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
Mother Says 