Things-I-Love-Thursday: Breakfast

It was really hard for me to think of something positive for 'Things-I-Love-Thursday' this week as I've had a few days of feeling really down and more than a bit broken. One thing that continues to bring me joy, though, even if it is only fleeting, is going out for breakfast with one or more of my favourite people. I do so every single Saturday with Kate. Any other opportunity I get to go out for brekkie during the week with friends I usually jump at. I often go on my own, too. I almost love that just as much, being, as I am, quite a fan of my own company! In fact, I think it's well known by now that going out for brekkie is kind of the only social event I'll agree to in advance because I know that I'll always feel like going when the day comes and won't be scrambling for an excuse to get out of it.

I cannot remember when my ritual of taking breakfast seriously, and publicly, began. I know it must be at least as long ago as I met Kate, as I know we've always done it together, but I think it might actually have begun with Anika, probably at Animal Orchestra. Though, come to think of it, this doesn't make much sense because before Sasha came along it was very unusual to see Anika out in the daylight before midday! We could only have lunched, or on a good day, brunched! Does anyone remember where this thing I'm claiming as my own tradition started?! I really should get my facts right! I do know that I've always been a keen breakfaster. I've never been able to leave the house without eating, and I have to eat almost immediately when I wake up or I feel sick - even when I'm not pregnant!

Anyway, what's not to love about breakfast? It is the meal du jour of the twenty-first century. I can say without a doubt that Melbourne does breakfast better than anywhere I've been in the world. I've searched around some of the major cities in Europe, as well as in Hobart and Canberra, for breakfasting establishments that meet high standards in the serving of tea and toast and I've found none that even come close. There's something about Melbourne's cafe culture, yes. That's been said before. But there's also something about Melbourne in the early mornings which is even better. You can get to any cafe, in any direction, in 20 minutes flat at 9am on a Saturday. Owning the road is a thrilling way to start the weekend, and I find the altered pace of the early mornings really soothing and comforting. It's even better during the week when you settle in at your favourite table by the window and watch all the poor corporate workers scurry off to work in their fluroescent-lighted offices. There's no doubt that your day - no matter how bad - is going to be a hell of a lot better than theirs, and it's hard not to smile at your own good fortune. This, indeed, is the life!

Perhaps the best thing about going out for breakfast as a meal, as opposed to lunch or dinner, is the comforting absence of fucktards. The most annoying people in the world don't seem to surface until around 11am, so there's a concrete window in which you can pretend the world is only ever full of quiet, reflective, novel-reading introverts who have no reason not to get up early because they weren't out partying in a converted warehouse the night before. Even the mothers with small children don't seem to be able to make it out of the house before mid-morning so I also don't have to contend with public breastfeeders and misbehaved toddlers before I've been adequately caffeinated.

I love being up early and going out for breakfast because it makes me feel like I'm in charge of, and have seized, the coming day. I almost feel like I'm sneaking up on it, which is immensely satisfying when you are a person who often finds the world overwhelming and anxiety-producing. I get a chance to warm up to what the day has in store for me when I'm out and about in it nice and early. It's a recipe for relaxation. I'm usually at my brightest in the mornings - my mood is definitely at its peak. Waitresses are friendlier as they've not yet been run off their feet, and everyone seems kinder. It's almost as if we treat each other more gently knowing that we are all in that rather vulnerable state of waking up and coming to life again. This is the magic we partake in, we breakfasters.

For me, the food side of things is by far besides the point when it comes to my breakfast outings. I make no exaggeration when I say that I think I've had the same thing for breakfast on most days of my entire life. I always have toast with vegemite and I always have tea. Sometimes, when I go out with Leslie, I might have something like scrambled eggs, but it's a rarity. Actually, no one I know even really needs a menu anymore. Kate will always have fruit toast, Leslie will always have eggs (and bacon, except when he's on a diet like he currently is) and Anika will always have something along the lines of sticky date pudding with icecream or a brownie. She does, shall we say, think outside the box of traditional breakfast fare.

Far more important than food is the ambience of the breakfasting location. I've searched high and low, all over the city, to find the right combination of design, mood, music and clientele. More often that not when we try a new cafe we're disappointed in some way that it falls short of the places we truly love. So many seem to start out with such promise but fail to follow through with the 'heart' that makes an establishment a really warm, nice place to be. Rather than go into a list of places I don't really like, in keeping with the theme of this post I will provide a list of the top ten breakfasting establishments that I love. Here they are in no particular order.

1. Miss Marie - Three cups of tea in one really decent-sized pot, butter that's soft enough to spread (can't underestimate the annoyance that butter straight from the fridge causes!), the decor is to die for. Everything is just perfectly right. Regular staff that are friendly, efficient and good looking - the trifecta! It's also the only decent place within a 5km radius of Heidelberg Heights. It is definitely my new local!
2. Dench - This North Fitzroy institution is our regular haunt - where we go when we can't think of anywhere else we feel like going, or when our mood is sensitive and we can't bear to be disappointed with our breakfast. Dench is predictable, in a good day. You know that if the old owner guy takes your order your coffee will not arrive (he takes orders but never places them), you know if you order toast that you'll two slices of white sourdough and one of multigrain. I can never get through the third slice, but it's nice that they are not stingy. Dench's only downfall is that it is very popular and can be very busy, even in the early mornings.
3. North Island - North Island is conveniently right next door to Dench. It caters for people that don't really want a full meal as it doesn't have a big kitchen so you can only get pre-prepared food and also, toast, of course. It is very small and intimate, and used to be our favourite, except for some reason I decided that it never feels private enough in there; that everyone else is privy to your conversations. There is a really nice courtyard out the back though, which is lovely in the summer. The other refreshing thing about North Island is that they refuse to serve any other kind of milk than full cream. They don't tolerate the yippies here! The one downfall of North Island is that our favourite waitress, Angie, disappeared off the face of the earth and is no longer there to welcome us on a Saturday morning.
4. Animal Orchestra - What can I say about this place where I have spent probably more hours of my life than anywhere else except my own home? Well, I can say that it has gone dramatically downhill since it changed owners a few years back, but I can also say that I'm welcomed there as a regular - I don't even have to place an order as they know exactly what to bring me when I arrive. This is very comforting and very refreshing! The food is nothing much here, but it's the nicest place to go for a drink anywhere near Melbourne Uni. It's cosy, small, and eclectically decorated. They also don't seem to mind if you hog a table for like hours writing your assignments or theses, even when they are busy. There are power points, free wifi, and good music. But there is a significant dearth of heating in the winter. If you go, you have to be prepared to rug up and fall victim to the biting breeze that flows through from one end of the cafe to the other. The folk at Animal Orchestra don't mind if you cry there or if you turn up every single day with a bag full of books and a computer that makes it look like you're there to stay. The tea is plentiful, and the toast is perhaps the best in Melbourne - this is where tea and toast began! It is also where you will run into everyone you know.
5. Auction Rooms - This one is a bit fancy - the place you take visitors or friends you don't see very often. It is in very trendy North Melbourne, and the chances are you will be the worst dressed and ugliest person there. The clientele seem both rich and creative, which doesn't make much sense. I don't know how they afford to live in local terraces when they're all sculptors and web designers. It's nice for something different.
6. Apte - Before I discovered some better places in the northern suburbs, Apte used to be king. I think their popularity has kind of gone to their head, though. Their serving sizes have shrunk dramatically and the staff are very vague and not super attentive. It also gets really noisy inside as the acoustics are not great. The best thing about Apte is the outdoor courtyard. It truly is lovely, even though it is beside a main road. There are a lot of so-called 'mums and bubs' at Apte, so that's a good enough reason to stay away sometimes. Still, its an old favourite, and I still have a soft spot for it, though I don't go there very much anymore. 
7. Penny Farthing - One of my new favourites, in Northcote. Penny Farthing boasts the hottest looking hipster staff in all of Melbourne, many dressed immaculately in vintage costumes with fancy quiffs in their hair and all. You get a timer with your tea here - they want to make sure that brew is perfectly, well, brewed. It's also really small, and best if you go when there's not many other people around. It's quiet, they're always playing The Beatles, and it is just a nice place to be.
8. Porgie and Mr Jones - This is the place to go to if you're in the Hawthorn/Armadale area. The customers are undeniably richer and fancier on this side of town. Designer clothes, immaculate grooming, lots and lots of blonde hair. Porgie and Mr Jones otherwise has a lot going for it. You can eat a beautiful croissant with Bonne Maman jam and the tea pots are very cute, though a bit on the small side. There's a good mix of communal and private tables, and everything feels very civilised. There's not much else in the area, so it gives you a good excuse to sit for hours and hours and read your book.
9. Red Door Corner Store - This is also a place I don't go much anymore, but which I have fond memories of. The memories aren't always good ones as the staff used to be so hopeless here that their incompetence would have us in absolute fits of laughter. I think they have improved of late, though. This place is decked out beautifully - it's hard to think of a cafe whose interior I like more. It's also lovely to sit outside on the quiet street front in the sun. 
10. Three Bags Full - This cafe in Abbotsford is owned by the people who used to own Apte, and they sure know how to run a cafe. Everything is awesome about Three Bags Full, except that it's almost impossible to get a table on the weekends. This place is Busy, with a capital B.

A lovely day makes for a lonely night

I was lucky enough to spend a great deal of the weekend in the company of understanding, soothing people, which could not have come at a better time given the shitty tone of the week that both Leslie and I  experienced.

It began with breakfast with Kate on Saturday as is our usual practice, only this time we ventured South of the Yarra (SOYA) to Spoonful on High Street, Prahran, which is quite far away from our usual haunts. Kate and I have been having breakfast every Saturday since we first met, I think. Anika and Sasha used to join us before they moved to the nation's capital, but since then it's just been the two of us, with the occasional guest appearance of Mark, or more often Leslie. After Max was born Kate very generously extended an open invitation to Leslie for Saturday breakfast. I must say, though, that I have veto rights and I usually exercise them. It's not that I don't love spending time with my beloved - I can never spend enough time with him - but I do like to keep Kate to myself. She does not know that I've spread awful rumours about her over the years to any new 'friend' she's mentioned so as to rid myself of any potential competition. Saturday mornings are without a doubt the absolute highlight of my week and I live for them from about Tuesday onwards. Our conversations, ranging from the acerbic to the absurd, are never quite the same when we have additional company. I like to be able to discuss my machinations for bringing about sinister ends to all of our enemies unselfconsciously and without fear of outside judgement, which I feel would be rapidly forthcoming if only people overheard the kinds of nasty shit we've been saying for close on 3 or 4 years now.

Spoonful was actually a pretty classy cafe. It was really tastefully decked out with fine furniture and spunky crockery. One should never underestimate the value of friendly and attentive staff, either. Spoonful had all of these things, although its clientele was a little generic. The other breakfasters were from a very different demographic to the usual Northcote/North Fitzroy subjects to which we've become accustomed. They were older and a great number of them looked like they'd summered in their holiday houses in Portsea.

Perhaps the best thing about the cafe was the fact that you could order a PARISIAN BREAKFAST (!) consisting of a cafe au lait and a baguette with fancy butter and a smidgen of jam. That's probably a pretty ordinary sounding breakfast if you're into the bacon and egg variety but it was infinitely thrilling to me. The second best thing about the cafe was its wicker chairs, although wicker chairs is probably a bit of an understatement. I haven't been able to stop thinking about them and wish I'd taken a picture. Instead, you'll have to go there and see them for yourself.

Amongst other varied conversational topics, Kate revealed her new plan for us to share the Vogel prize for best unpublished manuscript this year. This kind of came out of nowhere, but often our greatest schemes do just that. I excitedly perused the official documentation which seemed all well and good. The only catch is that you have to have an unpublished manuscript to submit by 1st June this year. As neither of us have an existing tome we can dust off out of the bottom drawer (however we do have a cellar full of good intentions), there's no way of getting around the fact that in order to be in the running for the Vogel we first must pen a novel from scratch between now and then. It doesn't seem like such a crazy idea when you take into account the fact that for many years past we've thought we could write one within the space of a single month. We also both have a lot of free time on our hands, being merely part time workers. I have no false hopes that a novel written in five months wins you a Vogel, but it does at least get you 30,000 words closer than you ever were before. You can't underestimate that. 500 words a day is our challenge. Oh, and of course to come up with an idea and all that, though I'm guessing this is the least of our worries...

I've decided my novel will be called 'The Heart is Willing', because it's important to start off with a title, or a 'heading' as Kate likes to call it. It will be a story drawn from life, but fictionalised. In other words, I will write scathing caricatures of all my closest friends and change their names from Sally to Sylvia. The plot is probably going to involve a dead baby, as everything involves a dead baby for me at the moment so it seems counter-productive to use up all my energy trying to avoid one. The rest of the details are a bit sketchy, or rather, non-existent, but I have to come up with 3000 words by Saturday. I'm not sure what the punishment for non-compliance is yet but given how good we both are at punishing ourselves for lesser crimes, I'd imagine it will be pretty nasty. So stay tuned for the first instalment, friends. I will probably need some strong words of encouragement/threat to get this story underway.

On Saturday afternoon Leslie and I drove out to the Dandenong Ranges to visit good friends of mine, Michael and Ava, who have just bought a house out there amongst the hills. Their house is really amongst the hills. We almost needed a 4WD to get up the hill that led to their street, and then we needed a death wish to get down the incredibly steep hill that led to their actual house. Their house is exceptionally cute and woody and had the most peaceful and calming vibe that it took all I had not to go home, get my stuff, and move right on in. They are lucky that the spiders and threats of summer bush fires would prevent such a thing from happening! We toured chook sheds, wood piles, under house storage spaces and lofty bedrooms before settling in for a lovely BBQ lunch and a few hours of relaxing conversation with two of the most generous and emotionally open friends you could ever hope to find. We had such a lovely time out there amongst the hippies and the huntsman (we saw examples of both) and felt refreshed and lighter hearted while we were there, which is something of a rarity for us both these days.

When we got home, though, my mood seemed to sink much deeper. Any temporary relief I seem to have from my feelings of sadness seems to rebound in the exact opposite direction at the end of the day. I crashed when we got home and could not manage a single thing to make me feel less dreadful and hopeless except to go straight to bed and take an Ativan, which is exactly what I did. Leslie is also not himself at the moment and I'm really noticing how much harder it is not to have him around to bring me out of myself at those times like he usually does. I desperately hope that some of our raw pain starts to heal soon as I'm really getting worn down by the everyday trauma of surviving, and most times it really is a trauma to get to the end of another day.

Thank heavens for the people in our lives that help to soothe our souls, though, without whom we'd have no moments of reprieve.