Medium & Saturday

#CapitalTimes
#BeastOfKelburn

Panini, Trammezino, Potato, PO-TAY-TOE, Tomato, Tomay-tee

Potato.
'Ugh' I can hear you all saying, not another one of those posts. Well, TBH, it's just important we get the right people following this quote-un-quote 'blog'. You could always go back to reading TMZ, or whatever the antipodean equivalent of TMZ is... (lookin@chu, Rachel Glucina). #LeaveCharlotteAlone
In any case, prepare to receive knowledge darts straight to your domium.
3.
2.
1....
Seems at some point, right around the time you could still catch a latte bowl in Ponsonby, a subtle yet significant paradigm shift occurred. Cafe bought toasted sandwiches went from being called panini to going by tramezzini. Dear Cafeterias, please cut the crap and call a spade a vanga. It's two breads and a fillings, maybe witta li'l chili-cheese on um. And don't let anyone tell try and tell you there's a difference, unless they're a legit I-ti or a made man, at which it'll be too late fo yo adze anyway. My personal theory is at around the time this shift took place, McCafe was jumping all over this shit, so cafs felt like they hadda differentiate.

 Which leads me to my next topic, Tongue & Groove Cafe, Birkenhead Ave, GuessWhereStupid. The coffee here came as recommended by highly reclusive but fairly reliable source and some-time collaborator/provincial correspondent to EB, Capital Times. Post Saturday roller-plank sesh at BSP (VSOP ASAP Cheezburger RIP), we decided to blow up the spot. TGV served up a range of staple cafes (FW, SoyFW, HC, and my LB), all pronounced to by more than dece' by the gang. Sidenote: LB's a'gotta be the yardstick... come on, cuzzy, get on some grown-arse-(wo)man coffee, especially in the PM (peace to my mans Juelz Santini on this one).
I was a little pecko so copped a breakfast tram-wich out da cabo, which, if a little grease-ball, was nevertheless well taste.
In spite of their somehow off-putting name, TGV Caf' comes correct. They've (secret) nailed it. I'll TOATS be back. Hit.

Sunday Cha Timez

Star Cafe Seafood Restaurant
17C Link Drive, Wairau Park

Areet, OK... Issyabuoy, Young E.B. AKA The Cha-millionaire AKA Dimset AKA Shrimp C. It's been, what? a minute since I last deigned to bless you with a little mid-morning knowledge. In any case it's certainly been a min-ute since I last fucked with the dim sums, on this internet web-log anyway.
Word to the #SpiceBoyz gang. Of late I been tryna obtain some legit intel RE: new gook-muck spots, IE. spots that aren't New Flavour or any other over-arse joints (peace to Spicy Joint, which by the way, is not over). Intel from real live Azns.... the word from two of my oriental colleagues at the Sweatshop was that Star Caf was the place to be.
N-Dundee Pro-tip: get here early, especially if you come on a Sunday. The place opens at eleven, we arrived about eleven-thirty, and had a brief, tolerable wait, until the dude with the earpiece retrieved P. and me from loitering outside - we'd been admiring the majestic Lake Wairau. By the time we bounced the queue was out the do'!
Cyber-rumours of authentic Chinese style service were mostly confirmed, it did suck. At times it's a stretch for mild-mannered palagis to get comfortable about being what would be considered rude at a non-chinese restaurant. You gotta be pretty direct, even then it's a struggle. A few of our faves proved highly elusive, but the sweet-n-sour pork was proffered to the whites more than once.
Straight off the bat decided to switch the style up (and watch the pile up) and cop some pork slices. These were chilled and resplendent in a well ratio'd bath of chili oil and other mysterious elixirs. Nothing like kick starting your Sunday fuzzbrain with the magic of spice. Sweating and buggin' in seconds.

The proceeding plates & baskets that did land were competent. Dumpos could've been a little firmer, IMHO, and could've been a little more various - they all seemed to be prawn. Where the coriander at!!??? That's my shit! Prawn toast was official, doe, while we're talkin' prawn. Nice ice cream balls, but real-talk, kinda hard to fuck-up something pre-packaged.

I left feeling satiated, but not disrespected, which is mission failure in my kindle. Side note: at Star Cafe Seafood Restaurant $64 three ways is $19.20... which seemed to suggest a surcharge for not splitting. Buzzy, eh. I would/will return, but not in a hurry - maybe just for the pork slices. Judging by the mob forming in the foyer as we gapped, they'll do fine without my frequent custom. Miss.

Playing the %ages... or "Let off some steam, Bennett"

Kia ora, kia ora EB Whanau.

I certainly fell-off there for more than a minute, I can admit that... But I ain't never left. Just been posted in the booth, watching suckers play theyselves an' all that. But I'm about to take these fake-arse A&R's to court, because I the Inspector!!!
(whew! so many mixed-up rap references already in the first para - first person to ID will win............. nothing but the satisfaction of Knowledge).

Anyway, like I'm saying, it's not as though your boy Edward Burlington III freaked-the-fuck-out and stopped coppin' those extravagant fast-breakers, had some kind of petit-bourgeois crise-de-couer (Franc'd-the-fuck-out) and eats nothing but beansprouts and water from his own artesian bore in Kaiwaka. I'm Bout This Brunch Life, always have been, always will be. ACKLIKEYOUKNOW.
I feel like those first two were far too Urban.

Apologies to my Two (2) followers (and any other Anon lurkers - optimistic, I know), who I'm sure have long forgotten the existence. In any case I shouldn't have left you, without some knowledge darts to step to (step to). One can only review Salta so many times...
I have recently made the move out of Central, which hasn't yielded any discoveries particularly blog-worthy, until recently.

First at the crease is Devonport Delicatessen Cafe, right on the main drag. Based on it's shady appearance I prolly would've never bothered, but my Fred-buddy suggested we go there one day post some Rapha-as riding in the Alpes d'Henderson, and I was pleasantly surprised.
Good, honest food, that wasn't too rich... and heaps-dece' coffee to boot. While we're about it: why is it it seems once you travel a certain distance from AKL Central, suddenly coffees are available in up to four times as many sizes (Starsquiers excluded, of course). Stop me if you think you've heard this one before, but didn't the latte bowl disappear about the same time as colourful iMacs, or at least it should have - along with Mingi/Backwards Cheese-cutter Combos. Surely the idea of a Large Short Black is in itself contradictory. Once I got over this minor gripe, however, the kai was thoroughly enjoyable. Hit. Go here. Would eat again. A+++ cheers :)
Click here, scroll down. Not a bad guide, but someone could do a better one. Lord knows it won't be me.

Top billing this time goes to Cafe at Bennetts of Mangawhai (52 Moir St). A place like this would ordinarily set alarm-bells off in my head - faux Tuscan villa style, the main event is in fact an award winning Chocolatier (PAUSE), distressed-french-country-everything-everywhere - but I was in such a good mood after a surprisingly refreshing sleep on the top bunk I was able to get over my usual prejudices. In spite of all these obvious faux-pas, the cafe has a pretty honest vibe about it. Simple, concise blackboard menu - all the big names, none of the bullshit. A little on the spenno side, but it is worth it. I opted for the omelette with raclette and onion jam, with a side of excellent pork & fennel saus. As usual, my talk exceeded my walk, the plate getting the better of me (this time, and only just). My companions' plates were also pronounced good, if a little riche. We all left disrespected, obviously. Service was prompt, but to be fair, we did get there quite early (before 10:00AM even... shit's unheard of), and it looked like the hoards were 'pon us as we stumbled across to the Boutique afterward. The waitress even had a wrist-tat. Alt Dot Tick. Gripe: my latte was far too creamy, but maybe I should grow a pair and stop ordering lattes. Also, what did I expect from an adjunct to a chocolate factorie. We admired the various bon-bons on display as we basked in the afterglow. As we were leaving, J enquired as to the highest percentage 'cocao' Bennetts' make: "70%... anything higher is just too bitter". Before I could check myself: "that's an opinion..." and off we went. Gimme that stuff that TASTE LIKE DIRT. That's my shit. Oh, yeah. Hit.

Giving You the Time of Day... Te Waka a Maui: Rua for Tahi

That's right, whanau. EB's jumped the Cook and even had time to sample some of the finest bruncheries the North Island's Slag-tag has to offer. My inner Scotch-tight-arse meant that I cheaped-out on direct flights into Queenstown, opting instead to fly into Crimechurch and drive (thereby effectively turning a four day weekend into just a weekend - but I digress...)

First on the block is ChCh's

Underground Coffee

359 Colombo St
Sydenham
(03) 943 7360

Three things about this place really concerned me:

1. The name, obviously.

2. A poster on the front door for a Bike-Polo event of some kind.

3. Our table-top was an old cupboard door, knob remaining.

Other than that I can't fault UG. F.B. & I both had Salmon Bagels, which "t.b.h." could've been a bit more generous on the salmon, and B. had Eggs on Toast (textbook poachery, top marks). Granted, neither plate is particularly complex, but who cares, if you can get the basics right then you're ahead of a lot of places. We perched around the door enjoying the welcome Canty sunshine and above average cups-of-chino.

UG don't front, hit.

Next up is Q-town's

Joe's Garage

Searle Lane, Town Centre

(03) 442 5282

Again, I was concerned by Joes's front door - the handle is a big crescent spanner - aw, I see what they did there! And the whole place has a vague automotive-cum-yankee-style-diner vibe. I'm always weary of anything with a Theme... cafes, parties... How about this for a motif?: good food and no bullshit. But allow me to get over myself for a minute.

I ordered the Clever Trevor aka Mince on Toast, B had the Crumble with Apple, Rhubarb & Yoghurt (this probably had a hilarious moniker too, that I didn't care to remember). We sat and waited, enjoying two (good) coffees each, in the time it took to get our plates out. A minor gripe, considering the generous portions and super-tastiness of both.

I'd like to take time now to get something off my chest, or at least my fingertips. While we were sat waiting for our food to come out, another couple came and sat down next us, He dropping his sunglasses on the floor, and not noticing. I half turned, about to let him know, but I saw they were the kind of specs you'd see TV's The Situation wearing. I held my tongue, and decided I was doing him a favor. Besides, I'm sure they only diverted attention from the exquisite turtle-neck he had on. The question here is: Am I a Cunt?

Bottom line is Joe's is a hit. We left feeling thoroughly disrespected, they just need to get their hustle up a little.

I'm left wondering what Karma has in store for me, greedily clutching my Yukels.

1/2 Stepping at Head1/4s

Headquarters

132 Beaumont Street

Can a cafetorium's rep really rest on a single plate? Well, if that cafetorium's Headquarters, and that plate is the Roly's HQ, then the answer is "stick-up kids is out to tax". And "yes".

HQ's a slightly isolated eatery at the still very much marine-commercial north end of Westhaven. Nautical touches include, notably, a cigarette machine - didn't have occasion to confirm if there's a conny-machine in the bogs...

We minced in here a couple Sundays ago, post a "two-wheeled lycra fashion show", one thing on our minds (T & mine's in any case): carb-replenishment. And what better way to commit first degree carbocide than smashing a Roly's.

For the uninitiated, a Roly's is a plate sized potato hash swathed with melted cheese. I think there're some mushrooms in there somewhere, too. It's a hot, dutty nug that totes hits the spot. B made the mistake of ordering the french toast. The verdict was indifference, right down to the Mehple Syzzurp.

Let's face it, if you're gonna hit HQ, you're there to order the Roly's. Why fuck with anything else?

The coffees were decent too.

Hit.

Cop out alert! Think I've gone soft...

Dellows Kitchen

212 Jervois Rd

Herne Bay

Re-fit, much? Dellows has also been meke'd recently, the layout now a whole lot less awkward. Let's not front: their barista's an associate of mine, so I'm hardly impartial. Actually, I'm totally biased.

Anyway, Sunday morning came and we found ourselves on a double-date, of sorts. I was a little uneasy on realising Dellows use KKK beans, but my misgivings were put to rest when my first latte landed. Excellent. My second was even better. Three out of four had salads, not gay (mine the Caesar). Only S had a proper breakfast, the Benny. Three out of four were pronounced good, but B's Haloumi salad was a little underwhelming - thin slices of vulcanized Haloumi and an indifferent pestonnaise. Flip-wise, the portion size was on the money.

Dellows' offer up competent cafe basics and superlative coffee. On paper I probably wouldn't rate this place. But it's really the whole vibe of the thing that they've got just right. An atmosphere of utter non-wankery meant that we were comfortable enough to linger long after we'd scoffed our plates.

Not bad for a local. I'm not going to call it a Hit, but it's not a Miss either. Go there and make your own judgments.