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.

Winter-time in the TBC

Takapuna Beach Cafe

22 The Promenade

Takapuna

Ahhh, Auckland's majestic Northern Shores. At it's epicentre an eatery of some repute. We'd heard good things, and eaten here once before, and been very, very impressed. You may remember the proprietors from such other cafes as The Richmond Rd (and apparently at least two others on the East side, and therefore irrelevant).

We bowled up at late morning Saturday peak-time and got a table for two with minimal fuss. Initial service was prompt and efficient. It had later deteriorated... More on this soon.

B took one for the greater-good this round and copped the Benny with Lemon-Cured Salmon, the cafe plate yardstick. I was feeling rather rash, and brazenly ordered the Lamb's Liver with Muchrooms (sic - peace to GG Verr). The Benoit was pronounced excellent, if not slightly dominated by the Salmon, and came on what seemed like house-made bread. The Liver was shit. It's flavour took me back to my childhood neighbour's basement laundry. I attempted to put a brave face on and soldier through it, but I was overcome. Don't get it twisted, I'm all for the nose-to-tail movement, (not to be confused with arse-to-mouth movement - something else entirely) but if you're going to fuck with offal, you'd better come correct. Innards feature quite frequently on the TBC's menu, Lamb Kidneys and Chicken Livers also available. If what I had's anything to go by, it's for the sake of fashion, not flavour.

Most of the liver was left on the plate, and we decided to order another round of their excellent Lattes to wash away it's taste, along with some of the Macaroons B'd been admiring over my shoulder the entire meal. Along came our coffees, a bitter, burnt glass of dirt compared to our firsts. But no bikkies. We waited. And waited. And then waited. The abundant staff were too engrossed in rearranging the batchy furniture and knocking over carafes to pay us attention. Eventually the Macaronnier appeared, with a tricolore of tiny morsels, a plate for each. Such accommodations were a tad grandiose for such a bland yawn-fest. The Coconut was the pick of a bad bunch, distinguished only from the others by the actual coconut on top (B'd actually asked for Coffee, not Coconut).

This trip was a major Boner Killer. And at $75 for two, it's certainly an (ha!) Expensive Breakfast. Our first kai-time here been so good, I was ready to rave about the place. But, as I'm sure Ted Henry has probably said, you're only as good as your last match. We left with several bad tastes lingering. We'll be back. But, for now, TBC's a Miss.

PS. The TBC is actually officially called the TBC and Store, offering, amongst other things, Pic-a-nic Baskets, but this internet web-log is not called Expensive Picnic.

Park Life

Grand Park Chinese Restaurant

Alexandra Park Raceway (Gate B)

Corner Manukau Rd & Greenlane East

When I said we were back, I meant it.

2 EBs in as many days means 2 fresh posts.

D2B: When it comes to yum cha in AK Dynasty is unfuckwithable. Certain publications that rhyme with Sara Tetro rate Grand Harbor, but in my experience it is a shitter. Sure, bad service is part of the whole cultural exchange, but when I feel the need to nosh down on some dutty dim-sums, I don't want to mess about. Plus Grand Harbs is usually full of palagi, never a good sign when it comes to your oriental muck.

Nevertheless, J had been repping Grand Park as the new undercover cha tip, so we decided toforego the local. J aka 'Gary' attempted to book a table over the phone, but of course when we turned up they had no such reservation. So far, so Chinese. We took a number like you'd get at the Chippy and took a seat in the cold-arse lobby. On the verge of frostbite and/or starvation, our number was up. We rolled in past the impressive tanks full of Crays and, more strangely,Geoducks.

We sat and the cha began in earnest. Cha siu bao, pork siu mai, dumplings of chives, coriander and watercress, rice noodle rolls with pork, crispy nuclei of deep-fried taro, salty pork pastries, all the big names, really, arrived hot and in quick succession. The waitresses, who were dressed like the staff of the People's Democratic Retro Hospital, were even smiling and cracking funnies. Most unusual.

The tea was piping, refills prompt. The only slightly off-key dish was the green beans, which here are served chilled, with a sauce akin to satay. Not me or J's cup of chai, but B pronounced them to be excellent. A matter of taste, not quality.

A second round of post ice cream ball salty pork pastries was the final nail in the coffin, and we stumbled out in a serious trance.

Go here for now. It's a hit. Real talk.

Landreth & Co.

272 Ponsonby Rd

After a record work-obligated separation, & after a not too early but still disrespectful airport uplift, we had had our hearts set on The T.B.C. (stand-by for review soon), but a TradeMe appointment meant kai time was constrained, so we decided to go local.

Our uncharacteristic AM appearance at the coffee shop landed us smack-bang in what I learned is known as 'Family Power Hour'. Turns out Macca was filming an episode of the upcoming series of How The Other Half Lives at one of the outside tables - "This guy's eating here?!"

We took a table in the courtyard, whose assorted heaters and shady orientation meant it was simultaneously too hot and too cold. We hadn't been back to L&Co. for a wee while. I noticed there's been some sort of re-jigging, with new bar seating to one side, new format menus and free wifi. This was immediate cause for concern, especially the wifi. Perhaps they plan to become an Esquires gradually enough that nobody will actually notice. I come to the Cafe for, well, cafe, not internet. Stick to your knitting. Orcon's never offered to make me a complimentary macchiato. Leafing through the familiar menus was somewhat reassuring...

We ordered twin lattes, which arrived promptly enough and were of a high standard.

I ordered the Big Breakfast: Bacon, Sausage, Mushies, Roast Toms, Dill Potatoes, Toast & what were described on the menu as, and I quote, "Poached" Eggs. When it landed it looked appetizing enough, but it was all downhill from there. 
I attempted to spread a rock hard cube of butter on to a piece of the Ciabatta toast. Anyone who's attempted this with even mildly firm butter will know it is an exercise in futility and frustration. After puncturing the Eggs (Note: no table pepper grinders. Are grinders really that much of an investment? Do kleptomaniac Ponsonby-nese lift them from hapless eateries on the reg? Do I have to direct some shabby Bauxgan where & how much? What if I decide I want more? ) the yolks began to run all over my plate at an alarming rate. I did my best to absorb the watery yellow mess with aforementioned toast, but to no avail. Toasted Ciabatta is about as good for mopping up stuff as it is at taking firm beurre. Granted, it takes some amount of skill of the "cook" to present what at first impression looks like a perfectly poached egg, yet keeping the yolk completely raw. No mean feat.

B opted for the Eggs Benny. This came with the usual suspects as well as cress, (which I love, but B can't abide) too much bacon and two more non-mean feats. In its defense, the Hollandaise was reportedly pretty good; "but if you're reaching for the HP sauce, it's probably an indication that it's not the best Benny you've ever had".

I left a good amount of mine uneaten, and we shuffled to the counter to cough-up. The girl looked at me, looked at her colleague, looked at me again, looked back at her mate, without saying anything. Girl Two came over and actually acknowledged me, before I had a chance to make some sarchastic wise-crack, but then attempted to charge us for a Soy Flat White that we hadn't ordered; "so now I'm a cheapskate and a vegan, apparently..."

Bottom line: this place has fallen off. We'd lauded these guys in a previous post, but places change, and now we're not so sure. They need to spend less time worrying about hotspots and think more about hot plates. Could do better. Miss.

Reviewed by A.

"How many minutes ago did this guy fall off?!"

After some time in the wilderness, contemplating the true nature of breakfast, We. Are. Back. Cafs wake up. Serve or be served.