct vol—never disturbing of talk but softly loud enough to listen to if in the mood. This is the type of place where it can be difficult (between the hours of 6 to 7.30) to find a table. Portions are large; coffee is good. Example: antipasto platter of hummus dips, olives, greens, feta, bread, tomato and dill pickle @ $13.50 is enough for two. This applies to most of the meals. I eat here two nights and on both I notice the presence of cops who come in to order takeaway coffee; must be a good sign.

The crowd could be loosely termed ‘university’. Books and notebooks are present. There are many sole patrons.

Opening hours? Seems to be open all day and most of the evening (i.e. eating hours). Highly recommended.

Ph (02) 6563 2287

This is the only other cafe option on the island apart from Thompson’s General Store which only serves coffee in paper cups. Humpty Mick’s doubles as a kind of flash restaurant for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It is also a bakery producing breads, pastries, cakes and slices of reasonable quality.

I gaze out through the glass doors past a screen of noble Norfolk Island pines and to the azure waters of the lagoon, to the magnificent mass of rock that is Mt. Gower, the tallest if the twin peaks on this dot of an isle on the South Pacific. I sit at a table set squarely on a hardwood floor. There are ten other customers on this late Sunday morning in May. My Lavazza long black is hot, maybe lacking in some punch, but acceptable by Melbourne standards.

White-painted walls, beige umbrellas, comfy cane chairs, chrome and stainless steel. Yep, my kind of place.

I have been here an hour and not one single car have I seen. A rack of bikes is out past the lone telephone booth. The Co-Op over the road is open. A three year old (with mother!) pushes a tiny tot in a pusher down the middle of the road.

Ph (02) 6563 2488

I relax in a good chair in this very pleasant establishment which performs functions of Information, History and Conservation as well as cafe (and restaurant at night). I am here at my usual midafternoon hour. Tables are partially filled. I notice that most chairs have names on their backs and am told that the names of the people mean they have donated the chairs. A nice touch, especially in a tourist precinct where the bland and the impersonal frequently blend supreme. There are are cakes, slices and other sweet offerings. Wary from past experience, I ask for a very hot coffee. The coffee when it comes is convincing enough in taste but lacks that heat, which disallows me the pleasure of contemplation over a cooling period. Nonetheless I commend this place for its ambiance and quality of its service.

Ph (03) 5750 1312

The blondwood bench faces the street, equipped with four stools. On the bench sit three pretty mauve/pink water bottles nesting in a small wicker basket. In addition to the usual cafe fare, wine and condiments are sold as well. The wall next my table is of warm orange, and tables too are blondwood. This place possesses a sleek but warm ambiance. Local produce is strongly in evidence—for example, the Milawa Taste Plate—”a selection of Milawa bread, toasted and served with butter and choice of spreads”.

Excellent Genovese coffee. Across the road, the golden letter of the sign on the Edelweiss Bakery glisten in the mid morning sun. It is early June and the ravishing colours of the autumn still glow on trees around town.

Yes—a tourist town par excellence, but the time I’m here it’s past peak. There’s a return to gentle country pace, and a trance of schoolkids who pass by in their blue uniforms gladdens my heart.

The cafe is confortably three-quarters full and talk and music is muted. I like the way the door squeaks.

This place is signposted from The Great Ocean Road and is easy to find. It is a delight, an oasis in a desert of overpriced and poor quality cafs along this famous strip of the Victoria Coast.

The cafe is a small white-painted weatherboard a few hundred metres from the elegant white pile of the Aireys Inlet lighthouse. Tables outside in the open air, a few under the verandah and two or three inside. Know a pet hate? A farrago of cakes for sale all heaped upon the one plate. I like my goodies on separate display. Too often, in this roam along the Victorian Surf Coast, have I been confronted by the former in my caf visits. My friend and I select a savoury scone from a range of biscuits, muffins and cakes, which when it comes is accompanied by a small dish of light orange chutney. My l.b. is of fine quality and the bill for two coffees and two cakes comes to $12—a very fair prince along a tourist strip where often you’ll pay 50% more for similar fare.

Milkshakes, spiders and sandwiches are also available. Wooden floorboards and fascinating old photos of ships and ancestral characters adorn the walls. Various touristy items—cards, booklets, toys, canned fish—are for purchase.

I listen to a group of six at another table. Two are English, bound for Port Campbell. One of the Aussie blokes says to him, ‘You can catch helicopter ride over the Twelve Apostles. If you hang by a rope it’s half-price.’ They leave and we too vanish, bound for our clifftop walk.

In a little space wedged between two shops and covered over in transparent plastic sheeting, is to be found Laneway 73. It’s a most inviting place to be seduced into on a lovely afternoon in early autumn. The Rasilia coffee machine fronts the establishment and seems to be doing a quiet but regular trade in takeaways. Three tables and a bench down the alley and a few tables out on the street. Amazingly, for a seaside caf, The Age is available for perusal, along with other papers and mags on a bench. I settle in for a long lazy read, my bus not due for well over an hour.

A voice from the street—’Takeaway latte thank-you my good man, and could you make that a little bit hotter than the norm?’ Aha, puzzle solved. My l.b. was one of those tepid jobs that I’d encountered a few times in Bendigo recently, and I was beginning to wonder whether a few proprietors were following American style, fearing lawsuits from burnt-lipped customers. Coffee is Gravity and the only goodies are small (very small) over-priced biscuits—so small they should be coffee-accompaniments, not sold. But the ambience is wonderful, and secreting myself here, paper in hand, coffee at elbow and with the thought of a soon-to-be bus ride along The Great Ocean Road, is a delight I am quite happy to share with the gods. And the shade of Kierkegaard.

This place is the first I’ve been to that I’d describe as a modern day Coffee Bar. That is, the focus is definitely on coffee, with bites available as accompaniments to your coffee. Friands, slices, and muffins adorn a counter area near the large shiny and serious looking coffee machine.

It took some getting used to. I’m familiar with cafes that provide the full breakfast option, available all day. I’d say that’s a Melbourne love. But here, perhaps, we are moving gently beyond our initial embrace of ‘the breakfast cafe’ and into a new realm.

There’s an airy, light feel here. Wait staff aren’t frantically delivering copious plates of food whilst at the same time hoping the orders aren’t mixed as well as hoping that whatever peculiar breakfast tastes their customer has are met by the meal they receive. Here, instead, a person who clearly enjoys making coffee is dedicated to the coffee machine whist other staff roam about, bring out orders, chat with customers and package coffee.

This cafe also roasts coffee. There’s an interesting collection of rubber stamps alongside a stack of brown paper coffee bags which appear to be the equipment used to identify the variety of blends available.

Music isn’t loud. The seating arrangement manages to be interesting and allows one to quietly lob in a spot and feel undisturbed. There’s two modest armchairs in the front window with a round coffee table between them; this appears to be favourite spot. Today two interesting looking women in their late forties occupy these seats; one has the quiet observational presence of a writer.

A section of bar seating runs alongside a bench across the northern wall and there’s a communal table shared by both staff and customer, which breaks down the dividing line between the two. The roasting machine is housed in a small open room further in, and beyond this is another room with more seating. The whole area is filled with natural light permeated by the beautifully rich smell of freshly ground coffee beans. And the coffee’s good. My long black comes steaming hot with a golden crema.

Though I’d only ordered a long black and friand and three-quarters of an hour had passed, my water glass is filled, making me feel in no hurry to move on or place another order.

A brief note. We’d dined here the night before (very good) and now I pop in for a coffee. Intimate space. Two lemon easy chairs. Papers. My l.b. is perfect—half fill, rich crema and a small jug of hot water if I wish to alter the strength. A perfect shortbread on a dark green plate. This place is run by young people with vigor and enthusiasm. Highly recommended.