Aura

A line of lofty umbrellas, perched on a sprawling terrace, was our only hint to Aura’s blink-and-you’ll-zoom-past locale. Sitting on the ground floor of the Manningham Medical Centre, Aura is flanked by a set of soaring golden arches and a high-rise, oversized cartoon rooster; skip the drive-throughs to find brilliant staff, humble fare and outrageously good coffee.

The croons of Stevie Nicks welcomed us as we walked through the door; so did an Anthony Bourdain doppelganger, who directed us into a light-flooded space decked out with a smattering of modest, dark wood tables and chairs. White walls are minimally dressed – simple canvas paintings hang on those without windows – and booth seating stretches along the one side.

Feeling especially gluttonous the morning of our visit, I made daring dietary choices: absurdly thick slices of golden fried French toast complete with pure maple syrup, berry compote and mascarpone. And a homemade potato rosti. Of course. I approached the mammoth serve the only way that made sense: unceremoniously tipping the toppings from their ramekins onto the toasty mountain and diving in with unabashed abandon. The crisp-edged bread was pleasurably dense; still doughy enough to swiftly mop up the maple syrup and tart berry juices. And unlike past French toast tastings, there was no allusion to that overwhelming ‘scrambled egg’ flavour. Without any toppings the slices were ordinary – I would have loved brioche to up the richness factor – and it was when I smeared mascarpone, piled on just-burst berries and sopped up some maple that the flavours danced on the tongue. Each mouthful became a jumble of sweet and sharp, creamy and chewy. Delish. The rosti was good too; crunchy on the outside, soft and rich in the middle.

Where I was daunted with the size of my breakfast, Mother was feeling shortchanged. Her baked eggs – in a tomato, roast capsicum, onion and chorizo salsa – arrived in such a shallow ceramic bowl it had Mother wondering if she’d been given a half-serve. Beneath a blanket of tangled mozzarella and snippets of greenery were two poached eggs, slightly overcooked but still with enough ooze to satisfy. A pair of garlic-rubbed thyme-dusted toast slices slurped up the saucy juices; the salsa was a smidgeon watery but it didn’t detract from the overall flavours. Of all the elements in the salsa, the chorizo was the standout with each of the halves packing a strong punch. If there had been anymore, the chorizo would have drowned out the other flavours – especially the sweetness of the roasted capsicum, which was already playing second fiddle.

Forget raising an eyebrow at Aura’s lack of trendy roasting-house beans; the coffee at Aura tops that at oodles of inner city eateries. Beans here are provided by Scorpio Coffee, a boutique roaster, who has created a custom blend for Aura – and oh my, what a blend. Mother’s long black was rich and robust with a lovely crema and smooth mouth-feel. My café latte was velvety and creamy, needed only a sprinkling of sugar and had me contemplating ordering a second – such a rarity, it took me by surprise.

Straight from the Mother Being greeted with a smile set the tone for an amazing breakfast at Aura Café. The menu is dotted with palate pleasing, tried-and-tested fare as well as an original creations; the lengthy list of optional sides is impressive and well-priced. In summer the terrace would be lovely, especially with a coffee and slice of cake plucked from display fridge. The only possible downside to Aura? It’s not closer to my house.

Aura Cafe Bar Restaurant
200 High Street, Templestowe Lower
(03) 9850 4007

Thomson Street Foodstore

Take a turn down Thomson Street – a Northcote thoroughfare with a reputation for Christmas-light contests between neighbours – and you’ll luck upon off-the-beaten-track Thomson Street Foodstore, a haunt where locals indulge in cracking coffee and simple fare.

Inside, this made-over milkbar has polished concrete floors, hanging light bulbs and lashings of natural light. The exposed brick walls are dressed with colourful murals by Amanda Hayes; a warren of shelves houses homemade goodies – preserved lemons, chilli sauce, syrups, marmalades, relish – that had Mother hankering for a closer look. There are a handful of tables including the compulsory communal – all full the morning of our visit – which compelled us to take a perch at one of the deep, window-facing breakfast bars where we were quickly seen by a lovely waitress.

Foodstore’s menu isn’t a culinary trailblazer; its offerings are uncomplicated and unassuming, centering on dishes that can be easily and quickly prepared. Those with a fondness for poached eggs on toast may be disappointed to discover their absence from the menu; there’s also no list of optional extras – limitations perhaps due to the teensy cooking space.

When faced with the opportunity to indulge in dessert-like breakfasts, my waist-conscious resolve vanishes quicker than you can say abracadabra – all that’s missing is a cloud of smoke. It was little surprise then that I opted for the poached fruit and hibiscus breakfast crumble with vanilla bean yoghurt. A terracotta-tinted ramekin swaddles a hodge-podge of warm fruit – pears, stone fruit, prunes – and a shallow pool of saccharine syrup. The nut and oat-studded crumble was sweet and short, reminding me of a toasted ANZAC biscuit, fresh from the oven. A pot of creamy yoghurt was speckled with black vanilla seeds, tasted like melted ice-cream and offered a tart contrast to the sweet fruit; a sprinkling of tangy lemon zest or a handful of fresh berries – when in season – would achieve a similar effect. Each spoonful was warm and comforting, the perfect choice for a dreary winters morning. Or afternoon. Or evening.

Other bespectacled breakfasters might be familiar with the impairment of fogged up lenses – Mother most definitely is – so when her baked egg pot appeared pouring geyser-like steam, Mother should have known better than to lean in for a once over. Should have. But, of course, didn’t. ‘This isn’t what I was expecting,’ Mother announced once her specs had cleared, ‘It should be called omelette-in-a-pot.’ Her description was spot-on; the eggs, rather than being cooked whole, had been whisked with the caramelised onion and spinach, then baked to create one large, fluffy pillow. Blistered blobs of marinated fetta topped the scrambled mixture. Mother was disappointed with the flavours on her plate; there was nothing remarkable or memorable. Each of the elements became lost in their eggy casing, which made for monotonous mouthfuls. A scattering of green herbs or the inclusion of ingredients with more punch would have boosted the flavour stakes.

Our coffees were sensational and quickly placed themselves in the best-we’ve-had-yet set. Mother’s long black boasted a luscious caramel crema, rich flavour and a smoothness on the palate. My café latte was crafted with velvety milk, sweet notes and had me scraping the glass clean.

Straight from the Mother Swinging a cat in Thomson Street Foodstore’s kitchen would be a hazardous task: it’s seriously small. I wondered how such a compact cuisine could churn out a diverse menu – until my ears pricked at the familiar ding of a microwave. Several dings. The consistency and temperature of my breakfast– a dish so hot it continued steaming long after I’d emptied it of eggs – gave me an inkling that a microwave was involved somehow. Without a runny yolk in sight I felt underwhelmed by my meal; it was the coffee that followed that had me convinced I’d be returning soon.

 

Thomson Street Foodstore
81 Thomson Street, Northcote
(03) 9486 6479

Milkwood

Behind its unassuming shopfront and white-trimmed front door, Milkwood is a compact-come-cosy space where loyal locals seek nourishment from a menu sporting everything from hotcakes and house-made lamingtons to sautéed mushrooms and lunch baguettes stuffed with punchy flavour combinations.

With a Brunswick postcode, it wasn’t unexpected that Milkwood’s staff had a laid-back, nonchalant vibe as they scurried about delivering lattes and clearing tables. What we hadn’t anticipated however, was staff who offered no greetings, no smile and no acknowledgement of their new customers for ten minutes. Not a particularly warm first impression. The twiddling of our thumbs had one small upside: taking in Milkwood’s farmstead fit out. Think a soaring pitched barn-roof, white washed brick walls, splashes of green detailing and shelves laden with baked goods and preserves made on-site.

Having read titterings of Milkwood’s broad bean smash – with pea, mint and poached eggs – any breakfast brooding was cut short. Slathered over two slices of garlicky, toasted-to-perfection sourdough was a thick blanket of crushed peas and mashed-to-a-pulp broad beans. The smash was smooth, creamy and studded with pea halves; though not the most attractive colour – perhaps from the use of canned peas rather than frozen or fresh – the dullish green contrasted nicely with the crisp white eggs. I would have liked a hint of mint in the smash, rather than just as garnish, to add a zingy burst. My googs were also overcooked with only a dribble of yolk spilling onto the pea-y paste when popped; a stream of rich, oozy yolk would have melted into the smash, adding a gooey, sauce-like boost to the topping and given the dish a oomph that it took it from nice to cracking.

Mother’s breakfast was plucked from the same kettle of fish as Daughter’s: warm cannellini bean and rosemary mash, topped with slices of soft green avocado and sprigs of parsley. A liberal smear of the chunky spread lay languidly over two slices of sourdough with dark flecks of rosemary speckled through the bashed beans. The strong, pungent herb dominated the dish, overpowering the cannellinis and swamping the palate. No other element on the dish – the lemon oil, avocado, parsley – could compete with the rosemary; Mother commented that such herby heavy-handedness would best suit a roast dinner, not a breakfast. A wedge of lemon, a handful of leafy rocket or something that could have stood up against the rosemary would have made the breakfast less of a one-flavoured affair.

Straight from the Mother Before I’d even had my first bite, Milkwood had put a bad taste in my mouth – and it had nothing to do with the food. Perhaps the staff had forgotten their glasses the morning we visited; how else can you explain three servers ignoring two customers, sitting smack-bang in the middle of the small, and definitely not full, café, for ten minutes? I wasn’t particularly taken with anything from Milkwood’s menu and although my final choice wasn’t dreadful, it was underwhelming. Any future inklings of returning to Milkwood will be swiftly squashed – I still have the chills from the icy reception our last sojourn received.

Milkwood
120 Nicholson Street, Brunswick East
(03) 9380 4062

Grace

Wander along a less-trodden side-street sandwiched between Brunswick and Nicholson Streets to find Grace Café and local savants sipping single origins inside a revamped shipping container. Inside, Grace falls into the so-inviting-and-quirky-it-feels-like-a-friends-house set; expect mis-matched teapots, upturned drawers-come-shelves and menus bound with old book covers. Outdoorsy types can choose from one of two porch-toting breakfast bars or a cluster of beer garden benches.

As if they’d sensed our imminent arrival, Grace put on a welcome that immediately appealed to my stomach – and my nose. A sweet, come-hither perfume from an oven-fresh baked good had floated down the street and caused my steps to quicken in anticipation. The welcome we received from Grace’s staff, huddled around of the coffee machine, was just as warm. Taking a table inside, Mother’s newly-sutured knee couldn’t be hoisted up the step into the shipping container, gave us time to play I Spy with Grace’s artistic buffet of design idiosyncrasies.

Mother has always had a weakness for all things bright and colourful; her Grace breakfast was no exception. The smoked salmon breakfast – salmon, avocado, spicy beetroot and quark dip, rocket and dill salad – was an edible artists palette: a handful of vivid green leaves and herbs; lashings of delicate, coral-orange smoked salmon; soft green avocado; intense magenta from the enjoyably chunky beetroot dip. And it tasted as amazing as it looked. The beetroot dip was extraordinary. Light and punchy, there was a pleasant heat from the horseradish cream, an earthiness from the beetroot and a tang from the sour cream-like quark. ‘If there was nothing else on my plate, except for this and the toast, I’d still be happy,’ remarked Mother, as she determinedly scraped the ramekin clean. As Mother mixed-and-matched her toppings on the garlic oil-drizzled sourdough, she found no dud combinations. Her favourite? A smear of beetroot topped with splodges of avocado and salmon, a helping of leafy greenery, more dip and then finished with a lemon spritz. Bliss.

Appearing just as the growls from my stomach grew worryingly (read: embarrassingly) loud, Grace’s baked eggs quickly quelled my appetite. The hearty – and formidable – plateful arrived piping hot, and stayed that way. I haven’t had to blow on my forkfuls so much since I was in a booster seat. Unfortunately my eggs were overcooked; I found pale orange, powdery spheres rather than gooey yolks that trickled into the chickpea-peppered tomato bath. A cumin and garlic infused sugo enhanced the paprika-spiced chorizo – the thickest and tastiest slices I’ve had yet – and was best enjoyed sopped up by a slice of garlicky, golden toast. I would have loved a sprinkling of crunchy, toasted breadcrumbs for textural contrast against soft chickpeas and tomato; a thermometer – or iced water – may also come in handy to prevent burnt tongues.

Forgoing the temptation to order a cold Milo (heavy on the Milo, please) Mother and I opted for a coffee brewed from Espresso Syndicate beans. Mother’s long black, though in a dirty cup, boasted a near-perfect crema, robust notes and there was nary a bitter aftertaste in sip. My café latte was smooth and creamy.

Straight from the Mother  As I hobbled into Grace, it didn’t take long for me to take a liking to the garage sale bits-and-bobs that were dotted around the café. I was itching to give the old dressing table – now a repurposed waiters station – a once over with shellac and varnish. I also loved the rack for coats, the bucket for brollies and a shelf of silver spine picture books for kiddies. The only thing to make my nose wrinkle? Clusters of dirt and fluff around the table legs and in not-so-hard-to-reach corners; a once-over with a dust-pan and broom would sort this eyesore out quick smart.

Grace Fitzroy
76 Rose Street, Fitzroy

Short Round

In a corner-toting building on Thornbury’s High Street sits Short Round, an eatery that’s gone from serving critters to coffee – it was once a pet store – and fare as cracking as Indiana’s bullwhip. Occupying a spacious heritage space, Short Round has all the trappings of an outstanding local haunt; top-notch brunching, a sun-kissed outdoor terrace, communal and standalone tables with views that peer out huge windows, and even thirst-quenching cocktails.

Helmed by a sister duo who have a zeal for all things seasonal and sustainable – much of the café’s fit out is sourced from local furniture stores – Short Round boasts a menu that changes with the crops; expect spring lamb in summer and no tomatoes in winter. Indecisive types may be advised to arrive early as to avoid a prolonged state of menu-mulling; luckily, our cheery waitress came to our rescue, eagerly talking us through her personal recommendations.

With eyes that widened to the size of saucers as she took her first glimpse of her breakfast – roasted mushrooms and asiago omelette – Mother was clearly apprehensive. ‘What did they use? Ostrich eggs?’ she asked with trepidation. Lying languidly across a doughy slice of sourdough, the envelope of fluffy eggs, whipped furiously into submission, encased plump, earthy mushrooms and lashings of the smooth cheese that promptly melted, creating a stringy net around the fungi. Although not strong, the mild, parmesan-like cheese was the dominate flavour, corralling the mushrooms to the backseat; a squeeze of lemon would have offered the acidity to cut through the eggy-cheese medley. Crowning the omelette was a dusting of almond dukkah, a dollop of kasundi and an ample smattering of intensely green rocket. The peppery leaves provided a pleasant fiery contrast to the richness of the omelette, as did the intense spices from the chunky, unctuous tomato pickle; the crushed nuts were a smidge under-toasted for Mother’s preferences but added a textural crunch with every forkful.

It’s not unusual for me to have to fend off invading forks at our mother-daughter breakfasts; at Short Round, I seriously considered picking up and moving to another table. And with a breakfast that had the good looks of a supermodel, it didn’t come as a total shock. The attractive hodge-podge of avocado salsa, poached eggs, house made cornbread, bacon and red cabbage tasted equally amazing, an incredible marriage of textures and flavours with each bite. A square of golden yellow cornbread was the perfect base for a poached egg, which, when popped, spilled tangerine-hued yolk for the crumbly, sweet bread to soak up. As I assembled one mammoth forkful after another, I made an announcement to the table: ‘This is the best breakfast I’ve had yet’. Simply put, I could fault nothing; the bacon, rendered crisp and charred, was a sensational salty addition; a dollop of creamy avocado topped with chilli intermingled with the zingy freshness of a red cabbage and rocket salad to create an ever-changing (and always delicious) combination of flavours that I praised long after my plate was cleared.

Declining our waitress’ offer of something sweet – passing plates of house made waffles made it particularly difficult – we opted to go straight for a cup of joe. Short Round crafts their coffee from Proud Mary beans – seasonal blends, of course – that gave my smooth café latte hints of caramel with every sip; Mother’s long black boasted a golden, velvety crema and robust notes that lingered on the palate.

Straight from the Mother Short Round has everything I look for in a winning café: it’s bright and airy, courtesy of the huge windows; bucket-loads of room between tables so it doesn’t feel as though you’re sitting on someone’s lap; a menu brimming with so many tempting options it’s challenging to make a quick decision; and smiling staff happy to help. I did have an attack of the green-jealousy monster when I saw Daughter’s breakfast – thankfully, I managed to negotiate a mouthful – but I’m not too sad on missing out, I’ll be back soon.

Short Round
731 High Street, Thornbury
(03) 9484 3904

Sgt Pepper Urban Eatery

In a quiet suburban side street, Sgt Pepper Urban Eatery is a hole-in-the-wall destination with a menu that reads like a wordy novella – think fare from poppy seed hotcakes and Canadian French toast to a croque monsieur and an Elvis-inspired sandwich. On the petite-side, Sgt Pepper has limited seating options; a handful of two-seaters tiled in pastel green and orange; a communal table; and a smattering of al fresco places. With a whitewashed brick wall and exposed light bulbs hanging from the high ceiling, Sgt Pepper gives hints of the studio style fit out favoured by its oh-so-hip High Street neighbours.

Wading through the extensive menu took a serious splash of gumption; breakfast offerings number close to a dozen with bespoke selections for tots; lunch choices span burgers and pork rolls to salads. Phew. As impressive as the ample menu is – especially for a café still in its first year – both Mother and I commented that culinary ambition loses its edge if every dish isn’t a flavour-filled hit.

An unmentionable number of crinkled forehead lines later and Mother opted for the vegan maple and coriander beans, a plateful of smoky cannellini beans, heirloom tomatoes, maple syrup, nigella seed-studded avocado, and grilled roti. A richly spice sauce was dotted with the creamy beans – no overcooked mush here – with hints from the saccharine maple; just enough to work with the tomatoes and not so much as to call for pancakes. Using roti was somewhat peculiar; it became cold and stiff, easily snapping when Mother endeavored to shovel out a scoop of beans. Toasty fingers of pillowy Turkish bread, zebra-striped from the grill or just-charred slices of ciabatta would work as a doughy vehicle, keeping soft and sopping up lingering slicks of sauce or beans.

Mimicking Mother’s hankering for beans, I cherry-picked the Baghdad eggs – fried and baked googies, housemade dukkah, Middle Eastern beans, grilled pide bread – which, like mum’s, arrived in board-toting fashion. With most of the elements occupying their own slice of board real estate, I began an assembly line of cutting, scooping and mixing to create a motley mix of flavours in every forkful. Individually, the components were underwhelming; the beans were cold and leaning towards bland; the dukkah blanketed the crisp-edged eggs without adding anything other than texture; the garlicky pide was chewy rather than doughy. Together the elements improved, providing a mix of smooth beans, runny-yolked eggs and crushed-to-smithereens nuts.

Our coffees, brewed from Ground for Hope beans, were fine without being spectacular. My café latte was scorching hot and on the watery side with slightly floral notes. Oddly, Mother’s long black arrived in a latte glass too, something I’ve never seen unless it’s been a specific request; a daintily tied napkin would offer a barrier between sensitive fingers and hot glass if Sgt Pepper continues to shun conventional – and slightly more practical – presentation.

Straight from the Mother As Daughter can well attest, I’ve been spouting for years that this little strip of shops has been in dire need of a winning café – and with Sgt Pepper Urban Eatery, my calls have been answered! My breakfast was divine; the beans were zesty with plenty of punch and were surprisingly filling, keeping my tummy content until dinner. To avoid jostling with darting school-kids and 4WD’s – Sgt Pepper is opposite a primary school – I’ll work my future visits around drop-off and pick-up times.

Sgt Pepper Urban Eatery
70 Wales Street, Thornbury
0487 283 165

Top Paddock

From the powerhouse hands behind Liar Liar, Three Bags Full and Two Birds One Stone, it’s little surprise that Church Street-toting Top Paddock dazzles. With one of the swankiest fit outs going around, Top Paddock is all floor-to-ceiling windows, white tiling and recycled materials; a sprawling central coffee bar houses two Synesso machines and a flurry of buzzing baristas. Flanking the white-topped behemoth are stools for those who prefer to be within arms-length of their single origin ristretto; further afield there are communal tables for large lunches, booths and tucked-away nooks perfect for dining à deux.

Our cosy corner alcove was the prime position for people-watching – much to the delight of the Mother – and peering at passing waiters balancing plates laden with mango-and-coconut bread, chili scrambled eggs and fare from the daily specials menu that echoes head chef Jesse McTavish’s farm-to-table ethos.

Succumbing to her softness for smoked salmon, Mother swiftly settled on one of the specials; a mouth-watering medley crafted from delicately pink slices of fish, punchy goats cheese, shaved fennel, soy and linseed toast, and a poached egg. It wasn’t any of these cracking components that caught mum’s eye; rather her attention was stolen by the itty-bitty baby zucchini scattered around the plate, ‘Look at them!’ she said excitedly, picking one up and waving it in front of my face, ‘It’s like they’re for a Borrower!’ Each forkful packed a delicious blend of splodge of salty, sharp cheese, sweet and smokey salmon and a crunch of those much-covet courgettes. ‘It just works,’ Mother explained between mouthfuls, ‘And it works spectacularly well.’

Just as mother was in raptures with her greenery, I was taking my first bites of what would kickstart a serious infatuation with another vegetable – broccolini. The thin, asparagus-like stalks had a pleasurable crunch and the tender tufts of florets became the ultimate vessel to mop up the runny yolks from the poached-to-bursting eggs. A handful of sugar snaps added bursts of sweet freshness; a dome of perfectly rounded avocado was delicate, creamy and was a beautiful topping for crisp-edged slices of sourdough; roughly cut halves of toasted almonds were rich, earthy and made for one amazing mouthful after another. My only negative? It disappeared far too quickly.

With our plates cleared and coffee orders taken, I was expecting a wait for our caffeine hit – and with good reason; close to midday, Top Paddock was already boasting a waitlist of blazer-glad and umbrella-bearing professionals. Brewed from Five Sense beans, coffee at Top Paddock is crafted to match the food; there’s also an in-house roaster. My café latte was strong and smooth, thankfully without any bitter aftertaste; a caramel-hued rosetta took pride of place in velvety steamed milk. Mum’s long black arrived complete with glass of mineral water, golden crema and bold, robust flavours.

Straight from the Mother Whenever I order a dish with smoked salmon, I’ve come to expect only a few measly thin slices so imagine my Cheshire grin when my Top Paddock breakfast arrived with lashings of melt-in-the-mouth salmon. I was even more surprised with the speedy service: it took longer to make a decision and flag down a waiter than it did for our meals to arrive – an impressive feat given the constant stream of new arrivals and rate of table turnovers. A tip for fellow foodies of my vintage; it might be wise to arrange for an early-week visit to avoid queues – a game of road-trip favourite I Spy might be the trick for weekend waits.

Top Paddock
658 Church Street, Richmond
(03) 9429 4332

Brother Alec

Not a place for large groups or oversized handbags, Brother Alec is a welcoming nook boasting simple timber tables, a Freddie Mercury-studded soundtrack and a fare worth getting out of bed for. The seasonally-changing menu is small – less than a dozen choices – with Brother Alec’s much-hyped huevos rancheros making a perennial appearance.

Swooping in on the Mexican favourite – and spurred on by our waiter who proudly announced the hearty huevos makes up half his weekly diet – mum was soon saying ole to a tortilla-wrapped present. Bundled inside this doughy-soft parcel ($17), fluffy scrambled eggs mixed with chipotle black beans in a chili-and-spice-sprinkled medley; a crowning dollop of sour cream toned down the fiery heat from the extra sploshes of chili sauce added by mum. A blanket of salsa – celery, cucumber, coriander, avocado, Spanish onion – gave each fork-laden mouthful a burst of fresh flavour. In short, this breakfast has it all; crispy tortilla ensconcing creamy beans; a punchy smattering of greenery; and will have you shaking your maracas in anticipation of your next serving.

Having been matter-of-factly told by mum, ‘It would make no sense for us to both have the same thing,’ I opted for the za’taar eggplant with fried eggs and garlic labna. A caution for those who automatically reach for the salt; don’t. Perhaps it’s my unaccustomed palate – I tend to not add or cook with much salt – but I found the spice-and-seed-crusted eggplant intensely salty, almost unpleasantly so. Saving me from sodium were the pomegranate seeds, scattered like ruby red jewels on the plate, and sweet hints of delicate mint; the creamy garlic-laced labna worked to combat the wave of salt with a sharp, slightly sour hit. An apologetic waitress offered to replace the plate with a less salty version but I was content just scraping what za’taar I could off the eggplant.

Crafted from an Espresso Syndicate blend, the coffees were smooth and creamy with hints of sugary caramel. Although I would have liked my café latte to be slightly hotter, it was still delicious. Mum’s long black strong with bold flavour and a golden, silky crema, without having a bitter aftertaste, ‘Just how I like it,’ she commented post-sip.

Straight from the Mother Without the safeguard dishes that I could fall back on in case nothing took my fancy, I’ll admit I was slightly hesitant heading into Brother Alec. One squiz at my huevos rancheros and any nervous anticipation gave way to a grumbling tummy. The staff here are fantastic, the best we’ve come across – other High Street institutions should take a page out of Brother Alec’s book and learn to drop all obnoxious pretention.

 

Brother Alec
719 High Street, Thornbury
(03) 9416 9428

Mixed Business

Sitting on a far-flung patch of Queens Parade, Mixed Business is not the easiest eatery to find – at least not for this navigationally-challenged mother and daughter (we drove past, twice). With it’s unique picket fence barriers, paved courtyard complete with lemon tree and cracking fare, Mixed Business offered us both an escape from the drizzle and a breakfast worthy of some serious boasting.

Open and airy, Mixed Business is kitted out in typical Fitzroy fashion; embracing a warehouse ramshackle aesthetic with communal tables flanked by church pews, whitewashed walls, pretty posies of bright blooms and a grand wooden work bench doubling as a coffee counter. Be warned: the chipped enamel placards promising ‘chips and gravy’ are purely decorative; look to the blackboards for specials. An impressive menu sees spice-studded porridge sit alongside apple pie waffles and coddled eggs; there are also poached eggs on Dench’s sourdough accompanied by a suite of pre-selected sides – smoked salmon, pickled beetroot, dill and crème fraiche ($17); pan-fried slow roasted pork belly, sweet and sour cabbage, and house mustard ($17.50).

It was from this list that I plucked my choice – poached eggs with potato and rosemary rosti, avocado and house relish ($16.5). A swift arrival cut short the hungry grumbling of my stomach and gave way to a watering mouth. Happily, I noted that Mixed Business shuns an emerging breakfast fad of only serving one slice of toast with their eggs – carbohydrates are important, don’t you know – and this made my plate seem – if possible – even more attractive. A pillow-like wedge of rosti was fluffy and peppered with hits of fragrant rosemary, and became the perfect vessel for sopping up pools of egg yolk. A lashing of avocado replaced butter and the homemade relish was a tart contrast to the richness of the rosti and eggs.

Looking down at her plate – roast mushrooms, goats cheese, hazelnuts, greens ($14.5) – mum explained, ‘This is my type of breakfast.’ Plump and juicy – just as they should be – the field mushrooms topped creamy chunks of fromage de chèvre and thick slices of multigrain toast. With a reputation for packing a potent punch, too much goats cheese can dominate a dish; too little and it’s a waste.  A scattering of crushed hazelnuts provided a sweet, waxy crunch; the overstuffed handful of radicchio was slightly bitter, working well against the earthy fungi and bold cheese. There was nary a crumb left when mum had finished.

Straight from the Mother I’m looking forward to making Mixed Business a regular on my café rotation – now that I know where it is! Incredible breakfast, friendly staff and a homey atmosphere – it’s a winner. I have a sneaky suspicion it would be eardrum-bursting noisy on weekends – polished concrete floors and scraping chairs aren’t a good mix – so I would make a point of returning midweek. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it florist next door is lovely, selling gorgeous bunches, seeds in paper pouches and petite glass bottles-come-vases.

 

Mixed Business
486 Queens Parade, Clifton Hill
(03) 9486 3068

G&G Deli

Much like brussel sprouts, I try to avoid clichés; my efforts were thwarted however, when I first walked into G&G Deli and the old adage, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover,’ began playing in my head. First impressions aren’t jaw-dropping; bare walls and tables, neutral colours and a definite work-in-progress feel. A cluster of communal and standalone tables make up the front of the eatery, with several huge barrels – holding wine, we later found out – against one wall and a fridge housing a collection of pastas, cured meats, cheeses and sweet treats at the back.

Our menus were delivered to us by an initially stand-offish manager – who also doubled as the cafés only waitress – and featured a small assembly of tried-and-tested breakfast fare. A limited choice of add on extras are available – including black pudding – however, a sneaky request for eggs with my avocado on toast revealed that G&G have a culinary cache of sides hidden up their sleeve that simply aren’t on the menu.

It was those poached eggs that took my breakfast from tasty to amazing; slightly underdone – just the way I like them – and hiding discreetly beneath a mountain of garden rocket. A light tap on the wobbly white dome saw the vivid orange yolk trickle around the dark leaves, over an inch-thick layer of avocado and onto the plate. I would have picked up the whole piece of toast – an amazing slice of seed-studded bread – and eaten it like a pizza if I thought mum wouldn’t have told me off. There was nothing to fault; the avocado was chunky instead of smashed into oblivion, a hint of lemon was zingy not overpowering and the garden rocket added a crisp peppery hit.

Mum also took advantage of G&G’s build-a-breakfast by choosing the three fillings for her omelette – surprisingly, there were no price constrictions for mum’s choices, ‘You can have whatever you like, whatever we have in the kitchen,’ said the now smiling manager. Opting for bacon, cheese and spinach, mum unfolded her eggy envelope to find not a smidge, but oversized handfuls of each element. Was it the most gourmet of omelettes? No. But it was still scrumptious and filled her right up to the gills.

A constant stream of coffee-coveting locals strolled in and out, clutching take-away cups and paper bags, and the few empty tables quickly became ocupado. Our coffees were fine; the silky, golden crema had completely dissolved from mum’s long black however the flavour was still enjoyable.

Straight from the Mother Even though G&G doesn’t dazzle with its good looks – some paintings or zhoosh of paint would do wonders – the food made up for it’s drab appearance. The thing that really gave me the pip was the complete lack of displayed prices and labels on the goodies for sale; it puts me off from snagging some to take home – especially if your tastebuds decide they must have something only to be vetoed by your brain (and wallet).

G&G Deli
48 Burgundy Street, Heidelberg
(03) 9459 9114

G&G Deli is now under new management and has been renamed Little Black Pig.