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.

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.

Rabbit'ole

The Rabbit Hole

Corner Clifton & Jervois Roads

Herne Bay

Don't sleep!
Seems a vintage satchel-full of new boutique cafetoriums and eateries have sprung up overnight in our neck of...

More fodder for sarchastic web-loggers.

The Rabbit Hole (heretofore referred to as The Hole) is amongst this latest germination. It's at the far flung Bayfield School (alumnus, guilty) end of the Jer-vois, in what used to be some kind of bespoke jewellery studio called James. It's a low key affair, with a sun-ripened back deck, pon which you can enjoy the kai that's on offer.

The Hole appears to be patronised by quite a specific demographic... Namely upper-middle-class, upper-middle-aged Herne Burrough-ers. Interesting foil the organo-gluten-free-option-soy-chai skewed menu.

We waddled in, lowering the tone (myself especially) to squint at what was on offer. The counter girl had the air of someone who hadn't fully returned from the other side of the looking-glass, vaguely greeting us and then returning to staring into the middle distance.
J ordered the calamari, B eggs on toast, and I stuck my kneck out and copped the Green Chilli Scramble.

The plates were acceptable, arriving fairly promptly, if a little smaller portion-wise than what we're accustomed to. The Scramble was an interesting flavour combo of scrambled eggs, green chilli (no shit!) capers and designer leaves, and was deceptively filling. A supplementary side of Saus was defo unnecessary.

Mixed reviews on the coffee. I found mine OK. B's was too bitter to finish. J drinks mochas so his opinion is irrelevant.
"Make mine a fluffy to go, thanks..."

Bottom line is we're unlikely to return, making The Hole a Miss.

Peace to Lewis Carrol.

Capital Times' Review 3/7/11 can be seen here...

ZZ Tops

Zus & Zo

228 Jervois Road

Herne Bay

 We stopped off for a coffee one day at Zus & Zo, and were blown away by how good it was. I mean seriously, for all the cafes in Auckland, I don't know how many over-extracted, burnt, bitter coffees you have to go through to get a good one. Not at Zus & Zo, perfectly formed coffee, almost tasting like caramel. It was amazing. Slightly drug-like trance afterwards because of it.

So we went back this recent weekend to sample the more solid, edible side of Zus & Zo. It was very busy, which we always hope is a good sign. We easily found a table inside though, and quickly ordered two coffees. The menu was a nice change from the same-same breakfast menus we see everywhere - they almost don't really do breakfast, opting instead for lots of delicious looking homemade sandwiches. After much deliberation, I ordered the salmon and caramelised onion sandwich, while the man friend ordered ricotta, salmon and cucumber on homemade rye bread. Not gay.

Coffees came promptly, and the food followed soon after. "What is this small portion shit" I thought, at first, but as we tucked in, I realised that they were smart portions, not small. I tend to leave cafes feeling over full, let's say, 70% of the time. Actually, more like 80%. Completely disrespected. It's not a fun feeling, so smart portions are great.

My sandwich was more a toasted bap and had plenty of onion on it (praise jah) and came with a side salad that looked like it was out of a prepackaged plastic bag. Still haven't decided whether I'm against it or not. Man friend got one piece of rye bread, although it was rather long and delicious. Nothing like homemade bread. We weren't exactly schpunkin over the food, the coffee was definitely better - would schpunk over. The sandwiches were OK, slightly ho hum, but that might been because I was anticipating a breakfast, not a sandwich.

It was all fairly cheap, in relation to other expensive breakfasts. Straight no fuss good food and good coffee. Suits us, sir. The large table in the middle had a bunch of cakes and sweet treats on it that looked like they might give someone an early on-set heart attack (good thing) and also an array of zany communal condiments that seemed to have one flavour too many in each jar.

It had charm, and more importantly outstanding coffee. Don't know if we can rate it, this place falls slightly out of our jurisdiction. We highly recommend it.

Or(...nah)vieto

Orvieto

935A Mt Eden Road

Mt Eden

We'd been here once before after it'd had beaming reviews from several serial ravers, but for some indefinite reason we'd decided it was a miss.

This verdict was more intutitive than logical, especially as the food, coffee and service are all superlative. Everything on the menu sets the gob watering, making decision that much more challenging... In my case leading to serious self-disrespect on my second visit - Super Breakfast plus extra hash browns... 

So, yeah, after slack jawed incredulity on the part of it's proponents upon hearing the initial Miss verdict, (try saying that on a serious post cafe food-high) we decided to give Orvie's another chance. Same as before, the place was packed to the gunnels, yet there was no hassle getting a table for the half dozen of us. Tick No 1. No nonsense service, our orders arrived seriously fast. Tick No 2. The coffees are above sound. Tick No 3 (excepting the Robert Wadlow sized lattes which seem to be all over the show at present - WTF? There's enough milk in a stock-standard latte, thanks... It's like the spirit of the latte bowl - see Ponsonby circa 1997/Palmi North circa 2010 - has been summoned by some outcast voodoo barista and assumed a new and deceptive guise as the extra-tall (or 'Venti' for those of you who speak Starbucks) glass and/or gimmick vessell. With all this shite about gluten and dairy free alternatives you'd think punters would want less milk, not more... Unless of course it's soy chai.... Yeah! Fuck the rainforest! There's no Orangutans in Mt Eden anyway....) All boxes ticked, right?

Enough of my prejudice anyway. The bottom line is this place is good. Totes good. I'd go so far as to say that I'd recommend it. I just wouldn't go here of my own volition. Maybe it's because I get uncomfortable when I get too far inland. Maybe it was the kid dressed head to toe in what looked like Ed Hardy - surely tantamount to child abuse. I think the Miss status has less to do with Orvieto, and more with my preconceived ideas about Mt Eden and Mt Edenites. As one of my fellow brunchers succintly summarised: "they need to hurry up and open a pop-up branch in Ponsonby."

Conclusion: Hit

Chevalier Pointless Cafe

Chevalier Point

508 Point Chevalier Road

Pt. Chev.

We'd rode our fashion bikes past here a couple times, and were curious to check it.

The first thing I saw was one of the other patrons swatting a fly against the front window with his newspaper. From the head of the doorway they'd hung strips of clear plastic, which were clearly not functioning as intended. Pretty gross welcome really...

The surrounds are fairly unassuming, likewise the menu. Stock standard stuff really. Nothing wrong with the classics though, so she ordered the bacon benny, I the Pt Chev Mixed Grill.



Things went down hill.

After initial horror at spying yet another gimmick coffee vessel (I think it was another schooner glass) across the room, it was with relief that B's trim latte arrived in a regular sized glass after a couple minutes.
Tepid, coffee granuals floating around, "like bad instant".
After this dazzling initial review I wasn't too excited about my coffee, which hadn't yet arrived. Mine was actually OK. We decided hers needed to go back.
"Do you think you could please re-make this coffee? It doesn't taste very nice."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It just doesn't taste very nice..."
"What does it taste like?"
"Bad instant coffee..."
"OK... We'll re-make it... Yours was the trim, right?"
"Yes, my partner's is really nice, could you please make another like his?"
"It's probably cause you had trim milk..."
And then the other "barista" chimed in....

FOR FUCKS SAKE.

Hospo staff need to realise that just because you have some poxy Metro Best in Neighbourhood 2009 Award (not that hard in Pt Chev), you can't question your patrons' judgement. If your customer doesn't like the shit, half arsed coffee you made because you were too absorbed by daydreams of Grayson Coutts, don't give them attitude. Shut your mouth and make a better one, or fuck off and enrol in Servilles Academy.

This strikes me as another case of a cafe slipping into mediocrity because of lack of local competition.
It's almost not worth talking about the food. If a cafe can't be good at its most basic product, what's the point? But that wouldn't be entirely fair as it wasn't too bad. The Mixed Grill was plain but good. But they'd left a stalk in the roast tomato. The eggs on the benny were poached well, but the hollandaise "tasted like raw egg" and had made the english muffin (apparently baked fresh) soggy.

If I'm gonna fork out the best part of $40 for a breakfo, I want something better than what I could knock together at home.

Miss. Drop the attitude and try harder. Oh and Metro, don't just hand out an award to someone who's the best of a bad bunch... that's pointless.

Reviewed by A

The Piha Cafe

The Piha Cafe

Don't know the address, but it's the only cafe in Piha. Not hard to find.

B: "Why do you need a cafe in Piha?"
A: "For fucks like us"

 

The locals weren't into the idea of having The Piha Cafe. I wouldn't want Marc Ellis opening a cafe in my town either if I could help it. But somehow, someone got consent and The Piha Cafe opened. Sorry locals.

We jumped in the car and headed to Piha to watch our friend play an eclectic DJ set. How hip of us. We decided to check out this Piha Cafe that we'd seen a couple of reviews for. I can't say we'd drive to Piha to have breakfast on the regular. MAYBE Titirangi. But Piha is just a big winding road too far.

So we arrived at the cafe, found parking fairly easily (aka. right outside). Walking inside, I spied a number of "themed features". You know how much we love (try-hard) themes in cafes. There were bean bags around a low coffee table outside. Who is this for? Surfers? Do surfers like bean bags? Do they chill out after surfing a gnarly wave? I saw two women trying to eat their breakfasts whilst sitting on the beanbags, and they looked ridiculous.

The outside tables were ping pong tables. Nice idea, but poorly executed.  Between these, and the cutlery in old food tins, the lights with old Agee Jars as lamp shades and the zany "bach-like" atmosphere it was trying to create, no wonder the locals were so against it. It wasn't very sympathetic to the modern pavillion-style house that it was, and was all a bit too much to be honest.

Moving on, we ordered some food off the somewhat limited menu, although we didn't notice the specials (stylishly written on surfblackboard) until after we sat down as they were quite out of the way. I got poached eggs on toast, after being uninspired by anything else, with a side of rosemary potatoes. The male got french toast sandwich with banana and pecan, accompanied by a vanilla yoghurt and grilled bacon.

The bacon with the french toast was amazing. "It was thick, had caramelised bits on it and just was really tasty," says the male. The french toast was made from brioche and the whole dish was quite nice, but the vanilla yoghurt was slightly over the top.

The poached eggs were well cooked, although the potatoes were too many. I got almost half a bag of potatoes, and they weren't roasted long enough, still slightly hard on the inside. So yes. Good eggs, but not amazing.

Now, for the coffee. We both ordered lattes and they were both disappointing. At first we were terrified, as we had spied a couple drinking coffee from a schooner (flashback to Kokako). But our lattes arrived in a respectably sized glass vessel. They weren't horrible, but they weren't very exciting either. Bland coffee is worse than bad coffee. At least you can taste bad coffee.

We're with the locals on this one, and it's a miss. To be honest, they're probably being half assed because they have the market cornered in Piha. Maybe the locals should start a cafe with good home cooked food - they're half way there with The Piha Store. In fact, if you want great coffee, go to The Piha Store instead of the Piha Cafe.

In conclusion: "Just a hodge podge of things that were done better elsewhere."

Reviewed by B

The Longroom

The Longroom

114 Ponsonby Road

Ponsonby

I was ready to slag The Longroom off the first time I drove past it.

A new cafe/bar/restaurant/wank hangout that was built in the same space as the old Safari Lounge on Ponsonby Road. Sure, I welcomed the brand new renovations and didn't miss that horrible paper mache jungle collage that sat at the front of Safari. What I couldn't get past was that The Longroom seemed to add to an abundance of full-of-myself bars that populate Ponsonby and erred on the side of trying-too-hard.

But that's me. Quick to judge without even giving the poor place a chance. So off we went to The Longroom one morning, as we had found out that they had recently added a breakfast service.

When we arrived, we were quickly seated in the spacious courtyard by a very friendly Maître d'. She brought some water over along with some menus. We couldn't decide what to get for ages - the menu was quite interesting and offered some dishes that I hadn't seen on any other menus.

He ordered the Croque Madame and I ordered the Baked Eggs with tomato, bacon and feta. We ordered coffees which arrived promptly, and were hot and delicious. At this point, I was pretty much eating my hat. The service was very good and I was enjoying a bit of sun and good coffee in this spot.

The food arrived after a little while and we tucked in. The Croque Madame would have been good if it wasn't soggy, according to the male. We deduced that it was a mustard placement issue, but unfortunately it let the whole plate down.

My baked eggs were promising, served in a nice little ceramic dish and filled to the brim with breakfast goods. It even came with a bit of toast on the side, which I didn't order and was a nice touch.

However, as I tucked in, I discovered bits of clear egg white around the place. Come on! Undercooked baked eggs!? Are you kidding?

It wasn't too bad, there were bits that were cooked, so I ate around the uncooked. Couldn't taste much feta really, which was a shame. The rest of the dish was mostly very nice, although at the end, with all the tomato and undercooked egg, I was left with this weird, gazpatcho-esque breakfast soup. Not the best really.

Also, during breakfast, we watched the friendly Maître d' tell two wasters sitting next to us that she couldn't serve them any more alcohol unless they drank some water. At 11am. Isn't that what Supper Club is for? I don't mind if people want to drink all day, but there are places for that and it's not where I eat breakfast.

So much potential, but The Longroom was a definite miss. They have great coffee, and great service, but the food was a bit lack-lustre and there were dero's drinking the pain away next to us.

If they sort out the small food issues that they have, and get rid of the hospo drunks before the breakfast crowd roll in, The Longroom would be a great place to eat.

Reviewed by B.

Benny Addiction

Benediction Cafe

30 St Benedicts St

Newton

One of the more cleverly named cafes out there (see witty title above!), Benediction is slightly off the radar, tucked away between Upper Queen and Symonds St.

The best thing about this cafe is its digs. Bad-arse beton-brut outside with an industrial decor inside and a generous, sunny (although slightly windswept) courtyard out back.
So in the spirit of minimalism, I'll keep this review concise.

She had the scrambled eggs with parmesan and italian parsley. It arrived looking like how I scramble eggs (not well), appearance rather rubbery, and by account flavourless, even for eggs. The parmesan was conspicuous in its near-absence, and the parsley was no more than an afterthought.
"Disappointing."


I had the hiply named Red Flannel Hash. Hash being the key word here. It wasn't a hash. It was more of a breakfast salad consisting of quartered & sauteed potates, fresh tomato, some 50-50 garlic sausage (a bit like the inside of a wonton) and poached eggs. Not bad. Not good, either. If you want a hash, get the awesome saffron hash from S&D on Richmond Rd.

Coffee was acceptable. Slightly bitter, but OK.

The redeemer came in the form of her freshly made ginger, lime and apple juice. Generous amounts of ginger and lime, knock-socks-off material.

We gave them one last shot, grabbing some of the ginger crunch from the cabinet on the way out. The fanta pants at the till reckoned it was super-gingery (motif forming here?). Not the case. I think he'd confused ginger with sugar... rookie mistake.

A small, but irritating thing, also, is the lack of pepper, either proffered, or on table. It wasn't until it was too late that we spied the grinder in the corner.

Miss overall. Some tasty fresh juice is a reason to go to a juice bar, not a cafe. Give us a few more reasons and we'll come back.

Reviewed by A.

Graceful

Grace Cafe

138 Hinemoa Street

Birkenhead

Recently, we managed to make it to Grace Cafe. We went searching for this place ages ago, but it's so close to another good cafe (Villa is about 5 steps away) that we never made it there to eat. And now we have.

We arrived around 11.30am. I was a bit weary when I walked in - they were playing drum'n'bass. Why, oh why would you choose to play drum'n'bass in a cafe? Evil, dark, grimey, 180bpm, picking-carrots-at-Fu-Bar-at-2-in-the-morning drum'n'bass. Of all the genres that exist on the planet, of all the amazing music to pick, you pick one of the most annoying genres. Attention cafes: playing drum'n'bass does not make you very inviting, it doesn't prove that you're "urban" and it won't convince the kids that you're down with them.

Admittedly, it was a pretty vanilla drum'n'bass track, one of Shapeshifter's more downbeat-upbeat chilled vibed-out joints. But drum'n'bass is drum'n'bass, and it does not belong anywhere near any cafe I attend for breakfast. There is nothing worse than an incessant onslaught of shrill hi-hats and bad synth noises beating your head into your morning coffee. I tried to ignore it, to give them a fair chance and not dismiss them based on a my own musical bias.

And then, as if by magical telepathy, the drum'n'bass stopped. And some mid-tempo obscure indie music started. Not good enough for me to ask after, but good enough to go nicely in the background. Thank goodness.

The menu covered all the bases, and the girl behind the counter waited patiently while I ummed and ahhed over the eggs bene or the mushrooms or the fritters, etc. In the end, I ordered the roasted portabello mushrooms with lemon sauce on sour dough (from memory), an eggs bene for the male half of EB, two lattes and a mango smoothie for me. The girl seemed to struggle a little bit typing it all into the till, and I'm almost positive she missed something, because all of that came to $32. Pretty reasonably priced if that is right.

Now, the banana smoothie. We all remember this smoothie vessel disaster. I desperately hoped I wasn't going to encounter something similar here. And again, I wasn't disappointed. The smoothie arrived in a tall glass, with one black straw. Delicious and not too thick. Thumbs up from me.

The coffee arrived soon after, hot and well made. Things were going well, until the waitress brought our plates over and said "Here you go, guys". If you're not familiar with the dislike of the collective pronoun "guys", check out this rant here.

Moving on very quickly from that bone of contention, the food was great. My mushrooms were phenomenal, and the lemon sauce was not as rich as I thought it would be (good thing). The eggs were cooked well in the bene, and the hollandaise was freshly made in the cafe that day. House made hollandaise ALWAYS makes a difference. Cafes who don't make their own hollandaise are so weird. Why don't you do it? Is it too hard for you? Did you skip that day of chef school? That's a textbook cafe essential.

The service wasn't exactly attentive, but we were quite low maintenance that day. The waitresses in the cafe were friendly and approachable, & the cafe itself was exactly the same.

Hit. This cafe is great - good food, great coffee and extremely well priced. As long as they avoid calling large groups of people "guys" and steer clear of drum'n'bass before 3pm, they've got a bright future.

Reviewed by B.

Kokako 'Konscious' Kafe

Kokako Cafe

492 Parnell Road,

Parnell

Kia ora tamaki makaurau, haere mai ki te Kokako Cafe... Righto, I've just exhausted the extent of my form 3 te reo, so lets get down to business.

Kokako (Vegetarian) Cafe is on Parnell Rd right on the intersection by the Domain entrance, and where the O.G. Al & Pete's used to be. First impressions were good: nice & bright, appealing cabinet kai and the place was packed (we hit it last Sunday, late morning). Nevertheless we were able to get a table without any hassle. Parking was right outside.

Le'ts talk about collective pronouns for a minute. WARNING! The proceeding is a personal rant and has nothing to do with food or coffee quality, both of which are excellent at the Kokako - skip forward if you're not concerned about service. Let's talk specifically about the use of the word 'guys'. This collective pronoun seems to pervade the hospitality industry. This can really fuck me off. Consider context; a group of young 'guys' being addressed as such I've no issue with, but using it as an all-purpose greeting, 'hey guys', can be potentially offensive. You wouldn't address your Nan and her mah-jong group as 'guys', and the table of Golden-Agers sitting behind us at Kokako I think would not appreciate it either. In our case, it was me and my woman-friend, and she's certainly no 'guy'.

My gripe extends beyond collective pronouns, and into over-familiarity of wait staff. Calling me 'boss' or 'chief' (thanks, Jafa) is condescending and doesn't make me feel welcome, quite the opposite... Oh, and by the way, I'm not your 'mate', or your 'bro', I'm your customer. This sort of carry-on is just not necessary. Polite and attentive, but not intrusive service is all I ask for. A friendly 'Hi' is enough to greet me. Sure, if I'm a regular at your cafe, then by all means venture some sort of deeper connection. Hey, why not introduce yourself, and I might tell you what my name is. Then you won't have call me 'guy' ever again. END OF RANT.

The Kokako has a trustafarian design aesthetic throughout. See the 60s chairs re-covered in coffee bean sacks, and ridiculous half jar, half mugs (more on these later). Granted, they are paid up members of the Rainforest Organic Indigenous Native Bean Vendors Collective Hail-Up Whatever. It's like an East Aucklander's interpretation of The Wellington Sound somehow manifest in a cafe form, which I think is what the Kokako is. Another interior design aspect of note is their faux-sarking feature wall. They've jacked some rough-sawn rimu (recycled, naturally) from some long-lost villa and stuck it over the top of their gib. Presumably to give the place a slightly more shabby feel. The overall effect is confused. This sort of behaviour, to me, seems to clash with their apparently socio-eco-conscious brand.

Enough bullshit. Their coffee is great. Their food is up there, too. In particular their poached eggs are textbook. Often you'll get something too runny, or even too cold, or with half the water used to cook it somehow wound-up on your plate. Refreshing.

Woman-friend's mango smoothie let them down in the beverage-stakes. "It was more yoghurt than the Fresh & Fruity I buy at the supermarket." This was the offender presented in a jar that had thread on top and a handle on the side. Such a vessel I've never come across before. Served this way it looked like cold custard. Frankly, I don't care about smoothies.
(Woman-friend edit: I care about smoothies a lot, and this was a disaster - see photo)

Unfortunately, definite miss. Go to the Kokako for a takeaway coffee. We're unlikely to be back there for anything more than that.

Reviewed by A.