The Barn

The Barn – just near last week’s delightful Antipodes, on Auguststraße – means well, but makes you cringe at its earnestness. Part of a successful cafe or restaurant is a sense of effortlessness, an ease of manners and style, and this is one element that the Barn does not quite achieve.

The Barn aspires to be something great. A coffee-lovers haven where there’s no sugar, and only three choices for coffee served with milk – macchiato, flat white and latté. An impressive and decisively tasty array of small morsels adorn the wide bar from where the staff rarely seem to depart. It is in this pursuit of perfection that The Barn’s founder, Ralf Ruller, begins to diverge from what I consider to be a recipe for success, at least on a larger scale.

Firstly, having a printed, and poorly formatted and written, mission statement at the point where you part with your money might seem like a good idea, and perhaps if the tone was warm, inviting, and full of upbeat passion it would be, but here, it is just a bit too much. I didn’t know what to think at first – is this guy for real? Can this concept really succeed? I’m still not sure, a recent article in The Guardian makes me think other customers are also slightly confused. The Guardian reported that Ruller was ‘unapologetic’ and ‘disappointed’ that his brews were not receiving the reception he thought they deserved given they were prepared with the care of a ‘Japanese tea ceremony’. Now, don’t get me wrong, the space was inviting, the lighting designed with attention to detail and the smells would excite any lover of caffeine – and it was not intimidation at the seriousness of it all that put me on edge either. I am definitely in favour of local sourcing of produce, and the manifesto is rightly proud to declare where The Barn gets its milk. But there was a needless tension between the love of coffee and the love of cafés in this roasting house-deli-espresso bar.

There are instructions on where ‘multimedia’ can be used, at the designated media table, and why – it distracts from those reading and concentrating on their tasting. Right. That’s all ok I guess – laptops can be annoying, but why not achieve the same end but more subtly by making power points only available at the prescribed space.  Further, no prams allowed. It’s a roasting house so if something went wrong they didn’t want to risk the baby’s life or something like that. I call bullshit. I think it’s more in line with wanting to attract Berlin’s upper culinary crust – those that have forgotten that the café was in fact, originally anyway, a place of chatter, of life and of heated debate in the great European cities (and probably also the not so great ones). One of the chief pleasures of being in a cafe is soaking in the warmth of the communal hum of conversation, the warmth of being surrounded by others. They are places where you can buy into, if only for a moment, a life outside your own. To make a café or ‘espresso bar’ that actively seeks to limit that bubble of chit-chat is a shame and, ultimately a mistake.

A shame in the sense that the staff are polite and professional, welcoming even when they heard my Australian drawl, and yet they’re confined to their bar where coffee is treated like a science, meticulously observed in all its detail, but not loved. Not done with touch, smell, sight and feeling – rather lacking in art. The coffee was explained with such precision and authority that a great swathe of people, at least back home, would be frightened away. They’re clearly trying something new for Berlin at The Barn – hence all the explanatory material provided, the year long search for a space and the architecturally designed interior. This has yielded some rewards the marinated ham and sundried tomato or brie and pear sandwiches on moist, fruity, nutty bread were delicious. The carrot cake just like the Country Womens’ Association might churn out at a baking competition and the croissants were as good as I’ve hard, bar Jackman & McRoss.

However, there can be no denying the quality of the coffee .  Consistent in both flavour, temperature and texture – the team working the machine clearly know their stuff. But, I just can’t get passed the attempted tone of the place.  Public cuppings as well as lectures on when and how to drink your chosen brew; if the approach were relaxed a little, some tunes and tables introduced, I’m sure The Barn’s trade would roar, the crowds would come, with lines out the door and all that effort would make more sense.

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Antipodes


My father chanced upon this little delight just off Torstraße in the Berlin borough of Mitte while out on a stroll around the neighbourhood near where we were staying. There are a number of things that I’m sure attracted him: the quirky blackboard out of the front – ‘No, we don’t care about hobbits!’, to the name – Antipodes – which clearly strikes a nostalgic chord in any Australian or New Zealander venturing through the über chic rabbit warren of the centre of the German capital.

As an aside, quickly, I have decided, at least for the time being, in line with LA’s Jonathan Gold among others, that I will endeavour to visit places more than once before I write about my experiences.  On any given day a café or restaurant can be markedly different from the mood of the cook, to the awkwardness of the barista.  One thing slightly off key and the entire thing falls apart, like that note not quite reached in the finale of the school musical, a shadow cast across an entire show with the pimply pre-pubescent lead left to retreat, ashen faced to the dressing rooms forever.  With that in mind, I have made my way to Antipodes over half a dozen times with various company: just family, family and another, friends, people I have only just really met and alone.

Every single time, I was impressed.

Not a hint of disappointment in any of my companions, even when I’d spent the previous hour and a half waiting for the Saturday opening spruiking the much adored Eggs Benedict on offer.  (For those at home, in the geographical antipodes, hollandaise may seem pedestrian, boring even, but I guarantee when a forced departure from that buttery, eggy goodness is broken, nothing but pleasure and excitement can ensue.) Bear in mind that the success of this particular breakfast was heightened in importance in that we were sharing our time in Berlin with someone aiming for a top three tick in one day – KFC, the Swans winning a Premiership and Radiohead that night. Nothing could set the balance off otherwise catastrophe may follow and that friend robbed off his perfect day.

But this day, and all the others, Antipodes knows what it is and how to go about it.  Jane and Paul are talkative and interesting without being intrusive: if you want to chat about writing, food or literature, they’ll partake if time permits; if you’re scribbling overly emotive letters home they’ll leave you be.  It’s an art to know when and how to interrupt, when to talk, when to leave alone and when to bring over a magazine you might want to read.  I actually found myself becoming bitter at the prospect one of my companions was going to get in the way of a visit – take your needy negativity elsewhere please, I thought.  I am here for some respite, a little southern hemisphere hospitality, where, as their sign says, coffee tastes like coffee. I’m assuming the sign is meant as a contrast to the generally repulsive excuse for a cup of Joe served up.  It’s as if the coffee is some sort of penance with an energy kick.

Not so at Antipodes. The delicious Kings & Queens blend can satisfy any range of brews from a macchiato, to a cappuccino, to a double latté, the beans provide a strong and aromatic coffee that will only ever please. To me, as it is also made with real milk as opposed to the long life nonsense most other places serve over here, it tastes of cold Hobart mornings walking to Uni in full winter garb and cherishing that warmth as it hits the pit of my gut and the caffeine as it instantly soothes my addiction.

According to another review, a desire for a fresh start prompted the move North to Berlin for Jane and Paul, and for that I am ever so grateful.  Great food – simple breakfasts of soft boiled eggs, muesli served with fruit and honey or the moist and glossy scrambled eggs.  Or interesting and well made sandwiches that fill without making you groan from overeating.  But don’t just go for the food. The décor screams arty Wellington designer know-how with the bar made of old NZ apple crates recognisable enough for a Kiwi I had breakfast with to cease speaking as she was consumed with memories of home and friends missed.

Sometimes I find that’s all I want in a café: a place to sit, to chat, to reminisce, to meet, to read and to write.  A place where you don’t feel lonely, or awkwardly alone when you’re by yourself.   When they first opened Jane wrote letters to random New Zealanders in the old phone book as a way to pass the time of running a new, quiet café.  I wonder if those people know who was behind their surprises?

What a shame for them, I’m so glad I do.

Yellow Bernard goes global

Last week I received a much appreciated and very generous package from the men from Yellow Bernard in Hobart. It is hard to know how to properly say thanks –aside from sending them a package of the Czech delicacy of pizza with a hot dog crust (truly disgusting, but in a deeply compelling way) – but this will have to suffice.

A welcome sight!

To provide a little context, a few weeks ago I returned back to my lodgings after a lengthy sit down in a Czech Republic micro-brewery to make the rookie error of logging into Facebook while intoxicated.  (At around $AU 1.50 a pint, the night can quickly get away from you. A bit like whipping cream: if you dare to stop concentrating and allow your mind to wander, you’ve been at it too long and it’s a lost cause.) So, in that beer induced golden hue, I posted, in some sort of colloquial jabber, on YBs Facebook page that the local ‘kavarnas’ had yet to live up to the heady heights of the Hobart scene, and that I though the price of posting some beans over here to Brno was worth it.  To further add to the disorderly conduct, when I revisited my post it appeared my light headed self had decided to throw in a couple of hashtags for good measure to really add some spice to my social networking.

Combine the time difference, a couple of comments and a like or two and the post was stuck.  No morning after cleaning up for me.

Needless to say, David, ever the professional, replied warmly and then emailed a couple of days later to organise the postage. I was chuffed that he was willing to go to the effort and excited at the prospect of having my culture shock soothed by the comfort and flavour of the Yellow Bernard house blend.

A week later, the package arrived with 500g of Gridlock’s finest; 250g of ground house blend and 250 g of the 7000 blend. Now, having procured, as advised, a little plunger for my shared room, I have now sat down to boost my caffeine levels, think of home and write a little post of gratitude and thanks. (I feel perhaps, by now, it goes without saying that the YB blends have travelled very well to my home for the next few months and will be enjoyed immensely by those who may be lucky enough to reach that particular level of friendship.)

Yellow Bernard continues to really impress me with their approach and commitment. Going above and beyond seems to be the standard of care that’s become everyday at that hole in the wall on Hobart’s Collins Street. The locals –  as I’m sure many do –  need to realise their luck at having such an establishment in our Southern home .

It really is something else.

Den Haag’s Lola Bikes & Coffee

The Netherlands is exactly as you imagine, almost to the point of parody. You round the bend on your rented bike to see an open wooden boat putting along a canal, waterbirds causing a ruckus on the banks and a windmill behind on a grassy knoll. You can ride for hours and not come across more than a mild incline.  It intrigues me that café culture appears to be so far behind Australia given that here there are more bicycles than people.  There’s something about cycling and coffee that just seems to work. Perhaps it’s the fact that bicycles make fantastic decor, or more simply that in order to pursue cycling as a sport you need some form of caffeinated reward at the end. There is, however, hope: Lola in the Hague provides a welcome respite from the rubbish attempts at coffee that I have suffered from other places. Lola makes coffee the right way – they care about how it looks and tastes.

Lola’s Barista

It seems the owners of Lola, a café and bike shop, have some serious ambitions about trying to promote good coffee. We’ve frequented them a few times over the past week, and although at times I think the staff forget the difference between types of coffee, say a double shot latté and a flat white, the flavour and technique is pleasing. My travelling companion has ended up with a little more caffeine than he bargained for on a couple of occasions, but when it’s done well those sorts of errors matter a great deal less. Lola feels welcoming and cool without pretentiousness from the staff, with bright colours and interesting design on the walls. I don’t have much knowledge about bikes,  but it is obvious that the ones on sale here are über chic (and expensive) with their matte finish frames, dynamo lights and leather finishing.

Yesterday as we sat and enjoyed the summer sun with a morning drop, the barista walked in finishing a phone call to a friend who he plans to compete with in the Dutch Coffee Championships. We got talking, and he told us that in the Netherlands the tradition of coffee being brewed through percolators into large steaming mugs of ‘tarmac’ had made the transition to more delicate, refined flavours has required some serious effort by café proprietors. There isn’t the same easy market as there is in Australia as most employers offer their staff free or incredibly cheap in-house coffee. The Dutch do not seem to have the same need or desire to step out and wander down the street to grab the morning or afternoon pick-me-up.  This adds up to an industry that doesn’t necessarily have the competition or the intensity that push cafés towards new heights. The barista told us in order to assist with the shift a great deal of explaining is required for the few locals that do decide to try something new.

Lola Bikes & Coffee

They do offer some sweet treats at Lola – we bought a generous serving of the carrot cake, walnutty with cream-cheese icing. It was a little undercooked, but I’ve always been a fan of mixture so I didn’t really mind. More broadly, I think Lola would do themselves a favour by improving the food given there is enough space available inside to provide something more than cake and croissants. Regardless, it was just the right starter before a 50km bike ride to Leiden and Katwijk beach.

It is always hard to say when you don’t know a place very well, but it seems Lola is an interesting and welcome addition to a café scene that doesn’t appear to be enjoying coffee in the same way we do in Australia.  I enjoyed having the chance to sit and read while listening to the sing-song Dutch conversations occur around me. If you’re ever making the hedonistic sojourn to Amsterdam, I would strongly recommend a day trip down to the Hague for a bike ride followed up by a coffee at Lola.

Childhood revisited at Red Velvet Lounge

Hobart was suffering through a brooding morning, so we decided to enjoy Bronnie’s last day before University resumed and went for a 1950s-esque Sunday drive down to Tinderbox and up through the Huon.  Travelling through the Huon is authentic Tasmaniana: a journey through foggy mist and sweeping apple orchards and the moment after, pouring rain as a doey eyed bovine looks on as it meanders through the thick green pasture.  It is idyllic and inherently peaceful, with beautiful cabins, and wooden boats and yachts floating on rippling rivers flowing into the D’Entrecastaux Channel.

On this particular day, Cygnet’s Red Velvet Lounge was our destination. A fortnight or so earlier, I travelled to Cygnet to visit Matthew Evans at his Fat Pig Farm, and on our way Sadie had suggested we visit Red Velvet Lounge. I wasn’t satisfied that one take away coffee was enough to do it justice, and so we returned.

Someone has some serious interior design skills – it feels like home.

It makes a difference to walk into a place and feel instantly welcome. The staff at Red Velvet Lounge are superb, so much so that I will definitely take the forty minute trip again just to see the friendliest, most helpful Ned Kelly look-a-like I have ever come across. He was erudite and professional- a welcome surprise. There’s something wonderful about walking inside, out of the rain, into a warmly lit, fire warmed café come restaurant in a place close enough to the forests for you to feel them. The softly spoken waiter with a thick European accent and a messy upper arm tattoo was attentive without being overbearing. It is a hard skill to master – the awkward “hurry up I want to go home” moment every waiter suffers at some point. Perhaps my own experience (and shocking tactics employed at times) have heightened my senses to any hints of being rushed. There was no rushing at Red Velvet Lounge. In fact, the warm glow from friendliness caused a rush of blood purchase of one of the etching prints out of the eclectic range hung on the walls.

The afternoon tea was exceptional. My upside down pear cake was moist with hints of brown sugar and cinnamon, reminiscent of apple crumble on a winter’s eve. Great food has the capacity to evoke nostalgia: the quietness of the cake put me in mind of memories of childhood family trips to a friend’s property beside the Huon River, looking down over the water. The place had the romance of the bush and the space of the river, the warmth of kitchen surrounded by the outside. Bron had a confit berry tart which wasn’t adventurous but pleasing enough. The custardy filling smooth and textured – if cookbooks are to be believed, when baking desserts, accuracy is important. That attention to detail was clear in the tart.  The flavour was sweet and verged on everyday, but when the everyday is made with fresh berries and is enjoyed in such a location, it is hard to fault. The success of our sojourn was that it was blessed with the comforts of the familiar. A warm cake or a little sweet tart on a chilly afternoon after a long drive.

‘PIzza Slices’

Both servings were provided with a quenelle of cream that was placed with such attention to detail that I felt bad eating it. Of course, cream must be eaten, and I enjoyed all of it. And I wanted more.  I love the feeling of being somewhere that is truly exciting; where the ingredients are fresh and prepared by someone who cares.

I had a pot of Russian Caravan tea which has a strong smokey and earthy flavour and puts you in mind of the pictures on the front of the tea boxes of camel trains. It’s dirty, like unshaven merchants, burly men sitting in the desert. I know that might not sound particularly appetising but I love it. Drinking tea is a ritual act that needs to happen slowly, and it is this ritual that makes choosing it over coffee worthwhile. A close friend and I recently had a disagreement about the point of providing the jug, and an empty cup  with a little pour of milk to do the mixing yourself. He thinks when you order tea, it should be a bag of Bushells in a mug. Nothing more. But he is clearly wrong: part of what makes food wonderful  is the ritual it involves. It is what makes going out for a meal an event, something to be savoured.

Red Velvet Lounge was the perfect way to spend the last afternoon before the stress and mundanity of assessments, exams and assignments. It should be visited on any trip down the Huon, and even for its own sake. Once you are  sitting in front of the fire, a belly full of deliciousness, you’ll be glad you did.

Jackman & McRoss: World beaters.

I’ve been putting off writing this for sometime. I’m not entirely sure why – probably a combination of some trepidation at getting it right and doing this wonderful Hobart group of eateries justice whilst remaining honest about what to expect.  Along with Pigeon Hole, there are few places I have spent more time. The flagship Battery Point Jackman & McRoss is always mentioned when high profile bloggers and reviewers come to Tasmania to do their stock-standard whirlwind trip. I get it: Battery Point is easily Hobart’s most picturesque suburb with its sweeping river views from the banks of the mighty Derwent to the frosted clichéd Instagram shot of a snow dusted Mt. Wellington. It is undoubtedly a wonderful haven in the biting winter of Hobart.

City Jackman & McRoss Lunch

The Battery Point Jackman can get very, very busy. Arrive after 10am on the weekend and you can almost guarantee that there won’t be any of their croissants left (which, to be honest, should always be your first breakfast choice). J&M croissants are hard to overrate – they’re big and buttery served with a seasonal jam, usually raspberry. A friend and I went to the Hobart launch of the Movida Guide to Barcelona last year with Melbourne chef Frank Camorra and his writer, Richard Cornish. Afterwards, we approached Cornish to talk about the book, and during our conversation, we asked him about the best spots he had been to in the Island State. His response, of course, included Peppermint Bay, Garagistes, ethos, etc etc. However, he became particularly animated when discussing the delectable treats on offer at Jackman. The croissants, he said, were world beaters. Unrivalled even in their Parisian patisserie home – surely the spiritual Mecca for all lovers of pastry.

It’s hard for me to sum up the best things on offer at Jackman & McRoss, because as always, a bakery café of this type is always going to disappoint if you go in expecting the wrong thing. It is not fine dining, but something much more casual and relaxed. I must have been there hundreds of times, and whether it is nipping down for a seedy Sunday debrief over a flat white or a half time pie run on a Saturday afternoon, J&M has never provided the same experience. And I don’t say that as a bad thing, necessarily. The staff are a different breed. They’re tight knit and Nerida McRoss, if you have the pleasure of having her serve you, will quiz you on your choice or perhaps provide some insight into the current position of her beloved Hawthorn ‘Tassie’ Hawks.

There is an obvious downside to its popularity . A forty minute wait for lunch service on a busy day is not uncommon, and on a Sunday morning that can stretch well into the hour. I’ve never been fussed by that. My opinion is that the staff are clearly working hard, they’re probably doing 50 covers an hour which a normal Hobart eatery would hope to do in a sitting and they, generally, do it with good humour and enthusiasm.  Some struggle to handle the lack of pandering that they might be used to at the lacklustre Metz, but I’m a fan of service with a bit of attitude. Some personality is certainly better than none.

Finally,  Jackman & McRoss manages to stay honest to its roots as a local bakehouse providing great food at a very reasonable price. It is adventurous – ranging from braised rabbit to confit duck to lamb shanks wrapped in buttery pastry goodness – while remaining cheap – rarely does a dish cost over $15. It’s easy to have a great lunch with a number of friends and get a bit raucous after a night suffering the sometimes stagnant nightlife.

The city outlet of J&M – just up from Fullers Bookshop – is a little more serious with a price hike of a couple of dollars to pay for the service, whilst the New Town café can be quieter and may allow for a lazier time. Jackman & McRoss is always enjoyable – just don’t go in expecting restaurant service, but embrace its sometimes chaotic atmosphere and the best baked goods in Hobart.

Hot Mother Lounge: the Coast’s own

I came home to Burnie for a few days of comfort last week and visiting one of my favourite local cafés was a must.

Hot Mother Lounge is fantastic. It’s what every regional city needs. Caroline Mulder, the café’s ‘Hot Mother’ is one of those locals that everyone knows. Her son was a ballet dancing, representative prop in Tassie’s high school rugby team.  I’ve always thought it spoke volumes about the kind of person she was, to produce a bloke like that.

She’s set something up that really fits in with everything Burnie can be and should be.  It allows the city’s workers somewhere to go for fabulous coffee and homely treats and it allows those that otherwise might not have tried a barley and beef soup to feel that it’s something they could have a go at.  The lunch bar has built a solid reputation from filling that hole in your belly no matter how big or small.  I’ve generally gone for the egg and bacon tart or the chicken foccacia. Now I know what you’re thinking – “That sounds like nothing special. In fact, I could get that anywhere. Who cares? That’s not interesting food. That’s just takeaway toasties.” But I beg to differ.

It is about homely food, like you wished your mother could make – an affordable lunch in a cosy room with two waitresses that are best friends and will happily partake in some banter, if you’re game. It’s not fine dining, and it’s not going to be for you if you’re after a lot of personal space when having your morning cup of coffee.  It’s not pokey, but cosy. The art on the walls can be a bit odd. One day there’ll be some Lisa Garland photos – her evocative gelatin prints of characters with their collections and next time, it’s poorly drawn flower people but hey, it’s supporting local art and I’m all for that. I’ve participated in my fair share of questionable regional productions, and that’s the way it should be – having a crack should definitely be celebrated.

The recycled bus bench seats are, at times, a little uncomfortable. However, I think one of the things Hot Mother does best, and other places around Tassie could follow this model, is that it doesn’t pretend to be something it is not. Take a Launcestonian friend of mine who visited the coast and Hot Mother one afternoon. He couldn’t quite believe the friendliness of the staff and the quality of the fare. I try to avoid being parochial, but Hot Mother proves that Burnie is not the final frontier; and if it is, it’s still a place where you can get some damn fine food and coffee. Eliza churns out espresso guaranteed to impress with its accuracy of temperature and reliability of flavour.  I’m yet to have a coffee I didn’t enjoy at this little place on Wilson St and I’ll be surprised if Hot Mother doesn’t continue to do what its been doing for the past 5 years or so.

So, if you’re feeling like visiting the Coast, Hot Mother Lounge should be a high priority. It’s up there with Cradle Mountain and Boat Harbour Beach as far as I’m concerned – do all three, you’ll have a splendid day.  Caroline and her team are selling quality food and impressive coffee. It wouldn’t be out of place in a Melbourne laneway but for those us that venture north more regularly than for a weekend after a few episodes of Masterchef, Hot Mother Lounge continues to provide the proof that there’s more here than most would realise.  Give it a go, after all, even though it’s uphill all the way from Hobart, it’s downhill all the way back.

It’s a quick little trip when you have gems like this at the destination.

Passion not a trend.

Yellow Bernard have recently acquired a new house blend. The blend is, I’m led to believe, a mix of a couple of single origin beans aimed at showing off the talents of the roasters at Melbourne’s Gridlock Coffee. I’ve been blessed over the past couple of weeks to share a quiet chat with YBs owner/ manager and have been informed of the approach taken by the Victorian brewmasters. He spoke glowingly of the vibe and the electricity of the CBD cafe, a blend of suit and chic, apparently a must see across the Strait on the next jaunt for all things Good Food Guide.

My boss has a penchant for hazelnut in his coffee, and I’ve realised the reason he bastardises his drink so is because he’s not used to consistency. He’s not used to enjoying the flavours of the coffee brought out by someone that truly cares about what they’re doing.

I insisted on shouting the morning snack this week, and of course, he loved it. It’s that drinkability of the coffee that makes it so hard not to go back. Two double shot lattes later and I’m sure he will think twice about returning to the sub-par establishment he prefers to spend his dollars.

I went back later on in the day to purchase the latte pictured above and continued our earlier chat about Gridlock. Brief as it was, again I was pleased to hear the words tumble from him, in a completely unpretentious, non self-conscious way – “At Gridlock, coffee isn’t a trend, it’s a passion. It’s not about hipsters or being cool, it’s just the coffee. We really liked that and that’s what we aim for.’

If this is what Yellow Bernard manages, Hobart will be better off. Bravo Yellow Bernard, more please

Marmalade’s disappointment

One blustery Hobart Sunday late in April, I ventured to try something new at Marmalade, a café/ restaurant up on Elizabeth St, not far from EC.

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marmalade – room to improve.

I was with some old friends and the catch up would have proved enjoyable had it not been for a number of pointed errors on behalf of the staff.

Firstly, don’t let people sit for ten minutes as you walk past putting things away from the dishwasher. It was only 2pm, and lunch was still being served (or ordered at least.)

Secondly, once the order is placed, it’s not really ok to take half an hour for two coffees, a pot of tea and a berry smoothie. (All reasonable, but certainly not memorable).

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Berry smoothie – $7 worth? Didn’t taste it

And finally, if something’s not on the menu, try and let the people know when you had it to them. It really is quite frustrating to ask for something and then be refused because you’ve ‘run out’.

It was a shame because I’m often keen to be taken to unfamiliar spots and be surprised by what’s on offer. Sadly, my Sundays will be unlikely to again consider Marmalade. Perhaps it was an off day, perhaps we came across as rude or maybe I should’ve have expected so much.

I hope it was just an anomaly, the exception to an otherwise impressive rule, but I won’t be holding my breath next time I give it a shot.

A

Top notch with Yellow Bernard

I don’t have much time for inconsistency in product when it comes to coffee. I find that it’s always reassuring when a café takes it seriously. Yellow Bernard is one such place.

Upon waiting in line at the usual early morning coffee rush, I heard the lady in front of me say – ‘I want it hot but I don’t want it too hot. I don’t want it to burn my tongue.’  And in a tone not condescending yet oozing competence and knowledge the proprietor responded ‘Don’t worry about that.  We generally hit around 65 degrees; it should be just right.’

They’re friendly and professional and crank out some amazing coffee. In a town where the coffee business is booming, Yellow Bernard are at the top of their game. It’s been a fantastic year for the hole in the wall on Collins St, and things can only get better.

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