Dave Anderson will sing you a song

When John Wayne walked into a saloon for a sip or two, he never seemed to pay too much attention to the décor of his drinking establishment of choice. Untreated floorboards? Mismatched, rustic furniture? Bar staff with an approach to service akin to catching up with an old friend? Check, check, check.

John Wayne just might feel at home at Gibson’s Wine Bar in Hawthorn. Its unpretentious and amazingly laid back atmosphere simply must be experienced. On this Sunday afternoon, my someone and I begin with an attack on some brie cheese and a bottle of white at one of the outside tables on the Elgin Street footpath. Hawthorn’s Burwood Road is one of those interesting little streets that feels like it’s on the verge of becoming a real shopping strip, but perhaps held back slightly by its proximity to the more fashionable Bridge Road. Nevertheless, the ambience is very comfortable indeed. To sum up the feeling in beer talk; think the casual class of Premium Boag’s meets a suave tall-necked Stella Artois.

“I eat as much as I ever did, I drink more than I should, and my sex life is none of your goddamned business.”
- John Wayne

When our bottle of white seems to have emptied itself (did we really drink it that quickly?), we meander inside to find a very handsome gentleman setting himself and his band-mates (the Wine Store Merchants) up in-front of the window. He introduces himself as Dave Anderson, which instantly makes sense once we discover his posters adorning the walls. Anderson’s acoustic sounds and raw, dry but smooth vocals fill the room with a sweet air of ease and nourishment. Candy pop must be left at the door.

Soon enough, I find myself browsing the aisles of wines for something to suit the slowly darkening sky; Pizzini, a shiraz, is clearly the winner. With the bottle going at a price you would expect from any bottle shop, and only $5 corkage, it’s a very novel way to enjoy some wine without the fuss of the average bar.

Finding my way back to my waiting company, we pour ourselves a glass and settle back into Dave’s tunes. He tells us a story of one particular individual who took offence at his admission of a distaste to some of Ben Lee’s work – just one of the many perils of being a naturally entertaining performer I suppose. The next song is decidedly more positive, something he wrote at the request of someone who thought too many of his tunes told of sadness. Sing me a Song (“I might be bitter, a little Damian Rice, but I’ll fuckin’ say whatever I like, is that alright with you?”) is perfect performed live. But he really hits the nail when he delves into the darker moments of life; titles such as Last Day in London, Love is Gone and Promise I Made may leave a tear in the eye, but always a hunger for more.

The night takes a slightly odd turn when an older woman, upon leaving, stops to whisper in Dave’s ear that she thought his music was too loud and ill-suited to the venue. If nothing else, she provided us all with something to laugh at. Thankfully, her stance left her rather isolated as the rest of the crowd carried on.

After a string of fantastic songs, Dave finishes his set and grabs himself a well deserved beer. Since his recent move to Marvellous Melbourne, Dave has become quite a regular at Gibson’s. The following week, he’s joined by a splendid little performer by the name of Bridget a’Beckett. When she’s not providing the sublime, beautiful sounds of the violin to accompany Dave’s guitar, Bridget puts on an amazing solo show.

Then, just when it seems our entertainers are all packed up and ready for a quiet drink, they suddenly appear at the tables outside with us. Before long, we’re all in the middle of some loud singing to those kinds of songs that somehow always sound so much better when you’re drinking and sitting next to the singer. Counting Crows, Tracey Chapman and, believe it or not, even Britney Spears are all given a dose of life by Dave’s guitar.

In the absence of Dave and Bridget, Gibson’s Wine Bar would be a great little piece of laid-back nostalgia; a throwback to the days of unpretentious suburban drinking spots. But with a dash of fantastic live music, this little venue quite easily blossoms into one of the city’s most happening spots for a Sunday night.

Check out Dave and Bridget’s websites – both albums are well worth a purchase.

Mind the gap

Citta Beniamino has been rather quiet of late. When last we met, I was in the final stages of preparing for my big international trip to the USA – and what a grand affair it was! Since then, October 2009 has long been and gone and life has taken a very drastic turn.

Thankfully, Christmas and New Year’s has also left me in its dust, and I think it’s finally starting to settle enough for me to feel good about things. Very good. So far, 2010 has been unrecognisable when compared to its predecessor. But I can honestly say that I’m very happy about that.

And as for Citta Beniamino… well, it’s certainly not dead. I shall be committing to far more regular updates in the very near future, so be sure to place your order at the counter and collect your beverage to the left. And don’t forget the condiments bar.

The one day NYC slept

Around this time every year a strange sort of thing creeps into the back many minds. Any mention of today’s date brings about memories of 2001. Inevitably there are those who will wonder just how long we’ll continue to look back, going over the events and remembering exactly where we were when we heard the news. My answer would be: forever. The world changed that day. Not just events, but people too.

In Australia, it all started with Ten’s Late News. Sandra Sully was literally reading the autocue when the pictures first beamed in. Later, she said that at first, she thought it might have been a joke (albeit an unfunny one). It was 10.46pm Australian time, 8.46am in New York.

Things are mostly back to normal now. Tourism that had all but disappeared from the streets of New York has since rebounded stronger than before. Souvenir shops forced to reduce opening hours after the famous NYC branding took on a new meaning now sell better than ever. And air travel, well, fuel prices and the global economic crisis have meant very troubled times, but rarely do we hear “terrorism” as a reason for low ticket sales (as we did so often throughout 2002).

Subsequent events in London, Bali and Mumbai have ensured the threat of terrorism stays on the mind. Even Melbourne’s “serious” newspaper The Age ran a cover story a while ago about the possibilities of bomb explosions in Melbourne’s CBD. And the continuing presence of troops in the Middle East, thanks to three leaders no longer in power, also helps remind us that the fat lady isn’t quite ready for her number just yet.

But for the most part, everyone just gets on with it. And so we should.

Suburban coffee. Would you like a pathetic, useless bag with that?

Note: Due to an objection from the owner of a cafe featured in this post, all instances of the cafe’s name have now been censored.
There was an interesting article in The Age last Sunday about the coffee offerings around Melbourne. According to Justin Metcalf, it’s not great. Metcalf is an expert, apparently. OK, so he teaches would-be baristas at the Box Hill Institute, and works as a “consultant” to cafes wanting to “better themselves”. Oh, and he’s chairman of the World Barista Championships.

Bah! He is an expert then! But I can’t help but feel so terribly annoyed when jack-a-dandy’s like Metcalf and this writer for The Age lounge around Melbourne’s cafes blah-blah-blah-ing on about how it’s really not up to scratch. Yet on the other hand, I too have become irritated to the point of jack-a-dandy-ism after wandering the CBD for eons in search of the perfect cafe. Does it exist? That’s a question for another post.

Modern technology has made it easier for people to stay in contact. But one could argue that divisions between cultures have not really changed that much at all. It’s true that the kind of person who inhabits the inner ‘burbs is not the kind who’d often feel at home too far away from their cultural hub. Taking a rather short train trip from my home in Seddon to the outer shopping mall Watergardens is one way to drive this point home. If Metcalf is dismayed at the coffee in Melbourne’s inner, he’d probably collapse into a frothing, convulsing mess should he ever venture too far into modern suburbia.

Ahh, Watergardens. Recently renovated, shiny, filled with visual distractions and all the shops one could (and would) expect from a suburban shopping mall. There’s even plenty of those little temporary stalls in the middle of the walk-ways, promoting some of the most useless looking crap this side of a Chinese toy factory. A safe haven of consumerist bliss.

But there’s something missing at Watergardens. Actually, the enormous line at Muffin Break just this side of breakfast time reveals another anomaly, especially when compared to the deserted counters of the remaining food court offerings (hint: Australians don’t want fried rice, kebabs, curries or salad sandwiches for breakfast – ever). The other omission is a dedicated coffee spot.

Yes, I do realise Watergardens is not Fitzroy. But, as that other suburban coffee chain The Coffee Club discovered, there are a lot of suburban people still living with Mum and Dad. Many of them stay home – often – and every now and then will drag their tracksuit panted rears to a shopping centre to meet other suburban people, usually for coffee.

The Hogs Breath Cafe and/or Grill’d won’t do in this instance. As nice as I’m sure the food is, no one wants to sip a latte with the scent of a burger the size of Big W on the next table wafting by. Everyone needs a coffee shop, everyone! Even Neighbours has one! Hello?!

Well, that brings me to Watergardens’ answer (sort of) – a little nook called [CENSORED]. I say ‘nook’ because, well, it’s not really a shop. It doesn’t have walls; it’s one of those areas in the middle of a walkway – tables, chairs, barriers, and a counter. Almost as if it grew randomly from beneath the shiny flooring.

First, a tick for the variety of sizes. Now I don’t care how cultured you think you are, whether you carry enviro-bags everywhere you go or if you think having your own water tank at home raises you to the do-gooder level of Captain Planet – when you arrive in outer suburbia, something happens to you. It’s like a trance, or a magic spell – you still want everything you wanted before, just more of it. Everything in excess. [CENSORED] grants this by offering a large size similar to the mop-bucket available at Starbucks (called a ‘Venti’, but not quite that big. It may be outer suburbia, but it’s not the USA… yet).

Predictably, the interested-raised-eyebrows droop to an awkward tilt after sipping the ridiculously hot beverage handed to me after a considerable wait. Note – ‘awkward’ does not mean ‘bad’. The taste at [CENSORED] is what one might expect from coffee at a shopping centre; simple, inoffensive, consistent. It’s not burnt or bitter; the folk at the espresso machine were obviously taught how to use it. But let’s not get too carried away. Like the McCafe, if your choices were a teaspoon of Nescafe Blend 43 or [CENSORED], you’d be doing pretty well by choosing the latter.

However, I must admit that upon exploring all that Melbourne’s suburban shopping malls have to offer, it’s ultimately disappointing to find so few dedicated coffee spots. Not only for the lack of good coffee, but also, coffee spots promote a community atmosphere. Having a nice cafe nearby to escape to makes everyone more likely to get away from reruns of The Hills, even just for an hour.

Most people like to stop and reflect every so often. Whilst shopping, this is often achieved with the phrase “shall we grab a coffee?”. At Watergardens, or indeed many other shopping centres, where are people to go for a sit-down? Donut King? The (small) food court? Or are we furthering that culture of go-go-go? Heaven forbid we should ever stop to think about what we’re doing, why we’re here spending money and time doing something that is ultimately about just passing time and avoiding having to think too much. Would you like a bag with your consumerism? That’ll be 10c extra.

La Dolce Vita

The sign outside the café along Williamstown’s main waterfront strip spoke to the film-lover in me. The font and style was immediately familiar, prompting images of Anita Ekberg prancing about in the Trevi Fountain. Needless to say, I turned, walked in and found a table rather quickly. The counter inside the café is akin to something you’d find in a bakery; a glass case dotted with little cakes and so forth. Rather suited to an old fashioned suburban bakehouse (nothing flash).

Sadly, the menus at La Dolce Vita aren’t as pretty as the signage. Printed on A4 paper in basic fonts and placed inside plastic coverings, the variety is typical breakfast fare (this was breakfast time, the lunch menu is undoubtedly different). My choice was Eggs Florentine; the eggs were rather nice, and there was plenty of spinach, though unfortunately the muffins were of the supermarket species.

More importantly – the coffee. For a café that names itself after one of the most iconic films of all time – an Italian film, no less – it was very disheartening to discover that the coffee beans here are from Grinders. Grinders! As in Coca Cola Amatil’s own brand of bean. OK, let’s not get too carried away. It is entirely possible that CCA could be producing a deliciously smooth and rich blend, perfect for any espresso connoisseur. Well, yes, it’s possible, but I’m yet to find any proof.

As with all my encounters with Grinders up to now, the coffee on offer at La Dolce Vita leaves a little to be desired. The taste is harsh, rather straight-forward, and abrupt. It tastes pleasant, but not pleasant enough. But the crowd Grinders caters for are probably not the kind to be overly picky about their lattes (or should we say flat whites and cappuccinos, *snobby chuckle*); a massive poster outside a particularly hideous TAB on Bourke Street promotes the brand for all to see.

Further dampening the feel of La Dolce Vita is the soundtrack. Again, an establishment apparently inspired by classic cinema may suggest a classy jazz score or perhaps a sample of torch singers; cool lounge music at the very least. What I wouldn’t have expected is Fox FM. Enduring the crass shouting of FM radio, spruiking concert tickets and what-not, first thing after 9am, is certainly not a desirable companion to a relaxing breakfast.

You might call this review too picky. Perhaps it is. But I can’t deny how disappointed I was to find these few details so very far off the mark. I can handle a poor choice of tables and chairs (to a degree), or a menu that is perhaps too basic – providing what is offered is done well. But some things are too easily fixed, which forces me to suspect the managers either don’t care or simply aren’t discerning enough to see any problem. Running a good coffee spot in Melbourne is a prissy business; with just a few tweaks, La Dolce Vita could be an icon on its own, at least on a local level.

If all else fails; branding

I’ve previously written of my encounters with certain Melburnians who become almost violent when presented with what they perceive to be “bad coffee”. Such experiences almost drove me to place a paper bag around my coffee cup today, as I was surely risking being attacked as I walked back to work.

One of those tacky celebrity magazines featured a coupon yesterday for a free coffee and chocolate croissant at any McCafé. I have tried a drink from McCafé once before; a mocha. It was traumatic. But despite my hesitations, the idea of a free coffee and croissant wooed me in.

McDonald’s first launched their McCafé outlets right here in Melbourne, strangely enough. It was way back in 1993, and by 2002 they had spread to 13 countries world-wide. Obviously taking their lead from Starbucks, McDonald’s recognised the drift towards coffee beverages slightly more sophisticated than that black stuff they serve in little paper cups next to the apple pies.

McDonald’s has been careful to distance McCafé’s image from Starbucks. That’s a wise choice, as the variety offered by the former doesn’t really match up. Yet it’s impossible not to compare the two chains; both rely heavily on branding to create an image for their product, rather than simply quality. Now I’m sure you’d be quick to dismiss the idea of branding clouding your judgement of a good coffee, but consider this; McCafé is now the largest coffee shop brand in Australia and New Zealand. McDonald’s outlets with a McCafé apparently bring in 15 percent more revenue than those without. But we are so discerning down here in Australia when it comes to our coffee! How could a chain like McDonald’s manage to smother us so successfully?

Branding. It’s the secret to any chain’s success. The man behind Starbucks knew that he launched his original coffee chain, Il Giornale. Even the folk behind the original McDonald’s franchise efforts knew that. If your coffee is the best in the world, but you serve it from a straw hut on the side of a highway in polystyrene cups, you’ll probably run an OK business. But serve coffee of satisfactory quality in pretty cups with nice logos inside buildings that are pleasant to be inside, and success shall be yours. Starbucks proved this first, and now McCafé has followed.

The quality of the coffee at McCafé is OK; it doesn’t offend you with an overly milky taste, but anyone accustomed to a good, rich and strong coffee hit will probably be asking the server if they forgot to add the espresso. The chocolate croissant, on the other hand, is delicious.

Interestingly, way back in the planning stages of the McCafé, McDonald’s approached Starbucks with a proposal for them to provide the beans for the fast food chain’s new venture. Starbucks apparently rejected the idea, citing that it was not a good branding fit. While many Australians would hesitate to put Starbucks on the same level as a McCafé (and some others would relish the chance), in the USA the war between to the two chains is being eagerly watched by business commentators. Did Starbucks misjudge the perception of their brand in the eyes of Americans? They certainly did over here in Australia.

From a personal perspective; throw me all the nice branding you’ve got, but I simply can’t resolve the paradox of buying my morning coffee next to a counter serving cheeseburgers and big macs. If I were on a long drive and needed a coffee, I wouldn’t hesitate to stop at a McCafé. They serve their purpose as a reliable brand. However, setting up at the top end of Collins Street to compete with some of Melbourne’s best coffee shops, well, that just seems a little bit farcical.

Demolition on Lonsdale Street

Shaun Carney, associate editor of The Age newspaper has joined the choir of criticisms being thrown at the fools behind the demolition of the art deco building Lonsdale House. In an opinion piece in today’s edition, Carney laments past mistakes made in the Lonsdale Street area, including the crude cross-over from Myer to Melbourne Central (which plunges much of the street into its shadow) and the horrific street frontage of the Melbourne Central shopping centre, which was left untouched after the make-over.

Carney also pokes holes in planning minister/government stooge Justin Madden’s claims that the new structure will create some kind of harmonious relationship with the arid wind-tunnel that is QV. Contrary to his expectation that the demolition will “freshen up the area”, the corner of Swanston and Lonsdale Street is not part of the development at all. The freshness that is currently a McDonald’s outlet will remain. In-fact, the removal of Lonsdale House serves only to widen Caledonian Lane for deliveries to the new retail centre.

Inside the cross-over; Lonsdale House can be seen through the glass.

May we look forward to the new Lonsdale Street; a strip where pedestrians must not only squint in the darkness cast by the street cross-over, dodge cars speeding out of parking complexes and trek the long, soulless façade of Melbourne Central – but soon must also weave their way around more delivery vans, all while looking in sadness at the remnants left on the Myer façade of what was once a stylish and sophisticated gem.

Read Shaun Carney’s full article.

Vote Brumby OUT!

The architectural style of Art Deco is without doubt one of the most astonishing visuals you’re ever likely to see. When it’s good, it can reach beyond your every expectation and deliver a timelessly elegant and stylish fashion that defies fads.

Australia is quite a young nation. We are without much of the history that makes Europe and the USA so interesting. However, Melbourne is very, very rich in Art Deco. Suburbs like Caulfield, St Kilda and some parts of the inner west are often bulging with it. But many of the most impressive examples are found in the inner city; the ManchesterUnityBuilding is probably the most famous.

Unfortunately, our current state premier John Brumby is apparently eager to prove himself as one of the most ill-sighted the state of Victoria has seen. Rather than preserving the history and beauty that makes other cities like New York, Paris and London the wonders that they are, Melbourne shall instead be demolishing the iconic Art Deco Lonsdale House, to build…. a shopping centre.

In the 1960s and 1970s, much of Collins Street was murdered to make way for some of the worst blights we now endure. For a particularly nasty example, see the FederalCoffeePalace (a café bearing the name now pays homage on the steps of the old GPO). We now look set to repeat the mistakes. So, while the rest of the world makes their way through a recession, Melburnians are apparently in need of another modern shopping precinct. And just so we’re clear on our track record; the new development shall be just across from another shopping centre, Melbourne Central. That complex was originally built in the 1980s, but after being deemed a tragic failure, it was completely overhauled around 2002-2003. Also nearby is QV, yet another shopping complex – though that one is by far a distant (and windswept) shadow of its earlier expectations.

If you are repulsed by this senseless plan of Premier John Brumby and Planning Minister Justin Madden, be sure to put your thoughts in words:

premier@dpc.vic.gov.au

And remember; the best way to send a message is to simply vote against the Labor Party.

The great Starbuckian war

To anyone who finds amusement in the oddities of human nature, there is sometimes no greater pleasure than to watch people go to war over the role Starbucks plays in coffee culture. Though it would seem many are unaware, your role in this battle is probably influenced greatly by where in the world you come from.

In Melbourne, Australia, we like to think of ourselves as very cultured. We’ve got laneways, street-art, trams, lots of nice little coffee spots… of-course we’re cultured! You don’t think otherwise do you? You’d better not. Have you not been to Fitzroy? Jump on my vintage bicycle and I’ll take you there now; we’ll enjoy a cup of freshly brewed fair-trade coffee with soy at a great little organic grocer I know next to a gorgeous little vintage clothing store run by my 23 year old housemate Mabel.

Heavens, sorry about that. It must have been my status-anxiety leaking through again. That tends to happen to many of us Melburnians when we are approached by large, mainstream brands like Starbucks. A mere mention of the green logo sends the complexion pale; “Oh, so you like the milk”, they’ll snidely say. Or this; “Coffee connoisseurs? More like coffee-slags!”.

To fully understand the role of Starbucks in the world, we must cast our eye back to America in the 1970s. You’ve seen those scenes in old cop shows where the main character meets a dodgy, usually overweight guy in a diner while he eats his bacon and eggs and sips a cup of murky black liquid. Well, believe it or not, that murky black liquid was once known as coffee. It’s true! And back then, it’s all the USA had.

Then one day a man named Howard went on a holiday to Europe. He was immediately infatuated by the numerous coffee bars that existed largely throughout Italy. They were unlike anything he had seen in his home country; fashionable bars, like the ones that served alcohol in New York, yet set-up especially for coffee. What a concept! Returning to the USA, he began begging the owners of the store he worked in to start selling espresso. Back then, in 1982, the store sold only coffee beans. Unfortunately, the three owners of the first Starbucks thought selling drinks would distract the customer from the point of the business – coffee beans.

Howard had determination. Growing up in a subsidised housing area of Brooklyn, New York, he had long dreamed of achieving something better. In 1975 he became the first member of his family to graduate from college, which led him to his position as Director of Marketing at Starbucks’ first incarnation.

In 1985, Howard set his idea in motion when he opened his own coffee bar chain, Il Giornale. Before long, however, the owners of Starbucks bowed out. Howard bought the original Starbucks chain in 1987, rebranded all his Il Giornale stores, and the Starbucks as we know it was born.

While the scary dark liquid version of coffee (commonly known as “filtered coffee”) is still sold at Starbucks, the staple item really has become the latte; a shot of coffee, steamed milk, and a thin layer of froth on top. Simple, reliable, essential. To a nation like the USA, the introduction of things like lattes, cappuccinos and caramel macchiatos was revolutionary. Starbucks ignited a brand new industry, and quickly rose from a small chain of stores to a massive corporation.

Inevitably, international expansion became a reality. Nowadays there are 49 countries of the world with a Starbucks outlet. As you may have noticed, Australia is one of them. When the chain arrived here in the 90s, the strategy for breaking the market was no different to anywhere else. The rather notorious saturation protocol was followed; a store on every corner, just like in New York.

But as Starbucks recently found out, Australia is a very different marketplace to other parts of the world. In the aftermath of World War II, our cities became very popular destinations for those seeking an escape from war-weary Europe. In particular, Melbourne had already been home to coffee culture for many, many years before Starbucks arrived on the doorstep. Indeed, the idea of Americans marching in to teach us about coffee played like a punch line.

And thus, Starbucks has not been very successful in Australia. The stores we still have do quite a roaring trade, and are immensely popular with overseas students and those who like their coffee artificially sweetened. But for a chain with dreams of world domination of the coffee market, the current situation isn’t great.

However, this dissection of Starbucks’ failure in the Australian landscape does not account for the angry, bitter, and sometimes violent reaction many Australians have to the chain. Even when presented with the very valid point that most ordinary coffee shops do not offer the massive sizes that Starbucks does, or the array or sweeteners, the Starbucks-haters do not relent.

Unfortunately, despite the masterful branding efforts by Starbucks, the company has failed in Australia to separate itself from the perception most of us have towards large American corporations. To many a Melburnian, buying from Starbucks is akin to shopping at Wal-Mart. Everyone knows how evil Wal-Mart is – and we don’t even have any stores! Going to Starbucks will not make you feel like a member of a small and exclusive club; it will make you feel like a fat American capitalist who is used to getting everything they want by the truckload.

That’s true, assuming you’re one of those people who holds opinions for fashion reasons. Starbucks has destroyed some smaller businesses simply by existing, just like Borders has killed smaller bookstores and supermarkets often kill greengrocers. But why this assumption that frequenting a smaller operator is always a better choice?

What many fail to fathom is that, aside from the obvious question of who owns the business (i.e. a large American company or a passionate individual), there is also the question of where the beans come from. On top of a line of fair-trade coffee products, Starbucks also pays above market prices for its coffee beans; on average $1.42 per pound, compared to commodity prices of around $0.60.

Meanwhile, the majority of independent cafes receive their roasted beans from suppliers. How many would have any clue how much was paid to the grower for the beans they brew?

Of-course, in the real world, asking all coffee merchants to match Starbucks’ buying power would be handing a golden key to the giant. But just imagine the situation for bean growers in poorer countries if Starbucks were to suddenly disappear.

Admittedly, the quality of coffee at Starbucks here in Australia is rather dull. And sadly, none of the special promotions featured in the US stores ever make it to our shores. But still, I like Starbucks for what it is. I like the ridiculously large cups, the variety of drinks, the condiments bar, the little cardboard cup holders, it’s all fun and part of the experience of going there.

Today’s lesson: never wear a hoodie on a Tuesday

Here’s something to ponder; at what point does one outstay their welcome when coffee-ing at a local cafe? After 3 lattes? Perhaps 4, or 5? Well how does 2 lattes sound? That’s when I started feeling like perhaps I wasn’t so loved at Le Chien.

My home suburb of Seddon, in Melbourne’s inner west, is home to a small variety of trendy little coffee cafe spots. Many of them are superb, and all do their best to remain fashionable to the maturing-uni-student-turned-family-with-a-mortgage crowd. Le Chien, on Gamon Street (just around the corner from the main drag of Charles Street) is most certainly one of the most popular cafes in the region. Weekends see this place packed out the doors, filled with a mix of latte-obsessed mothers (there is a button that automatically opens the door for pram-pushers, ensuring the maternal types feel welcome), AFL players, and local Real Estate Agents.

Though I have been living in Seddon for a number of years now, I only recently got around to visiting Le Chien. A burst pipe at my home ensured I wouldn’t be making it to work, and that there would be no water supply on this Tuesday (unless you counted the rising lake on the floor), and with Seddon insisting it remain the slow little brother to Yarraville (i.e. over half the place closes from Sunday to at least Wednesday), Le Chien looked a safe bet.

There were enough people about, but not what you’d call a full house. I ordered a latte and took a seat opposite the window. The beverage arrived in a very, very quick second, which was good as I had an overdue craving. As I read the small array of Tuesday news, I soon finished my latte. Ensuring the empty cup was easily seen, I continued my reading. A waiter came to clear some plates for the lady next to me, offering her another drink. She obliged, but no offer for me. Oh well, I thought, he’ll come back when he’s got a free hand. Well, perhaps that waiter’s hand was involved in some sort of kitchen accident, because he never returned.

My coffee well and truly finished, I continued reading. I could have waved down some staff, but I thought to myself; I’m not hitchhiking, this is a cafe. If I wanted to be responsible for my own catering, I would not be paying $3.80 for the privilege. With the froth from my drink starting to fossilise on the glass, I was finally offered another. Cut to at least 20 minutes after my last sip, and I was very relieved to have my second. It was just as good as the first one; perfectly smooth taste, not milky at all, and just the right kick.

After finishing that one, I soon found myself at the end of my reading material. But on a lazy Tuesday, with only wetness and noise to go home to, the idea of a third latte soon seduced me. Surely, I thought to myself, that extended wait from before was just an anomaly. No.

After staring out that window for another 20 minutes, with only my empty coffee glass for company, a waitress suddenly discovered my existence in the world again. Trotting over, she picked up my glass with a smile, asking how I was. Good thanks, I replied, and then she offered me… a glass of water. Yes, that’s right. Apparently Le Chien has some sort of rule similar to liquor licensing; I must have been visibly intoxicated on caffeine or something.

Despite my amusement at the oddity of what was happening, I couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed. Did they not find me a good fit for their motherly image? Were they uncomfortable with someone in their cafe on a Tuesday wearing a hoodie? Or was this really their idea of decent service? If so, why would so many people return to the cafe like zombies at the mall in Dawn of the Dead? Whatever the reason, I gathered my belongings, paid for my 2 coffees, and left.

Soon after, I was browsing at the Seddon Wine Store. It’s a marvelous little wine boutique that recently popped up. With three liquor stores in very close proximity to each other, I’m not sure how they’ll all survive. Though Seddon folk do love their wine, so we’ll see. In any case, Seddon Wine Store is certainly the prettiest.

Anyway, as I browsed, a woman literally ran in and made a mad dash for the cheese. As she flew, I heard her tell the shop’s owner “We’ve got a mother’s group emergency! The Mum who was meant to bring the nibbles suddenly can’t make it, so we’ve got no cheese!”. Then I realised, I had stepped outside my box.

The day crowd of maternal suburbs like Seddon like to easily “get” people, and perhaps I, in my hoodie on a Tuesday, threw them for a moment. “Shouldn’t he be at a skate park somewhere, further out on the Werribee line?” they must have been asking themselves as they wrestled their double prams and wondered why little Olivia and Jack weren’t sharing the same enthusiasm for a coffee stop on Gamon Street. The poor little pets. But at least now I know the dangers of wearing a hoodie on a Tuesday in Seddon.

Me wearing the dreaded hoodie – fear not, this was taken on a Sunday.