Bite-size Stories

I was having breakfast at 12:30. On a Wednesday. My God, I love a late breakfast. Is there anything worth enjoying before nine in the morning? Not by me. Of course, I know this road leads to a cruel reality: sooner or later, I’ll be back to dry toast and scorching coffee with my eyes closed at 6:30 a.m. Inevitably. But for now, we’re in the “Walk, Don’t Run” kind of mood. Literally — that’s the café. A bit Japanese, a little posh, like most things in Armadale. Everything on the menu is “activated” or “cold-pressed,” the Melbourne gospel of health. I never bother with either. It feels rebellious enough to order plain eggs in a place this pure and polished. My companion, admittedly trendier than me, chose the porridge — quinoa, almond milk, poached pear, rhubarb, pomegranate, goji berries. Seventeen dollars and a halo. I’m not judging. I just hope we can stay friends after that. And maybe, on the way out, I’ll ask for a deconstructed coffee — if only to smooth over the quinoa betw...

I am full of good intentions, I truly am. Healthier habits. Earlier walks. Lighter breakfasts. Tomorrow. This morning, of course, it was raining — and even my dog refused the beach. So I congratulated myself on compromise: Organica, temple of green juice and activated virtue. Even reading the menu feels like biting into an organic apple. I began nobly with an espresso and a juice of every fruit available. But then the woman at the next table received her French toast: buttery, crisp, fragrant with rhubarb and maple syrup. No, of course not, I told myself. But to the waiter I said: Yes, please. So there it was: a breakfast of one healthy juice and one guilty, golden, berry-crowned French toast. Oh well. I’ll have a celery stick for lunch. Promise.

120 Hardware Street, Melbourne This little cafe is like a pocket guide to Paris, complete with teeny-tiny counter seats, Croque Madame, Cassoulet Et Eggs and excellent service. I tried the superb confit duck with chestnut puree and potato gratin ($22.00) with a glass of Abellio Alberino ($8.50). One of the 'it' places in Melbourne for quite a while now, eating out at Hardware Societe is more like a cultural event, complete with walking through the Melbourne lane ways and queuing out front. You will need to be ready to forgo your weight loss program, but who wants to be on a diet, when you can have a fried brioche with lemon curd instead! Confit duck with chestnut puree and potato gratin Mon to Fri 7:30 am - 3:00 pm Sat to Sun 8:30 am - 2:00 pm

Dear reader, In my flavor-hunting mission, I come to you with a warning: Mr Mister plays with his food. I’m not against breaking table etiquette now and then, but an open omelette with roasted artichokes? That’s a blow to morning eggs de la classique. And who can be expected to behave with dignity when pear and blue cheese appear on the same plate? The final blow: confit tomatoes. I won’t even mention the prosciutto, lightly grilled for that matter. My dear, refined friend suffered her own ordeal: baked beans married to caramelised pear. Naturally, in protest, we ate croissants with extra coffee - and, under duress, ordered lime–coconut–pistachio balls to go. We cannot be blamed.

These small, sweet pancakes were my favorite growing up. I remember whole apple slices being browned in the still-sizzling pan. Fond memories of the place where I grew up, in the country that doesn't exist.  I often think I have two lives. My first twenty years spent on steep hills above Dnepr. Heavy chestnut tree blossoms and heady lilac flood the streets as you climb back up from the river. Kiev. The next twenty-five are coming to an end in sunburned, windswept Melbourne.  One day, there will be a pen, sharp and witty, factual and insightful, that will tell the whole story. Chaotic, intense, and often agonizing times that pushed a whole generation away from home.  And I, for now, just keep my food memories to connect what I had been with what I have become. 

Going out for breakfast is one of those luxurious things I can only afford when life is not spinning out of control. When Monday does not bump into Friday, and a briefing session in March does not turn into the morning meeting in July. I stretch my hand out to get the coffee. Slowly, the aroma fills me with such happiness. Life is best lived in adagio. Carlisle Street in recent years has picked up the vibe from its neighbours along St Kilda beach, offering a whole bunch of places where breakfast, lunch or dinner is a treat. Where you want to take your time and savour the food. We are at the Grindhouse. A small courtyard covered with grapevines. Corn and herb pancakes, beetroot and lime–cured salmon with avocado. Spanish scrambled eggs with chorizo. And coffee. The aroma still lingers in my mind. Breakfast in adagio always smells like coffee.