I’ve decided to move my blog but please give my latest post a read here.
I’ve decided to move my blog but please give my latest post a read here.
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.
Olomouc is a small city in the Czech region of Moravia famous for its cobbled streets, UNESCO listed column, bizarre communist era astrological clock and most importantly, its micro breweries and pungent local cheese.
Having spent the day traipsing around the medieval city there was only one thing to do: we went in search of beer. Having failed to secure a table at the more central (and touristy) beer hall, our backup, Moritz, quickly made room for us, three starry eyed travellers. I think it is important to note that one of my companions was a journalism student from Taiwan who had never before consumed more than a single pint in a sitting. I was acutely aware that our surrounds must be all the more foreign to him.
Down a spiral staircase off a quiet suburban street was one of the more inviting Czech drinking venues I’ve come across in terms of setting. Moritz, the second of Olomouc’s more well-known micro-breweries, houses two dominating brass brewing kettles in the corner of the low ceilinged, warmly lit dining hall and bar. The furnishings are all old posters of ads from a bygone era and various Moravian paraphernalia adorning the walls. With the hum of forty of so Czechs escaping the drizzly Autumn afternoon, I felt as if we were encroaching on a local gem not used to accommodating the hassling students from nearby Brno. I was immediately nostalgic, even though it was my first visit.
A quick ‘Ahoj’ and ‘pivo prosím’ and three of most delicious beers were on the way. Apparently no matter what other forms the rivalry between Czechs and their neighbours takes, all agree that the best beer emanates from this failed communist utopia. As we drank, probably a little too quickly, my companions set about deciphering the menu while I intrusively took some photos of our delightful surrounds.
After half an hour of struggling with a menu that included boar stew and the ever present pork knuckle, the multilingual waiter presented us with English menus, pointing out that the menu we had was in fact for a celebration in a fortnight or so. A sigh of relief that we wouldn’t have to guess our way through another dinner was quickly halted by the realisation that we had yet another overseas dining faux pas to add to the list.
From the short ‘pub-food plus’ menu, we selected a couple of local staples – the Moravian cheese I mentioned earlier, and a regional take on steak tartare. I ordered a prime 250g slab of fillet steak whilst the other two settled on various preparations of pork and venison.
The cheese tasted like a ripe washed rind to me – thick and pungent that when mixed with the white onion rings and slightly aniseed bread formed a flavour that seemed to linger like the smell of your feet after a hard days bushwalking. Not necessarily unpleasant but certainly unmistakeable. It was moreish without either of us necessarily being able to explain why we kept on putting it in our mouths. There was definitely a moment of two where I felt like we looked like a trio of sows at the trough that have been starved for days. As a study into eating habits, I’m sure it would have been rather compelling if not a little concerning.
The tartare was a definite highlight. I would say probably the best of our travels so far. Spicy, cold and full of garlic and pepper served with fried bread. The beef was obviously of a quality sufficient to pull of a dish that requires a real love of red meat and the flavours you can enjoy. As I was contemplating our meal at Moritz and thinking on how much the local Czech cuisine concentrates on meat with such intensity that at times, I think besides some bread, cheese and potato, the people here are barely omnivores. As a friend of mine likes to say, to the horror of the vegetarians within earshot, salad is what food eats. That certainly feels very much in tune with the Czech approach that can feel a little relentless at times.
Nevertheless, my steak was delicious. Cooked to the rare side of medium rare, as requested, and seasoned well with a generous serve of buttery (yet typically waxy) potatoes and the sauce, which screamed cholesterol, but hey, who am I to turn down such a fine example of a green peppercorn sauce? The beer, the meat, the potatoes – it was ideal. As the meal wrapped up and the hum in the restaurant grew to a rosy gaggle, I was pleased with our choice. Moritz isn’t refined, flashy or particularly interesting. But on a cold night, with a couple of drinks under your belt, it is most welcome feast of gluttonous pleasure.
I will definitely be going back.
Just a little teaser for an article to come soon. I spent some time with Matthew Evans at his new place at Glazier’s Bay, Fat Pig Farm, today.
I look forward to working through the notes and providing a better insight in the coming weeks but for now, this will suffice.
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.
What a review! Tassie goin’ global.
Tasmanian’s culinary scene is booming. Here’s some third party knowledge dropped by a Big Apple foodie.