44 hours in Melbourne.
Why 44 hours? Well, it was just a short visitation to meet our new baby. A baby that we found across the road from the botanical gardens in St Kilda. The time came where we had to think about our future and make sure things are financially in place when retirement becomes reality. Our first investment property that will hopefully make a little money for us.
Aside from doing a property inspection, the only other activities happened to be related to eating. Why else go to Melbourne in the middle of winter? Ok, I know, stupid question.
Our first tram stop was in Fitzroy; a relaxed fill at celeb chef George Calombaris’ Jimmy Grants. And I love the name; a slang term given to Australia’s first wave of “immi” “grants” by Aussies that struggled to get their tongues around foreign names.
What drew me here was the souva, that hot roll of pita lovingly stuffed with meat, onion, fries and mayo. I first fell in love with them in Santorini many years ago; a corner joint on the main drag that attracted the hoards. It was the first time I’d seen and tried a souva – or gyros – with french fries stuffed in it. Talk about love at first bite.
The Jimmy Grants selection offers a variety of protein fillings along with a falafel for the non carnivores. For this pair it was the Mr Papadopoulos (9.5) – lamb, mustard aïoli, chips, onion & parsley – and the bonegilla (9) – the same deal with chicken. The warm and spongy pita harbours some good flavours, a lot of juiciness and seems the perfect accompaniment to a glass or bottle of booze. Or should it be the other way around? Loved the intense sweetness from the onions. Was it as good as I had in Greece? No, but it wasn’t too shabby either.
We both had a touch of food envy when we saw the grain salad at a neighbouring table (grains, nuts, pulses, herbs & yoghurt), but garbage guts over here had to order the chips, garlic oil, feta & oregano (7). Kinda glad I did, though, as the combination was just what by buds and arteries were needing.
Desserts aren’t all that plentiful at this inner city fast food joint but I’m beyond glad that I ordered the Greek doughnuts (6). As any hasty fool would do, I dove right in and burned my mouth on the first bite. I guess sticking something into your mouth straight from the fryer is asking for injury. I think I fell in love after the second bite. Puffy, golden nobbly orbs of fried dough doused in honey and generously sprinkled with walnuts.
We passed on the chocolate fudge bar and instead went for Jimmy’s wheel (6), a take on the classic Wagon Wheel. Two crispy chocolate biscuits, raspberry marshmallow and salted peanut butter dipped in dark chocolate. Crushed roasted peanuts bring it all home. I think it may be better than the original.
We enjoyed the breakfast at Barry so much that we ended up returning the following morning for another fill. Beats going downstairs for an ordinary hotel buffet, even if it was 7°C outside. The digs are spacious, airy and very inner city at this friendly corner café. And you’ve got to love the polka dot staff aprons that match the concrete polka dot floor.
It came as no surprise when the other half ordered the crushed avocado (16.5); and they don’t mess around with the quantity of avocado, either. Two thick slices of toast are pile high with the green stuff, plus a variety of heirloom tomatoes, incredibly creamy goat cheese, black sesame and sunflower seeds. Loved the thyme roasted grapes that were generously interspersed throughout the rubble.
The following morning he opts for the less elaborate toasted fruit & nut bread (9) pimped-up with whipped spiced orange ricotta.
When a menu adds “trust us” to a dish description I can’t help but sample what it is they’re so confidant about. Crunchy peanut butter (12.5) on toast is very much a normal breakfast option but when you go topping it with heirloom tomatoes, things may change a tad. I had to try it. Perhaps I would have been convinced if the tomatoes were sweet and at the peak of ripeness; instead they were rather tasteless.
No qualms were to be had with the ricotta hotcake (17.5), however. One substantial, thick, fluffy and warming pancake studded with blackberries and creamy ricotta. Toasted hazelnuts brought some crunch to the silky softness and a sweet splodge of Canadian maple syrup sweetened it even more.
Tucked away in the Mercat Cross Hotel in the same space as Fancy Hank’s barbecue is Doughboys, a small-batch doughnut producer that stands a little differently from other doughnut peddlers. Dipped and topped with goodies as soon as they’re ordered; a method of production that leaves those mass produced wannabes for dead.
Are they worth the five-or-so minute wait and that $4.80-$5.80 price point? Well, kinda. Nowhere near as cloying as Krispy Kreme or airy fairy anaemic as those things from no-frills Aussie bakeries.
Our choice – The PBJ – fresh churned peanut butter icing with a boysenberry jam dip and sprinkle of roasted hazelnuts and walnuts. And Espresso – coffee icing with roasted almonds, smashed coffee beans, dark Callabeut Belgian chocolate.
And you’ve gotta love the signage at the amenities these guys share with Fancy Hank’s.
The name of this café comes from two bushrangers that created a bit of havoc in the early 1800’s. Gypsey, son of a wealthy English family, turned to bushranging after his wife died giving birth. And Musquito, a Sydney aboriginal that was once a stockman and tracker; sentenced after killing his wife. He too turned to bushranging.
Their names live on at Gypsey & Musquito, an inner city café that has a bit of a penchant for local, foraged and native ingredients. Now you can see my interest in this place. Rustic, understated and cosy are the up and downstairs eating spaces; buzzing with locals up for a breakfast and brunch fill.
A touch of nostalgia struck when I set my gaze on the counter display of house-baked cakes and sweets. Iced vovo’s, lamingtons and honey crackles sat alongside gluten-free goodies and cakes spiked with native lemon myrtle or bush berries.
Mental note – try some of the sweets before we leave.
A couple of very green drinks started us off before lunch choices were made. My innards were smiling when I took the first sip of the green bits (7.5). And some recipe bloggers would have felt tingles at the mere sight of the jar it was served in and the candy stripe straw. What were all those green bits? Well, warrigal greens, for a start. Along with kale, orange juice, lemon and coconut water; even a little banana.
There’s also the Van Dieman’s elder (7.5) – crushed cucumber, mint, apple juice and elderflower extract. Seriously good. Is it bad that we were imagining how fab it would have tasted with a slug of gin?
House-made granola that features macadamia and bush berries, a camel cassoulet, even Tassie smoked salmon with finger lime and sea blight all sounded tempting. I went for the crocodile burger (18.5); a very moist patty of minced reptile from the Northern Territory teamed with cheddar, foraged greens and pepperberry aïoli. Some chips would have been a nice addition.
The quinoa salad (13) went down a real treat. The delicious jumble of textures, colours and flavours came from beet, apple, coconut, a bunch of seeds, kale, sea blight and feta. I loved the pops of sourness from the pomegranate molasses and sorrel; and that oozing poached egg made for a swoon worthy salad.
And yes, I did squeeze in a slice of lemon myrtle ricotta cake and an iced vovo with my macchiato.
Back in town, after a little relaxation time in the hotel with a bottle of vino, we joined the rapidly developing line of people at MoVida Next Door. It was only 5.30pm and there was already a forty minute wait. Popular, much?
Perched up at the bar by the seafood display cabinet I reached for my freshly poured Spanish vino tinto, stuck my nose in and took a substantial whiff.
“Wow, this smells like caramel!” I said.
It was at that point that I turned to my right and noticed the chef conducting a little brûlée action about a metre away. Not the wine after all, but the chef got a laugh, anyway.
Neither of us was overly hungry so our relatively sparse selection of plates kicked off with a tapa that’s very similar to the one I tried at the Sydney MoVida outpost many months ago. In place of the small quenelle of smoked tomato sorbet I tried in Sydney, it was a piped streak of gazpacho jelly that joined goat curd, capers and anchoa (5.5) on the brittle wafer. A definite must-try for any anchovy fan.
Our other wafered tapa was off the specials – the sardinas (5.5) – a simple and tasty tempura sardine fillet on a slice of house-made pickle. Concentrated omega-3 fatty acids, you know. Very good for you.
If you were to put black pudding and morcilla side by side, I can safely say I’d be swooping in for the latter. It’s spreadable texture, its richness and complexities. Here the morcilla (17) is crumbled and mixed with peas, croutons and lovingly topped with a poached egg. It’s a yolk and flavour explosion.
I’m generally ok with eating pork fat but the lump of cerdo (17) proved to be a lot more lardo than meat. A thin and slightly crisp layer of skin provided crunch factor, whilst a pickled carrot purée dispersed the extreme fatty flavour of the 2 parts meat-8 parts fat portion.
No qualms with the codorniz (16.5), however. It was perfection, actually. Semi-boned quail that had just enough pan-time to render it internally juicy and slightly crisped on the outside. Salty jamón lay across the tasty little birds like warming doonas and the most delicious white beans provided the lumpy mattress.
I’d jump into bed with birds like this any day.