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
Mother Says 