To Muse

If a girl's phone dies at the start of her big night out, did she really see Muse in concert? 

Was she really in a corporate box, where the seats are really comfy and you get FREE grog and gourmet food and stuff? Can she still get a LIKE for that?!?

With death imminent – "battery critically low! shutting down will commence in 3, 2…" – my actions and thoughts were focused on the practical:  

I'm still a 15-minute walk away, how am I going to meet Jon? / I'll have to phone him from a public pay phone / I don't know my husband's number! / Quick, memorise his number before your phone dies / memorise, memorise (the screen's too dark!), memorise, memorise / I've been walking for 10 minutes now and I haven't seen a pay phone / 04555 4455, 04555 4455, 4545 or 4455? no, 4455, that’s it / OMG WHERE HAVE ALL THE PUBLIC PAY PHONES GONE??!! / Excuse me, kind sir, fellow concert-goer on the walkway from the MCG to the Tennis Centre, may I borrow your phone? / Husband, please – just this once – for god's sake answer an unknown number… 

'"even dusted off some heels' #muse"
– failed to upload

(He did, we found each other; it was an undocumented moment.)

For the rest of the evening I didn't need my phone, but I longed for it. I tried to tell myself that instead of live-tweeting my night out, I was living it; it didn't matter if no one could heart my Insta-photos, retweet my Muse-ings or like my Facebook check-in and updates. I could see, hear and taste my life; I would soak it all in, retro style.

In no particular order, here are the moments when I instinctively reached for my phone:  

#1 Warm-up act Birds of Tokyo sing their "On we march with our lanterns on" song and the arena becomes a sea of torches, waving to and fro in time to the music. It was beautiful and I wanted a photo of it, and to add to the starry canvas with my own light.

I first thought people had been given glosticks or something upon entry, before realising it was actually Flashlight app x 50,000, apparently the way it's done these days. And then I mourned the loss of cigarette lighter waving. Sure, the phone apps were brighter, and it was arguably a more-impressive sight – and a smoke-free environment, which is cool now I've quit the cancer sticks –  but it was kind of sterile, like virtual reality sex (I imagine). Where's the danger? The potential burning of your thumb from keeping the flame held aloft, gas valve lever depressed for a whole song?

#2 Muse – the show was awesome, the lighting and lasers and big screens and smoke machine and the sound all brilliant and you know when you're there and you're hearing it and seeing it and feeling the vibe and buzzing cos you're on your third or fourth glass of bubbles and you just want to share with others all of this STUFF that you're experiencing.

As I pondered that I couldn't share this moment, I realised that that was a good thing. Really. Other people’s concert snaps are shit. Like someone telling you all about the amazing dream they had last night. The best band on earth will still be just tiny ants on a stage in the distance. The most awesome lights/lasers/screens/smoke/jets of fire will not see justice done, not even through a Hefe filter with border. 

Filming a concert on your phone? It’ll sound tinny and shit if you can hear the band at all; more likely it’ll be the girl next to you who won't stop screaming and whooping, and let's face it – you're no cameraman. Hello band, ceiling, floor.  

#3 The food – thank you, Jesus! – the corporate box food

Yes, I do foodie snaps in the cafes I frequent, I am that wanker… But it's because I then blog about the food, so I'm really not that much of a wanker… Or does that make me even more of a wanker? … Anyway, there was a moment last night where I had a gorgeous plate of food in front of me and a glass of red and if I'd angled the phone just so I could have photographed the food and the glass with the stage and the crowd in the background. If I somehow could’ve gotten my face down next to the plate it would have been a selfie/foodie/drinkie/concertie! I could have hashtagged the shit out of that muthafuka!!  

While I lamented this lost "wish-you-were-here-not-really-just-wish-you-could-see-what-I'm-doing-right-now-oh-wait-you-can-see-cos-here's-a-photo-check-me-out-my-life-is-awesome-please-like" moment, a fella from the cheap seats – a real proper Muse fan who'd paid for his ticket – approaches our box:

“Excuse me, guys, but it’s a really long way down to the bar and the lines are huge – can I possibly somehow buy four beers from you guys in there?”

'"Waiting for the tram" #muse' – my one and only
Muse-ing before blackout

No, no you can’t. A sad shake of the head from the girl next to me was enough to move him on, which was lucky, as I was about to say, helpfully, my knife and fork poised mid-air, “No, you can’t buy alcohol from here, sorry. You see, everything in here – it’s all free!” New level of wanker-dom narrowly avoided...

So, that's what happened to me last night. I was forced to confront my social media dependence, and I just wanted to let you know that I am now selfie-aware. I went. I saw. I ate. I drank. I heard. All without my phone.

And today, well, I'm feeling really good about the whole thing. Because now you all know. 

I blog, therefore I am. #muse

Top Paddock

For meeting in the middle

658 Church Street, Richmond Vic 3121

Coffee with palate-cleansing bubbles

Top Paddock, brought to you by the creators of Three Bags Full and Two Birds One Stone, enjoys a crossover clientele: south-of-the-river style and gloss meet north-of-the-river eccentricity and boho charm. Apparently, here at the top of Church St is where the twain deign to meet. The tall, tanned, metallic-topped and hair-straightened arrive from Chapel St and Toorak Rd; the slightly more dishevelled, vintage-wearing and bicycle-riding set make the trip from Bridge Rd and beyond. The result is a friendly, hip and eclectic crowd, quickly filling the vast designer spaces indoors and out to enjoy quality culinary creations delivered at down-to-earth prices. 

Deceptively simple from the outside

The cafe itself is a lot like its customers: a little from column A, a little from column B. At first glance from a distance the outside is underwhelming, a monotonous grey of concrete and glass – more department store eatery than urban secret chic. (Secret it certainly is not – tables turn in an exercise in perpetual motion.) Move a little closer though, and warmer elements present themselves: the vegetable boxes lined up outside the entrance; the funky functional outdoor 'road sign' seating – park your butt on No Parking, sit on No Standing, do 0 km/hr in an 80 zone... Indoors reveals more of the award-winning fit-out – the light fixtures, the functional use of space, the polished metal and cool tiles of the bar juxtaposed with the textured wood grain of the tables.

Award-winning interior design

A little bit country

A little bit rock 'n' roll 

At the end of the day, though, even a well-designed, uber stylish cafe will live or die by the quality of its service and product. Top Paddock delivers on both fronts. 

The operation is slick – I mentioned the rapid turnover of tables. Staff make it all seem effortless, clearing plates, taking orders and checking in with just the right frequency but not intruding on conversations; time between ordering and receiving was spot on, too. 

The coffee. After a bad night's sleep with poorly child, oh how I was looking forward to a good coffee. And then my long black came out accompanied by a tiny glass of sparkling water. Posh!

As for the food, the microherbs, edible flowers and berries used in plating made for impossibly pretty porridge and drunken ginger bread. My chilli eggs didn't have the popping colour of my friends' dishes, but the chilli kick cut through the creamy feta and scrambled egg; all three dishes were delicious. Again the impression of getting the best of both worlds – there's finesse in the plating but also good-size portions; flavour-bursting but not wallet-busting.    

As a typical northern suburbanite, I normally venture south about as often as I whip out the hair straighteners, but I'll head back to Top Paddock. The grass is very green. 

Ginger bread with chocolate marscapone

Ginger crumbs, but the plate's still a picture

Have you ever seen a prettier porridge?

Chilli scrambled eggs

Residential Kitchen – the sequel

Restitution

499–501 Lygon St, Carlton North

 

I was but a burgeoning blogger when I first checked out Residential Kitchen, and I did them an injustice by not taking any photos. I made up some lame excuse about photos of pizzas not being appetising – truth is, I'd left my phone at home on the charger, and got so caught up conversing with my dinner buddy that I forgot to ask them to take photos until we'd already demolished our pizzas. So, RK, I hope that my newfound love of Instagram, and a thoroughly enjoyable second visit for lunch today, makes amends. The coffees today were superb – I actually had a long black (the latte pictured was my friend's) and, though my milk-less cup understandably lacked a photogenic frothy heart swirl (technical term), it was made with just as much tenderness, with no bitter aftertaste that you so often get with an espresso or long black. Delicious.

Whipped fetta, avocado and roasted red pepper paste on toast

Before I mushed it!

Latte love

Sweetcorn and zucchini fritter, with poached egg and a squeeze of lemon

Oozing goodness

P.S. Yes, I tried mightily to work in another Resident Evil pun, with the whole 'sequel', 'Restitution' thing... (sigh)... I know, it didn't quite work...  

Min Lokal

For the memories

422 George St, Fitzroy, VIC 3065

Forkful of yum

As I sit in this söt and vänligt cafe in Fitzroy, enjoying my läcker salad and killer kaffe, I'm taken back to 2002, when I lived in Amsterdam and worked in the fashion industry. Ok, so I packed and tagged clothes in a rather unglamorous warehouse – it still counts!

We were a motley, international crew – Spanish, Cuban, Portuguese, Dutch, German, British, Australian and Swedish. A ragtag crew quite literally: armed with tagging guns, we shot price-point and line-item information through clothing samples day in and day out. It was brainless work, but we had a lot of laughs learning of each other's cultures, backgrounds and stories. Of course, the international language we spoke was English (lucky me).

One day we were talking about English words that have been absorbed into other languages ('sexy' and 'f*ck' the two I recall being discussed). Then the Spanish words that are used in English ('loco', 'fiesta' – there were many), then the German ('kindergarten'... again, loads). Eventually, one of the group turned to the Swedish couple among us and remarked that no Swedish words have made it into the international lexicon; we all nodded, he's right, there's no Swedish word that we all know.

As one the Swedes rose up, indignant. "Yes, there is," they cried out in unison, "SMORGASBORD!"

Those muffins are not going to last long

Poached chicken salad with added spiced sausage

Anyway, two more Swedish words are embedded in my consciousness thanks to Min Lokal ("my local") – there's no smorgasbord here, but there is lip-smacking goodness in the carefully curated menu, and easygoing, friendly staff. Let them convince you to add shaved, spiced sausage to the poached chicken salad with rocket, sweet potato, avocado, pearl barley, pepitas and Danish feta – so, so good. I also enjoyed the playful mural on the wall and their woody version of a terrarium in the front window.

And coffee connoisseurs, rejoice: my latte was loveliness in a cup.

Söt window dressing

Swedish–English glossary
kaffe – coffee
läcker  – delicious
Min Lokal – my local

smorgasbord – smorgasbord
söt – cute
vänligt – friendly

Coffee Hit

For surprising this foxymoron 

Fountain Gate Shopping Centre, Fountain Gate

I returned to my old stamping ground, Fountain Gate Shopping Centre, with some trepidation. This is where I used to prowl as a pre-teen mall-rat. This is where, from 15 to 18, I worked my first job, a check-out chick at Harry Heath's Rainbow supermarket. For four long years I scanned groceries and stacked shelves every Saturday, wearing the unattractive green sack that was Rainbow's uniform. On breaks I would duck into the food court to suck down a couple of cigarettes, butting them out in one of those disposable ashtrays made of aluminium foil. For lunch maybe I'd grab a bucket of chips, greasy fried rice, a cinnamon donut or something else equally appealing appalling. Those were the days.

Scrumptious food in the display cabinet.

And so, returning to Kath & Kim land nearly two decades later to meet a potential new giver of work, I have to admit to being shocked. I'd driven out here as a no-longer-from-around-these-parts snob; I was not expecting the place to look this, well, classy. And when I spotted Coffee Hit, where we'd arranged to meet, I found myself thinking: ooh ahh, it's nice, different... unusual!

Latte art

Coffee Hit is Melbourne street cool in a shopping centre environment. A pod in the main shopping thoroughfare, its industrial design with slashes of red incorporates loads of wood and striking crescent-shaped banquet seating, which semi-encircles the tables and chairs gathered around the coffee station. A large communal table at one end sports very cool stools.

Gorgeous retro-look La Marzocco coffee machine

A beautiful pearlescent white La Marzocco coffee machine takes pride of place, giving the place street cred (and me hope of getting a decent cuppa). Lynley, working the machine, turned hope into full-blown expectation when she started explaining their different blends: Caffiend (their strong blend) and the Ultimate Hit (silky smooth). I went with an Ultimate latte ... and a big slice of humble pie. Seriously, check out the latte art – we are a world away from soggy chips in a haze of cigarette smoke, people.


I do hope my new client likes my work – I am now one enlightened foxymoron, looking forward to my next hit.

Miss Frank

For the service, frankly

200 Through Rd, Surrey Hills (Camberwell)

I don't know if it was Miss Frank herself, but someone friendly, welcoming and knowledgable about the cafe's offerings clocked my open laptop and came over to check that I was logged on to the wi-fi – when I replied in the negative, she promptly gave up the password and assured me it should work automatically from then on should I return another day. My kind of place!

The cafe itself is surprisingly roomy and accessible: a lift helps wheelchair users reach the higher of the room's split levels. The large communal table has groovy cut-outs that hold tubs of cutlery and menus.

Having eaten lunch elsewhere, and trying to 'eat like the French' (that is, to not deny oneself, but to 'indulge bijou'), I plumped for a miniature lemon tart to go with my afternoon coffee.  The long black was just the pick-me-up I needed – not bitter but with a decent caffeine kick – and the teeny tart was creamy and tangy and just large enough to linger over. Two thumbs up for Miss Frank.

Bread & Jam for Frances

For a damn fine toastie

1/701 Glenferrie Rd*, Hawthorn

*Note about the address: B&JFF is actually located off Glenferrie Rd on Linda Cr (as I discovered after traipsing up and down Glenferrie Rd trying to find the place).

Books visible from Readings add to the charm

This is the sister cafe of Dench Bakers, both cafes sourcing their fresh-baked bread from the owner's Abbottsford bakery.

Although the address is misleading, it's a lovely location – off the busy main road, nestled behind Readings bookstore. As well as the main entrance via Linda Cr, you can enter through the back of Readings, and the books visible through the partition wall lend the place an erudite charm. A woman sharing the communal table with me had just bought a novel and was settling in for a cosy read with a coffee and bite to eat – a semi-regular pastime, she said. An ideal way to spend an afternoon, in my book.

Cheese toastie with style

   

My coffee was good and expertly poured, as it had been at Dench (like the bread, the coffee also comes from Abbottsford, via Veneziano Coffee Roasters). Food-wise, I clocked the specials board only after I'd ordered and immediately wished I'd gone for a '1/2 + 1/2' – half soup, half cheese & tomato toastie; fab idea for the coming winter. Menu regrets were short-lived, though, as my seeded bread toastie arrived, filled with Gruyère cheese and fig and plum chutney, served with a salad of rocket, walnut and pear. Nom nom! I can't begin to tell you how delicious that toastie was. (Full disclosure: I was ravenous, having walked up an appetite looking for the place, but gee it was good.) The molten Gruyère and sweet chutney combo was comfort-tastic; the toasted, seeded bread thick and substantial; and the fresh, invigorating salad made it a complete and satisfying lunch.

Frances can have her bread and jam. Bread & Gruyère for Ernie!

Toastie was so good I've renamed the place

Old Fire Station Cafe Gallery

For ... not much

378 High St Preston

I tried to like this place, I really did. It's local, the space is cavernous and the location fantastic, but (sigh) ... It could be soooo much better! 

Food: average

Coffee: god-awful

Service: consistently rude

I kept giving my business to the Fire Station when I was perpetually pushing a pram around Preston (say that 5 times fast); the couches and room for said pram and even the sad box of toys in the corner kept me hoping time and again that the food and bev wouldn't be too bad. I stopped ordering coffee and took to splitting a hot chocolate with the Boy instead; I occasionally ordered food, but after a couple of disappointments, including nearly breaking my teeth on unpitted olives in a pasta dish, I kept it to can't-cock-up snacks only – a bowl of chips, perhaps. 

In the end it was the lack of friendly service that did me in.

Incident 1: Boy removes sugar sticks from sugar bowl to line them up on our table (a favoured pastime; sticks are always back in the bowl when we leave, no harm, no foul). Staff member: 'Does he really need to do that? We have a box of toys.'

Incident 2: Just passing through, Boy wants a cookie, which sits in a jar on the counter. I open the jar and grab a cookie, only to see (same) staff member glare, not quite at me but at the air above the cookie jar where my hand was just now. Oops, I think to myself, I shouldn't have done that (I used to work in hospitality – I really should have known better, but I swear I only touched our cookie!). My turn to be served and she says, 'I don't mean to be rude, but ...' Suffice to say the lecture I received went on, and it was rude. 

Oh, Fire Station, what a waste of a great space.  

    

Nitty Gritty Super City

For Mr Barista

Scienceworks, 2 Booker St, Spotswood 

After a tough day on the piste, nothing beats a plastic cup of coffee, lovingly made by my favourite barista at the Nitty Gritty Super City cafe at Scienceworks. Oh, go on then, bring me another...  and another... and another... 

Dench Bakers

For more than just bread

109 Scotchmer St, Fitzroy North

Sugar sugar

Often, it's the simple things done well that make for good brunching, be it soft-poached eggs that ooze lovingly over freshly baked bread, or a deceptively filling bowl of bircher muesli with raspberry compote (mine! delicious!). Dench Bakers cafe mostly gets the little touches just right, down to the miniature wooden spoons in the sugar bowls. The service is friendly, the coffee well made and the prices reasonable (though $4 per additional breakfast item means holding the bacon is good for both wallet and waistline). The decor is hip but not pretentious, with a good mix of different-sized tables and bench seating. My baby-wielding companion noted no highchairs but ample space for the pram; whether that's the case at the weekend, well, I'd have to go back to find out. Would I? Most definitely.

Poached eggs with glossy green spinach

Bircher muesli