Tannic Teeth

I often wonder what the owners of that cafe on the corner of Newcastle and Oxford think when they look down the road towards 224 Carr Place on Sunday morning.

Perhaps we should refocus our menu?

Maybe serve unsacrificed coffee?

Or that we should check out the competition?

Whatever the sentiment, I’m sure there is infatuation at a distance with the crowd tapping their watches waiting to get into a cramped little hive — Sayers.

There is no way I could call this a ‘find’ no sir-rey.

Most people know Sayers is one of the places to take your East-Coast mates because you’re petrified with what you’re going to be culinarily spasmed with outside the know-zone of cafes in Perth.

This place – like Mrs. S – does a roaring trade.

Why? Inspiring dishes. Check. Reasonable prices. Check. Amicable staff. Check.

A confident yardstick to base your dining experiences on is your desire to replicate what you’ve seen on display. I call it inspirational. Sayers is inspiring.

After making stilted small-talk on the footpath outside Sayers with other hopeful walk-ins, we were seated on the large centre table. Two other odd-ball groups shared our table at the same time. Apparently three patrons is an inauspicious number to dine with. You’re not quite a four seater but you’re too big for two.

Sensing my level of nitrosamines were down for the week, I chose the spicy italian sausage, scrambled egg, wilted spinach with toasted extra virgin olive oil ciabatta. I’m curious to know where they source their italian sausage from. It’s not Mondo’s. I know that sausage…um…quite well.

Misshandmaid,who effused all morning about the coriander & cumin beans, babganoush, poached egg and toasted rosemary oiled turkish bread, was duly ecstatically satisfied while covetously glancing at the our friend’s potato rosti, poached eggs and bacon with onion jam and lemon scented wilted spinach.

These are meals that show there is more going on in the engine room. A love of food–an impetus for imagination–atypical of the humdrum Perth cafe.

To benchmark the coffee (long black), it was a straight-down-the-line uncomplicated style. Nothing too overpowering or wild and woolly going on. Hazarding a guess it’s denoticlly South American.

In all honesty you could whinge about how there was no cold water, or that the glasses were still warm from being washed, or that we had to inflict ourselves upon a shared table. But I believe in all fairness, Sayers does something extraordinary everyday 7am–5pm by inspiring diners with dishes they’ll strive to make at home.

Maylands is turning out to be quite a neat little suburb.

I say that because the times when, by happenstance I venture down the profoundly named Eighth Ave, I find boutique ready heritage-encrusted buildings and the hope that local government zoning will catch up with sweaty-palmed developers.

There will be more of the Mrs S type shops soon — for this is a recipe worth replicating.

The cafe is by most standards, honest, upfront, and accessible. How the hell can you classify a cafe as being honest? Are there dishonest cafes out there?

Well all truthfulness considered, what makes up an honest cafe is the fact that when you go there, despite how busy it is, the staff are accommodating (regardless of the amount of tables turned over), the food is plated up well, the flavour is on the mark, and you can walk away without the feeling as though you’ve burnt a hole in your hip pocket.

Mrs S is a high-ceilinged, pastel daydream, hyper-nostalgic offering that everyone wants a slice of. Just check the glistening (slices) out. It’s a pin-up girl of hipstamatic ecstasy.
We went to Mrs S on a cramped and humid Sunday morning. Hard walls do nothing to absorb the sound of happy patrons.

I opted for Granny June’s cornbread, bacon, poached eggs and maple syrup. While the flavour was all there, the cornbread had the character and texture denoting a creamed-corn element, something that perhaps makes it Granny June’s recipe.

The cornbread I’ve had in the past (not from Mrs S but from a place to be blogged) was firm, moist, and with a peculiar granular corn-meal texture (akin to polenta). This was a ‘close but not cigar’ moment of matching for Mrs S. Bread with a firmer texture can hold its ground against bacon and poached eggs or else you’ll end up with a pappy mess.

Both those two elements (the eggs and bacon) were both fine examples of a kitchen doing it right. Besides, if you eff up these two elements, then perhaps undertaking would be a worthwhile career path.

Finally what to say about Mrs S’ coffees?

The barista on the day certainly knew his way around the machine and top marks for that. The long black delivered, deftly retained the crema for a considerable time and my partner’s macchiato would certainly precipitate a return visit.

Would this be a place I’d return to? Yes for coffee, Yes for atmosphere and God yes for cakes. But perhaps I’ll try the Big breaky next time.

I know it’s a sycophantic real estate agent’s phrase but — location, location, location.

Sure, it’s a ‘partially obstructed view’ but it’s also a ‘fixer-upper’ that’s ‘freeway close’. In other words, you’re pretty sure the house has a view of the neighbours fence, more-or-less has four walls a roof and a floor, but also the fact the sound of traffic will soothe you to sleep each night — it’s a first homebuyers dream!

I can only imagine the kind of fluff the real estate agents were blossoming during the sale of the lease here. But enough about real estate. Food time.

I suppose the preface above was to highlight a place that, beyond the threshold of the cafe, seems at odds with the surroundings (or maybe not?). Pearfect Pantry it’s called. Complete with the kawaii misspelling.

The Pantry’s food is modern Australian with all kinds of curious adventures occuring beyond the IKEA Expedit used divide cafe and kitchen. Savoury goats cheese and fig tart, chicken and bacon baked risotto, white chocolate and blueberry cupcakes. The list could be a stock-ticker at the bottom of a foodies’ thoughts.

The shelf holds jumbo bibliothèque enough to make any chef touretically intense. This is where the kitchen plucks recipes and pulls them together under no real Ramseyesque theatrics.

This cafe is of the same league you’d find along Beaufort and Oxford St except it’s a little cheaper, and you have to travel from the city core. Yahava is the coffee poured and while I haven’t had a knee-bucklingly good brew, I haven’t had an immolated one either.

It’s that maxim — location, location, location.

I’ve been there to see an ad hoc approach to feeding afternoon tummy-rumbles. Another batch of muffins crust out of their cases because the last ones ‘went like hotcakes’.

Pearfect has a shabby-chic direction in its feel, with the decor appearing as though it was convincingly taken from curb-side collection. Unmatched plates, IKEA coffee mugs, old chairs that creakily struggle with normal loads.

The cafe is located in the complex of Moondyne Gardens. The 1970s monolithic brown-bricked housing complexes that flank the cafe, are either ecstasy or doom depending on how like your architecture.

Walk past the bore-stained signage, past the equally as old, bore-stained laundrobar and your nose will probably pick up a heavenly concoction underway at the pantry.

Has pearfect potential.

There are few restaurants you can go to along the coast on a swelly Sunday morning in winter and get a decent fast-breaker.

The cafes and restaurants along West Coast Drive in the Northern Suburbs have priceless vistas that curve along the blue horizon.

It is often just the view as a lure, to enjoy a Sunday brunch, that most people frequent these establishments.
Usually the desultory staff (who would otherwise be off chasing a few sets in the surf) are there to greet you, take your order, and deliver your equally desultory food. They would then stare nonchalantly as you let them know your coffee was burnt, and the eggs were still runny. Sound familiar? Perhaps because you have not been to Voyage.

Voyage Kitchen and Delicatessen is one of the best places to eat along West Coast Drive.

It’s next to a conspicuous petrol station of the recently misadventured BP, and you have to look around the back parking lot for a vacancy on any given Sunday. It’s a place that I’ve driven past many times, not even considering to dine there.

The cafe is set into a building complex, so ample natural light can penetrate into the darker interior. There are many tables and chairs — a hotchpotch — long benches, large tables and smaller dining ensembles. The space appears concise and vibrant when it’s packed to the rafters. By all appearances, it’s the quintessential beach-side eatery. The thing that demarcates it from the rest of the dining wannabes  however, is the precision of how it’s managed. We arrived late on a Sunday morning (regretfully didn’t book), but we were promptly tended to, seated on a large share table (with the prospect of snapping up another table when it became free). The staff were bright and attentive, asking if everyone was ready to order, and suggested a coffee to start.

The rest of the scenario panned out like this:

1) we saw a table was free within 5 min of being seated anyway and asked our wait staff.
2) 5 min later we were seated at the said table (wiped), also with an ice bucket and champagne glasses we also had requested (for the Cava we brought), and the coffees delivered.
3) within a comfortable 10 min we had ordered our meals.

A hiccup of the morning, one of us ordered Eggs Benedict ‘well done’. They arrived runny. We sent it back with no fuss from the waiter, and new one arrived soon after.

All things considered, these guys were under the pump. They would have turned the tables over at least twice that busy sunday, so I suppose my point here is to show, a job well done.

I’m not going to write about the food (as a quick search on urbanspoon will confirm how good it is). Best casual brekky thus far. Quality ingredients go a long way.

The Cava also went down a treat, and topped off a boozy Sunday brunch.

Segura Viudas Reserva Heredad [Pedenès, Spain]

Light, floral, citrus with a fine chalk-like structure. Not overtly complex, but some lusciousness of autolysis character just popping though, more evident as the wine warmed up from 10c. The crunchy acidic core compliments most of what is going on over the nose, it’s a style of Cava made according to méthode champenoise, that is approachable from many angles — visually for starters.

Highgate Northbridge may seem like one of the most unlikely places to house this charming deil-cum-cafe.

But away from the carnal desires of the erotic fun-houses and the neatly swept vomited sidewalks of inner Northbridge, there lay small and homely establishment serving an array of baked goods like the Candy Man in Willy Wonka.

The decor is an eclectic mix of all things old, beautiful and ridiculously discarded. Cakes of every wicked manifestation are displayed like a banquet before the Sun King and you the patron sit within arms reach of them.

Lincolns, aptly named, situated on the corner of Lincoln and Stirling Streets in outer Northbridge Highgate was once a quaint corner store. Still holding on to the quaintness, it’s now a three year old cafe that churns out coffee, cakes, breakfasts and lunches. It’s a small neat shop with more character the modern cafes strive to achieve. In some regards it is a modern cafe, but the balance of nostalgia and charm are done just right.

We had breakfast late one Sunday morning. The rosti, bacon, poached eggs and spinach were superb if a bit on the small size for the price. (In lieu of a side for breakky — opt for a piece of cake). So hungry we were, and perhaps tempted by the gingerbread cake winking at us from the counter, we shared a piece.

Of all the things that day, it was the cake which had no parallel. Moist, fluffy and in perfect poise of piquant ginger with the molasses base. Served slightly warmed with an ear of double cream it took the er, cake, for the value-for-money that day.

Lincolns 102

Mon–Sat

7:30–4pm

Sun

8:30–4pm

It’s been a while since my last post, and I really should find another small bar to blog about (which will come in time), but at the moment it’s fun to knock around the kitchen.
In the foray into kitchendom we broke a few things including two reasonably priced bone china mugs and an unreasonably priced Luigi Bormioli Bordeaux glass.

Keeping inline with effing-up or breaking, I thought it would be a good time to showcase the coddled egg.

Cooked in it’s own little ramekin, you can add anything you like, plus egg, add cream (and spring onion) and coddle.

1) Put your desired ingredient/s in a buttered ramekin. (We used a cabbage-carrot-onion mixture festooned with garlic thanks to @misshandmaid)

2) Crack an egg over the mixture

3) Pour cream, top with spring onion

Now, most recipes that I read didn’t say to slightly lift up the mixture.  But if you use a blunt knife  to lift up the gooey mass, it would be beneficial for consistent cooking.

4) Use foil to TIGHTLY cover the lid. If you do not cover the lid, it will take the better part of half an hour. I recommend using egg coddlers (if you have them gathering dust somewhere) because foil doesn’t pressurise the vessel — hence reducing cooking time. Chris suggested to use an elastic band to fasten a more secure closure with foil. Point taken.

5) With a shallow pan/tray on the simmer, place the ramekins in water half way up the side. Don’t do what I did and misread the recipe in an act of gungho-kitchen-prowess and place in the oven. Keep the thing simmering on the stove. In hindsight, the oven may have been more effective . If that was the case, an alternative gungho Master Chef would have placed this an in oven at 180 C for 10 minutes.

6)Next,  watch as the cream is capillarised out of the ramekin via the foil lid and fill your saucepan with milky goodness. This should not happen but for some reason the chef’s ideal and fluid dynamics don’t always see eye-to-eye. Physics 1, Master Chef 0.

7) Pick and prod the egg every 5 minutes if you are impatient, and possibly burn yourself in the process. Check facebook while you’re waiting. Tweet your frustration.

8 ) Viola. In about 30 minutes, and after using a small LNG plant of gas, your coddled eggs are ready. Serve with Caraway sourdough rye that is almost burnt while you are facebooking.

Enjoy this little gem. It’s well worth the effort of scrubbing the burnt egg, and a saucepan full of creamy water.

No seriously. They are a pretty good sunday morning folly outside of Benedict.