Breakfast Thieves

Venturing into Melbourne’s sprawling breakfast culture, it’s not uncommon to feel cheated at one point: four dollars for a single-shot coffee, a single translucent sliver of smoked salmon or a poached egg so overcooked it’d be more fitting on the putting green. Such larceny is banished at Breakfast Thieves, a tucked-away eatery where dishes are such a steal, you’ll be longing to pinch the recipes.

Following the warehouse-turned-industrial-chic aesthetic of so many other on-trend dining dens, Breakfast Thieves is decked out with timber communal tables and raised benches, exposed brick walls, bare hanging light bulbs and wooden panels. Views into the buzzing kitchen can be had from every perch. The menu is compact but a corker: from chunks of brioche French toast with peanut butter, candied bacon and lemon curd to crispy fried corn fritters with roasted fennel purée, there is fare to tickle every tastebuds.

Named after its most discerning savant, the Goldilocks porridge trumped all other oaty offerings I’d ever had before. A hodge-podge of vanilla-speckled oats and organic quinoa, the rib-sticking porridge was hot, creamy and sweet – a spectacular remedy to the dreary weather outside. The oats and quinoa were beautifully cooked: not too soft so they became an indistinguishable mush and not too grainy. Thin sticks of julienned rhubarb were slightly tart – I thought I caught a hint of ginger too – and sat alongside a handful of macerated strawberries, which, when pressed ever-so-gently with the back of a spoon, released a puddle of ruby-red juices. Two batons of bruleed banana were reminiscent of banoffee pie: sticky, sweet and caramel. Stems of micro herbs offered a fresh, savoury element. Goldilocks clearly never had this porridge. Otherwise she never would have left.

If, like Mother, you often have trouble tossing up between hot or cold, sweet or savoury, breathe a sigh of relief. Breakfast Thieves has thought of you. Enter the Breakfast Chain, a boardful of boiled eggs, cheesy toast soldiers, fruit crumble and yoghurt. Like a petite three-course meal with entrée, main and dessert all crafted from breakfast fare. Mother began with the two soft-boiled eggs, dipping the fingers of toast, blanketed with melted English cheddar, into the gooey yolks. The cheese had just enough bite, and the platoon of soldiers was crisp and golden. The piping hot quince and apple crumble was moreish and sweet; the chunks of short crumble were sensational and the quince shone against the subtle apple. To finish, Mother polished off the oat-topped yoghurt, and was delighted to find ruby-red fruit compote hidden at the base of the glass. For Mother, everything she could ever want in a breakfast was on the Breakfast Chain – and maybe that’s why she hasn’t stopped talking about it since.

Our coffees at Breakfast Thieves, unfortunately, did not live up to their foodie counterparts. Breakfast Thieves creates their brews from STREAT beans. STREAT is the only non-profit roaster in Australia and offers three blends: a signature Social Blend, the darker Deluxe Blend and single origin. My strong café latte was watery, not creamy, and blah rather than bold. Mother was in a similar boat with her long black, which lacked flavour and the robust notes she favours.

Straight from the Mother There was no sight of Ali Baba or his sticky-finger companions at this thievery-themed eatery. Breakfast Thieves proves you don’t need a novel of a menu to lure the hungry and thirsty. It was a stroke of genius to have the communal tables flank the kitchen pass: it’s the perfect opportunity to spy on your neighbour’s meals, strike up a conversation and maybe make a last-minute meal change.

Breakfast Thieves
Shop 1, 420 Gore Street, Fitzroy
(03) 9416 4884

Two Little Pigs Charcuterie and Grind

Never was there a more aptly named eatery for this Mother-Daughter duo than Two Little Pigs Charcuterie & Grind. The brainchild of a pair of cousins looking to combine their love of coffee and pork, this spanking new installment on Sydney Road delivers – dangerously so – on both fronts.

Simplicity and nods to nonna’s house reign in this café-deli hybrid with white-washed brick walls, cheery yellow saucers, tiles that wouldn’t look out of place in the Brady household and a string of drying meats hanging from the brick arch. The menu announces Two Little Pigs’ arrival as bacon big wigs; you’ll find no ordinary oinkers here. Instead expect thick and mouthwatering cuts tempting enough to seduce even sometime-vegetarians off the vege-train and into a plate of perfectly rendered pork. A must try for carnivores and herbivores alike are the Doughcakes – only available on Tuesdays – the love child of doughnuts and fluffy hotcakes. Spear your knife into the middle of these cakes, as fluffy as they are big, to find hot jam, lemon curd or Nutella; some even come with candied bacon icecream. No, that wasn’t a typo. There is such a thing as candied bacon icecream and it is brilliant.

I like to think I have a sixth sense when it comes to pork belly; I can sense when it’s on the menu and swoop faster than a magpie to a bottlecap. In reality, I’m just a speedreader who darted through the menu and called dibs on my choice before Mother got the chance. It was long before my (carefully planned) forethought paid off; never have I seen such a swanky version of green eggs and ham. A slab of succulent pork belly, swimming in a pool of velvety green veloute, was indulgent and rich; a thin layer of come-hither crackling gave that sought-after crunch and had Mother reaching across the table to swipe a piece. A pair of poached-to-popping eggs sat to one side, the yolk oozing into the veloute to create a soup-like sauce; a pinch of julienned dried angel hair chillis added a stringy mouth-feel and a hint of heat. It was difficult to mop up the veloute with slices of already-juicy pork and gooey egg; the wedges of buttered sourdough – some of the best toast I’ve had – sopped up some but not all.

Mother looked up from her freshly delivered breakfast saying, ‘I might need a torch to eat this,’ – not because the portion was small, but because the plate and its contents were so dark. On a earthy brown plate sat a dark slice of rye toast, slivers of cured jamon and a splodge of deep purple cabbage; the poached eggs and cascade of creamy hollandaise stood out like beacons against a shadowy backdrop. The intense colour of the sweet cabbage was matched by its intense flavour; it dominated the other elements on the plate and overpowered the salty serano. When paired with anything else, the sticky cabbage braise took control; to combat this Mother was compelled to push it to one side and savour each element individually. Tucked beneath the beautifully runny eggs were the thin shavings of jamon – one of Mother’s favourites – which immediately had her back in a Madrid tapas bar. Mother loved the intense meaty flavour from the jamon and was disappointed there wasn’t more. The apple cider hollandaise was thick and slightly tart. Mother was only able to stomach little smears of the sauce as it quickly became too rich for her palate. Likewise, Mother was unable to finish the dense rye.

Two Little Pigs boasts an impressive coffee line up with a single origin, pour-over and filtered. They also have their own signature house blend. My strong café latte was lovely, creamy and the perfect temperature to be nursed as I seriously debated ordering a serving of the Doughcakes. Mother’s long black had a good crema and while it wasn’t particularly robust, it was smooth with delicate notes.

Straight from the Mother This little piggy will be trotting back to Two Little Pigs – with or without Daughter. If I was to have the jamon bene again though, I’ll have to ask for a sharper knife: there were moments where I thought my meal would shoot off the plate and onto the table as I struggled cutting into the cured meat and bread with a not-so-pointy bread knife.

 

Two Little Pigs Charcuterie and Grind
146 Sydney Road, Brunswick
(03) 9939 4042

Ora

Far from the buzz of High Street is an eatery, proof that the tastiest gourmet pleasures can be found in the smallest of places. On its Pakington Street perch, Ora has long lured destination-diners and savvy-locals with its push-the-breakfast-boundaries menu. The lunch fare is just as impressive.

Ora hasn’t faffed about with snazzy accouterments and lashings of trendy trappings. Here, the interior is simple: basic timber tables, Banksy-esque prints upholstering the white walls and a sprawling counter housing housebaked treats and coffee machine. With such a snug seating plan, it’s a given that others will crane their necks for a sticky-beak at your plate and there was a collective, ‘Ooooh,’ from our neighbours as our breakfasts were delivered from the kitchen. It was easy to understand sighs of breakfast jealousy when our choices were so good-looking.

From my experience, prawn toast has always been an indulgence plucked from the depths of a freezer and reheated in the oven. That doesn’t happen at Ora. Their spin includes velvety avocado, scattered superfood and more splashes of colour than a Jackson Pollock. A thick cut sourdough sliced, smeared with thin layer of pounded prawns, had been fried golden and crisp; one side coated in a blanket of toasted sesame seeds. Resting on one of the two wedges was a perfectly soft poached egg, garnished with a sprinkling of multi-hued quinoa; a lightly dressed cucumber, carrot and coriander salad sat to one side, offering plenty of crunch and bursts of flavour. A generous pooling of whipped avocado glued these elements to the plate. My expectations for Chinese takeaway have now been set astronomically high. Thanks Ora. On the plate was everything this hungry breakfaster could possibly want: sweet and salty, smooth and crunchy, rich and fresh, delicate and bold. If I could’ve eaten another serving, I would have.

Mother’s first mouthful of her tiffin egg gave way to a satisfied groan. Her plate was ticking the right boxes. The halves of one egg, enveloped in carrot and curry spices, were yolk up and dusted with crushed cashews. A tumbling jumble of potato hash peeked out from underneath; to one side was a splodge of unctuous kasundi. Everything on the plate worked in harmony. The curry crust on the egg was gentle and mild, reminding Mother of the days where she bought curry pouches from her favourite Indian grocer; Mother would’ve loved to have cracked into the egg at the table – the ultimate test in her book – but the flavour of the breakfast made up for her disappointment. A petite pile of just-pickled cauliflower florets were a surprising discovery, adding a welcome acidity to cut through the rich kasundi. It was the thick pickle that was the boxer on the plate, packing the most punch with spices that complemented those in the curry-coated egg. The only element Mother didn’t love was the Bombay hash: a mound of immaculately cut potato cubes that bulked up the plates offerings but didn’t offer much flavour.

In this years The Age Good Food Guide, Ora took out the gong for best food café. But don’t think that means coffee is neglected – it’s not. Helming Ora’s shiny, multi-grip machine and brewing siphons are former members of the Proud Mary crew. My café latte was sensational: strong and smooth and the perfect temperature. Mother wasn’t as impressed. Her long black – brewed from the Copacobana single origin – wasn’t to her taste. That blend had no guts and Mother likes guts.

Straight from the Mother We seem to have an uncanny knack of snagging the last table at an eatery and getting in before a stampede of other diners, who are then left to look on longingly as they wait for someone to vacate. That didn’t change at Ora: we had only just sat down before VOOSH and a cluster of people appeared at the door. My advice? Get here early. I loved the innovative menu and was tentative at the idea of having a curry and spice inspired dish for breakfast. Now? Consider me converted.

Ora
156 Pakington Street, Kew
(03) 9855 2002

Servery & Spoon

It’s not hard to feel at home at Servery & Spoon. A restored family abode that’s half-eatery, half-foodstore, Servery & Spoon is a far-flung dining destination for those looking to refuel, then restock. With its cute and quaint fitout – bright cushions strewn across comfy benches and random knickknacks not-so-randomly placed – Servery & Spoon could be perched in any corner of Melbourne’s café collection.

Next door to the airy eatery is Spoon & Servery, a deli and foodstore. A glimpse at the groaning shelves and full-to-bursting fridge was enough to tempt Mother, who wandered off to have a sticky-beak leaving me at our table. Here, gourmet-gazers will find fare to refill their pantry with goods from pies, deli meats and salads to exotic treats and petite homewares. Walking out empty-handed may be a serious test of your will power.

I only had one criteria for choosing my breakfast this particular morning: that it squash the worringly loud grumbles coming from my stomach. I chose the kipfler and chorizo hash to come to my rumbling rescue. And fill my tummy it did. Flanking a slice of buttered sourdough was a jumble of scattered fried chorizo, petite potato chunks, ribbons of darkly caramelised onion and tangles of sautéed kale; a fried egg topped the munchable mountain. What the plate lacked in good looks, it made up for in flavour. A generous offering of mild chorizo had plenty of paprika and spices; its meaty mouth-feel contrasting against the salty and soft kipfler potatoes. Clusters of caramelised onion were sweet and tender; the kale was a non-event, adding texture instead of taste. The gooey egg yolk became a perfectly round dipping pot, as I swiped each forkful of chorizo, potato and onion through the velvety orange dome.

There are only two occasions where Mother is quiet at the breakfast table: either I’m in the bad books or her brekky is just that amazing, chit chat would get in the way of another spectacular mouthful. I hadn’t done anything – that I knew about – so Mother’s muteness could only be blamed on the bircher. It only took one spoonful for me to know that Mother was in raptures with her breakfast; it took a second for Mother to utter, ‘This bircher is better than mine,’ – a phrase I thought I would never hear. Digging into the contents of the mason jar, Mother was delighted to find whole berries, shredded coconut and shards of salted almond praline. Unlike other birchers, Servery & Spoon’s had a beautiful texture and wasn’t gloopy or runny; the orange blossom yoghurt gave the bircher delicate citrus notes and wasn’t overwhelming sweet. To compliment the mosaic of flavours, there were different textures with every bite from the soft fruit to the sharp praline – be careful of your toothiepegs.

Servery & Spoon crafted my strong latte just the way I like it: hot and with silkily steamed milk and bold notes. Mother’s long black was edging towards the weaker end of the spectrum, however it didn’t put a dampener on Mother’s breakfast experience.

Straight from the Mother It’s perhaps a good thing – for both waist and wallet – that we don’t live closer to Servery & Spoon. If we were local, I can quite easily imagine myself becoming quite the fixture on one of the cushioned booths, as I worked my way through the menu and goodies in the cake counter. Everything from the service and vases brimming with flowers to the foodstore next door had me grinning. I did regret leaving a warmer jacket at home – someone had cranked up the air con – but that was my only niggle.

 

Servery & Spoon
137 Waverley Road, Malvern East
(03) 9571 7495

Axil Coffee Roasters

Coffee crusaders rejoice: Axil Coffee Roasters in Hawthorn has your every single origin and cold drip cravings covered. And they do it with serious style. Think a cavernous space with a sleek mix of soaring ceilings, black walls, shiny concrete floors and succulents suspended from a build-site inspired metal frame.

It can be tricky breaking habits, especially the kind that typically involved lusting after sugary and rich breakfasts. Happily, I did just that at Axil, opting to bypass the waffles with peanut butter parfait and gingerbread French toast – hello willpower – and rather honed my sights on the house smoked trout and potato rosti. Beware: the portion size is deceptive; what looked like a neat – if somewhat small – pile, once dismantled, became enough to sate a grumbling tum. An inch thick potato rosti, crispy on the outside and soft in the middle, was the bed for layers of pickled baby veg, lashings of fleshy trout, a poached egg and a handful of green herbs; a coral-tinted saffron emulsion pooled around the rosti. Every mouthful was lip-smackingly beautiful. The dainty trout was delicate and fresh, giving the dish subtle tones of the ocean; the vinegar from the pickled vegetables – purple-stained slices of radish and carrot – offered a hit of acidity to contrast the rich textures of the rosti, egg and trout. It was the saffron emulsion that tied each element to another; it was smooth, light and creamy. Delicious.

‘If you squint, it almost looks like an open lasagne,’ said Mother, peering down at her breakfast. Mother encouraged (read: elbowed me) to do like her; I hinted she should see an optometrist. One more solid elbow to the ribs later and a wide-eyed Mother was tucking into her plate: zucchini, corn and haloumi fritters, avocado, relish and a poached egg. Much like me, Mother found herself doubting the portion size, until she toppled the egg from its high perch and unearthed enough spinach to make Popeye kick his heels in glee. Mother dug past the creamy avocado and lashings of relish to find the fritter, a corn-studded slab that boasted plenty of crunch but not much flavour. Mother couldn’t detect the haloumi or the zucchini, and was disappointed that the fritter seemed a smidge doughy in the middle. Another few minutes in a sizzling pan would have given the fritter a golden crisp caramelisation that would have contrasted the soft avocado and velvety poached egg. It was the relish that made the dish, saving the plate from bordering-on-bland territory. The chunky relish was rich, punchy and had just enough of a kick; it bought the individual components together.

With Dave Makin – a three-time Australian barista champion, don’t you know – at the helm of Axil roasting and brewing, the coffee operation here is one seriously impressive business. A sprawling counter houses every piece of coffee kit budding brewers could want; an off-to-the-side nook is lined with shelves laden with keep cups, coffee tampers, storage bric-a-brac and other pieces of whizzbang wizardry. My strong café latte was lovely and creamy. Mother’s long black featured floral notes and not a hint of a bitter aftertaste.

Straight from the Mother It only took two steps through Axil’s front door for us to be welcomed with more than one smile: a cracking start to our lovely experience. For those, like me, who aren’t that well-versed in coffee gobbledygook, Axil may be intimidating: there are oodles of choices and variations. I’d be floored if someone couldn’t find something they’d like. I had to have a chuckle at everyone at the tables around us taking snaps of their meals – we didn’t stand out so much! – and with such beautifully presented fare it wasn’t hard to understand why.

Axil Coffee Roasters
322 Burwood Road, Hawthorn 3122
(03) 9819 0091

Percy’s Aeroplane

Those with a head for heights should make for Percy’s Aeroplane, a Kew haunt that plies locals with custom roasted coffee from a canary yellow Ruggero machine – look up as you wait for your takeaway to spy the mid-soar plane model dangling from the ceiling.

With the front room at bursting point we jetted directly into the back dining area, tucked down the corridor and past the harried kitchen. Here, away from the immediate gaze of any staff it understandably took longer – ten minutes – to be greeted and supplied with water and menus. There’s also a homely courtyard for sun-seekers.

Wes’ favourite was not my initial choice of breakfast. I had originally hoped to try the Buxton trout only to be told they had run out minutes before. Bugger. Despite my disappointment I was happy enough with my fallback: sliced bacon, poached egg, avocado and an herb potato rosti – how could I go wrong with this failsafe combo? The only element that had me hesitate was the capsicum, anchovy and garlic sauce. I knew how strong these ingredients could be individually, so together, I was wary – I’m not particularly partial to anchovies – and asked for the sauce to be on the side. I understand how the dish could be Wes’ favourite – it just wasn’t mine. There was nothing wrong with anything on the plate: the egg was poached to bursting; the bacon rendered; the avocado creamy and smooth and the rosti boasted a crunchy outside and a soft middle. In small doses the emerald green sauce was enjoyable, offering a solid hit of salt that enhanced the flavours of the egg and rosti; too much and it became necessary to reach for the water. I can sum up my feelings about Wes’ favourite with one word: fine. Not amazing; not something I’d gab about for days; not bad; not something I’d warn my friends against. It was just fine.

Mother was having better luck on the other side of the table with her breakfast – thyme infused mushrooms, smashed avocado, dukkah, goats’ cheese and a poached egg. Percy’s Aeroplane are clearly fans of fungi: there were mushrooms aplenty on the plate, much to Mother’s delight. Each of the mushrooms was perfectly cooked, the soft flesh easily giving way to the pressure of Mother’s fork, and was delicately perfumed from the sprinkling of thyme, which enhanced rather than overpowered their earthy flavours. A glaze, quickly diagnosed as balsamic, gave a sweetness that further complimented the mushrooms. Anchoring the grainy slice of toast to the plate was the goats’ cheese, which, as promised, was exceptionally creamy; it lacked bite and sharpness that would have contrasted the other flavours on the plate. A small dusting of dukkah became lost, playing second fiddle to the mushrooms and avocado; the poached egg popped at the slightest touch from a knife, allowing bright orange yolk to spill down the mushroom mountain like lava.

Fancy something to read with your coffee? You’re in luck. At Percy’s Aeroplane a cup of joe comes complete with a short piece regaling the tale of Percy, his aeroplane and how the café crafts their bespoke blend. Mother’s long black was nice with rich notes and thick golden crema. There were three dried coffee drip stains on the cup, which could have been easily spotted and fixed with a quick swipe of a damp Chux. My café latte came with something extra: a chunk of old fried egg sitting in the spoon. I asked if I could please have a new spoon. Without any acknowledgement or an apology the beanied waitress snatched it from my hand, disappeared and returned with a clean spoon, which she unceremoniously dumped onto my saucer without a word. Her surly attitude and lack of basic manners left a bad taste in my mouth, which only became worse as I took a sip of my lukewarm and lacklustre latte.

Straight from the Mother Be warned: if you’re thinking of sitting at the large communal table in the back room of Percy’s Aeroplane, you’ll more than likely be asked to direct lost diners to the toilets. Several times. On a return visit I’d make to sit in the front room, where I can eye off the delicious looking cakes on the cabinet. I couldn’t fault much at Percy’s – except for the discourteous waitress who seemed to momentarily forget she worked in the hospitality industry when she leaned across the table with no apology and wore a look of disdain throughout our entire experience. She put a dampener on jaunt – a shame considering everyone else at Percy’s was lovely and friendly.

Percy’s Aeroplane
96 Denmark Street, Kew
(03) 9939 7642

Proud Mary

It can be hard to pinpoint what makes a café great. That didn’t happen at Proud Mary. It was actually quite easy. Wheel-me-out breakfasts? Tick. Coffee served with passion not pretention? Yes. Waiters who boast the look of hipsters but none of the attitude? Check. And if that isn’t enough for discerning diners, parking isn’t diabolical either.

We aren’t the only ones to be impressed with Proud Mary’s kit and caboodle and at ten o’clock on a Monday it was already chokkers. Hipsters sat alongside tailored suit-wearing professionals; mums wrangled ankle-biters; locals stood, eyeing off the treat-laden cabinet, waiting for their takeaway macchiato. In a stroke of well thought-out preparation our breakfast guest had arrived early and was already sipping her soy latte at our window-side table when we arrived.

Proud Mary’s ricotta hotcakes fall soundly into the smile-smugly-at-the-rest-of-your-table pile. The stack of three hotcakes were flanked by a golden moat of mandarin caramel, segments of dried mandarin, chunky nuggets of porous honeycomb and a dome of vanilla ice cream. The hotcakes were brilliant – fluffy, soft, divine – and could easily be eaten as they were. They were taken to another level as they soaked up the delicate flavours of the gooey fruit-laced caramel, which, to my surprise, wasn’t overwhelmingly sweet. A handful of dehydrated, withered wedges of mandarin were sensational, dissolving on the tongue and leaving behind zingy bursts of citrus – like amped up Fruit Tingles. Hits of sugar came from the hunks of honeycomb, which could be nibbled on whole or – as I did – fervently crushed and sprinkled over the hotcakes.

It was after some consultation with our marvelously moustached waiter that Mother was coaxed into opting for Proud Mary’s potato hash. If only he had warned Mother about the serving size: mammoth. A brick of grated and shallow fried potato served as the base for charred kale, double smoked bacon and a poached egg; the hash swam in a pool of bagna cauda – a traditional dipping sauce of anchovy, cream and garlic. Mother’s first taste of her breakfast was the bagna cauda and it was an interesting introduction, swamping her palate and overpowering the other components. At any other time of day the sauce could have been pleasant; at ten-thirty in the morning it was a tad too early for Mother’s tastes. The hash itself was the perfect blend of soft and crunchy; the bacon was juicy and salty; the kale added a pleasant smokiness to the plate. A beautifully poached egg spilled yellow yolk into the bagna cauda.

They take coffee seriously at Proud Mary and have the coffee toys to prove it; the monster, custom designed six-group Synesso espresso machine is famous among the coffee coterie. There’s a lengthy list of single origin and blends available, which our waiter was happy to run through so Mother could select one for her long black. Unfortunately, she seemed to make the wrong choice and wasn’t blown away by her coffee. She was taken with the brilliant blue of their cups and saucers however. My café latte was fantastic: rich and creamy with wonderfully steamed milk poured into a simple rosette.

Straight from the Mother Proud Mary has a lot going on: a constant stream of people ambling through the door of this renovated warehouse; waiters bustling behind the counter and emerging from the kitchen to deliver attractive looking plates to eager diners. I was surprised to find nothing jumped out at me from the menu; nothing made me go,’Oh yes, that’s me!’ And sadly my eventual choice, although it came with reassurances from our lovely waiter, did nothing to dispel my disappointment in the menu. The bagna cauda looked as though it was seeping out from the hash rather than attractively drizzled over and the anchovies were just too strong for me. Service was excellent however and I loved the buzzing atmosphere.

Proud Mary
172 Oxford Street, Collingwood
(03) 9417 5930

Jerry Joy

Perched in a pocket of Thornbury with a burgeoning food reputation – watch out Northcote – is Jerry Joy, a spanking new eatery living in the bones of a revived Kitschen Pantry. Everyone is welcome at Jerry Joy from mums and bubs with playgroups – there’s an Astroturf patch with toys outside – to couples with canines and gastronomy-seeking locals.

Jerry Joy has all the makings of a stellar suburban haunt. Walls are crisp white and bare; communal and standalone tables are dotted along windows; the counter is laden with a sweet spread of homemade cakes and slices, flanked by the tiny kitchen that speedily turns out highly coveted fare.

‘That one,’ declared Mother, decidedly pointing her finger on her chosen menu item, ‘That has my name all over it.’ Mother had opted for a dish that offered everything she craved in a brag-all-about-it breakfast: a highly photogenic plate of beetroot and red lentil fritters, roasted capsicum hummus, a poached-to-bursting egg and a scattering of greenery. The spiced fritters were divine. They boasted an ear-pleasing crunch when speared with a fork and surprised Mother by keeping their crunch even after a roll around in the braising liquids. Each mouthful of fritter was dunked through the coral-hued hummus, which was smooth and complimented the delicately spiced lentil and beetroot morsels. The braised vegetables were underwhelming: the fennel had lost its distinctive crisp aniseed punch and the once emerald green kale had become murky and lacklustre. Topping off the breakfast was a sprinkling of micro herbs and edible flowers, including – much to Mother’s delight – a fuschia, which was promptly popped just as Mother had done when she was little.

Even if I hadn’t been required to take a picture of my breakfast for Mother Says I still would have, quickly plastering it all over Instagram complete with #nofilter. Why? It was just that pretty. A petite stack of perfectly round pikelets stood guard over a puddle of dark, sticky blueberry jam and dainty clouds of yoghurt foam; tiny nuggets of golden crumble were sprinkled about the plate. As I cut into the pikelets I was surprised to find a texture markedly different to the pancake-like crumb I’ve had before. The pikelets were spongey rather than fluffy and looked dry – a potential side effect of using almonds rather than gluten-packed flour. How did I combat the dryness? I piled a hefty helping of jam, foam and chunks of spiced apple onto each hunk of pikelet. Hello pikelet perfection! The deep purple jam was thick and tart; the yoghurt foam offered a subtle sour hit that broke up the richness of the jam and crunchy crumble. The pikelets eagerly absorbed the tastiness of their more moist neighbours so that every bite was bursting with lush, moreish flavours. If licking a plate were appropriate behaviour for a public outing, this would have been the place.

Coffee at Jerry Joy is brewed using beans sourced from Axil roasters. I was initially unsure of my café latte and found an unusual cloying taste; a few more tentative sips and I decided it was a lack of flavour that was to blame. Mother’s long black wasn’t to her taste; weak and watery, with small pieces of unidentified sediment floating instead of a caramel tinted crema.

Straight from the Mother Having been to both of its predecessors, I was crossing my fingers that Jerry Joy would be just as good. It was better. Relaxed and welcoming with smiling staff and a tempting menu, Jerry Joy exceeded all my expectations. It was refreshing to see a menu with completely original and innovative options; on my next visit I’ll be sampling the sardine ceviche.

Jerry Joy
128 Mansfield Street, Thornbury
(03) 9484 0503

Miss Marmalade

Sandwiched between Sydney Road and Grantham Street is a hidden treasure: Miss Marmalade. A revamped townhouse, this humdinger is cosy and welcoming; more like wandering into a friends’ house for a cuppa than a trendy Brunswick eatery. It’s not only uni students and in-the-know locals that haunt Miss Marmalade; it’s a hit with families too, thanks to the light and airy back room that brims with toys and books.

Miss Marmalade offers what many other Melbourne eateries don’t: a smile when you walk through a door and staff who actually look as though they’re happy to see you. The café’s fit-out is just as lovely. Think exposed brick walls, rustic-chic counters crafted from recycled wood, mismatched chairs and a blackboard-painted back wall complete with a window that peeps into the kitchen.

I blame my Miss Marmalade’s breakfast for inducing a serious case of gym-guilt that followed me around the rest of my day. A three buttermilk ricotta hotcakes were stacked smack-bang on the plate, swimming in a pale yellow lemon curd and topped with chunks of drunken pears and a quenelle of vanilla bean mascarpone. The hotcakes were heavenly; a beautifully buttery edge hid a cloud-soft and fluffy middle that became the base for a smattering of topping combinations. My favourite? All of them smushed on together, of course. Each of the toppings added something different and equally delicious. A pool of lemon curd was smooth and zingy; clumps of intensely rich chocolate crumb resembled crushed Oreos with extra oomph; the creamy mascarpone gently melted into the warm hotcakes; petite wedges of red-stained pears easily gave way to my fork and boasted the delicate flavours of wine, which lingered on the palate.

Mother opted for a more waistline-wary breakfast: green fritters – baby peas, broad bean, spinach, zucchini – with heirloom tomato salsa, balsamic glaze and sesame yoghurt. The choice of adding a half-serve of bacon proved too tempting for Mother to resist. A pile of vibrant, eye-popping colours, mouth-watering flavours and a jumble of textures, Mother was in raptures with her plate. The two fritters boasted a just-crisp edge and a pleasurably soft inside; the broad beans, in contrast to the mushed peas, offered a subtle chomp and something for Mother to sink her teeth into. There was a hint of heat from a spice or herb Mother couldn’t put her finger on. The salsa – tomato, Spanish onion, cucumber – had bursts of intense flavours and mingled wonderfully with the tangy, super creamy sour cream; drizzles of a sticky balsamic glaze was sweet and velvety but didn’t overtake the other elements. To Mother’s delight the bacon was just-charred, crispy and rendered; the perfect salty addition to balance the sweet fritters.

Coffee at Miss Marmalade is roasted by 5 Senses; tasting notes can be seen scrawled on a mirror hanging above the Synesso machine. My café latte was smooth and sat well on my palate despite the flavour being on the weaker side. Mother’s long black lacked strength and her sought-after robust punch; that didn’t stop her from declaring that she would definitely be returning – with or without her Daughter – to Miss Marmalade soon.

Straight from the Mother I love finding gems tucked away in suburban side streets away from the buzz of main drags. Because they don’t have the passing traffic, they often have to rely on fantastic fare and outstanding service. Miss Marmalade has these by the bucketload. With a warm, friendly and relaxed atmosphere, I would happily while away a few hours with friends at Miss Marmalade. My only teensy gripe was that there were no price tags on any of the cakes and muffins on display at the counter.

Miss Marmalade
126 Union Street, Brunswick
(03) 9388 8202

Red Robyn

Diet-delicate stomachs find their respite at Red Robyn, an eatery that flaunts a menu sure to please every coeliac, gluten-intolerant, vegan or follower of FODMAP. From the outside of its Camberwell Road perch, it’s easy to miss the slightly grubby robin hanging above the cafés front door. Keep your eyes open as you amble inside: look down for too long and you may walk smack-bang into the tiled wall that separates the kitchen from the sprawling communal tables and peckish diners.

A back dining room boasts a scattering of standalone tables, a vibrant red feature wall and gave Mother the chance to point out the eclectic collection of kitchen bric-a-brac hanging from the ceiling. Our harem pant-wearing waitress happily revealed her favourites from the breakfast menu and was a welcome guide through the menu-maze of a more than a dozen options.

As a dish with serious staying power – it’s been on the menu since Red Robyn opened – the expectations for my sweet potato rostis with bacon, spinach and peppercorn hollandaise were lofty. I also added a poached egg. Instead of thin discs of grated sweet potato, crisp-edged and soft-centred, the rosti resembled a square slab, barely visible beneath lashings of hollandaise. Unfortunately, trickles of murky spinach water had begun to spill over and pool at the base of the rosti; it wasn’t long before the crunchy sides became soggy. Inside, the rosti was velvety smooth and silky – thanks to the slow cooking process and rice milk we were later told – and the bacon boasted crisp, rendered fat and a salty hit. A healthy handful of spinach – enough to make Popeye’s muscles bulge with glee – sopped up the spice-studded sauce but added little flavour. I quickly decided my jiggly goog wasn’t necessary; the runny yolk only sped up the sogginess of the rosti and made an already filling dish even bigger.

Mother’s initial reaction to her breakfast nachos was, ‘Not another chopping board.’ Her attention, however, quickly fell upon what topped the board. A mosaic of darkly yellow smoked corn puree, intense rings of hot jalapeno, soft green avocado, a jumble of tomato salsa and crowned with a poached egg, the pretty spread was the innovative and original breakfast Mother had been coveting. The scattering of lightly golden, gluten-free tortilla chips offered a satisfying crunch but little flavour; a smear of corn puree was sweet and smooth, had a delicate smokiness and was Mother’s favourite element on the plate. Mother mentioned, in hindsight, she should have elected for the feta rather than an egg – the creamy, salty cheese would have added that oomph needed to take the dish from enjoyable to memorable. Full of fresh and light flavours, this brekky may only feel like a snack to big eaters; Mother left feeling satisfied but was hungry soon after.

Our coffees were lacklustre. Mother’s long black was too watery and had none of the robust, bold notes that she’s grown so fond of. My café latte suffered from a similar no-flavour syndrome; the milk was silky smooth however, and at just the temperature I like.

Straight from the Mother From the street, there’s nothing eye-catching about Red Robyn; it has no profile. Inside, the café seems to suffer from a lack of storage space with racks of glasses and dishes plonked about the counter – with such a small kitchen however, it’s not surprising that there’s an overflow of paraphernalia. Daughter and I are lucky, we don’t have any allergies or intolerances, but we have friends that do and it’s nice to know we now have a place to go where they won’t feel restricted by the choices available.

Red Robyn
393 Camberwell Road, Camberwell
(03) 9077 3763