sam chalmersNice Guys finish late: You Say Potato, I Say Die
April 6th 2006 15:42
And I knew that this post was going to be my most controversial yet.
And I knew it could make or break this fledging blog.
And I knew that I would get on a roll here.
The armies were gathering, the revolutionaries arming, the rounds revolving, the avant garde rounding the corner to meet in the street as the War of the Worlds was about to begin, because I asked the question:
Is Parramatta still considered a part of Sydney???
Or do they get their own city now? Recent extreme makeovers to the CBD less travelled to seem to scream “YES! WE WILL BE AS BIG AS SYDNEY ONE DAY because we are not bound by the eastern coast!” but the undercurrent still muttered under its breath. Like Mother England Sydney is eager to retain her outpost centres, yet like struggling nascent nations across the globe, Parramatta is crawling out of reach.
At any rate, here is Parramatta’s secret:
And there’s some kind of subversive element that’s smart enough to come up with a piercing parlour called “Holier Than Thou” but too ignorant to appreciate the irony in a tattoo parlour’s sign peeling and fading to its current illegible state of disrepair.
Amongst all this is a beacon of grounded normality (please join me in my campaign to quash the insistent ‘normalcy’. This is not a word – it is a linguistic fiction created by one of the US politicians). It’s still a little too bright at night, but I imagine it calms its fluoro fury during the day –it’s colourful, it’s comfy, it’s cool.
Oh, you want to know what it is?
We could keep on talking about “it” if you like. You could pick something silly and use “it” for “it”. Go on. Try “it”. Insert “poodle spanking”. Or “cucumber crème brulee”.
Okay okay. On Church Street in Parramatta (main shopping drag, largely pedestrianised), heading away from the station, just before you get to Lennox Bridge, is Mars Hill Cafe at number 331.
And it tries really hard. And these days, with so many establishments folding like a little donkey trying to hold up the economy, I give points for effort.
For example, the proprietor of this particular establishment was not content to be called a barista. Nor a small business owner. Nor a waiter. Nor Irene (trust me, I asked). He calls himself a “Caffeine Dealer” on the “Frequent Flyer Card.” It’s a nifty little piece of advertising too, this card, and personally I think it’s a nice little guerrilla touch that kidnaps an opportunity that so many others let go by. I also know that:
2) they’re a bit muso (live no-doubt-boys-with-acoustic-guitars three nights a week);
3) they’re a bit arty farty (monthly art exhibits);
4) they’re a bit geeky (wireless internet – what a good idea – now we can all caffeinate attached to our other lifeblood);
5) but they’re also just a little bit pretentious: this is one of those ‘specialty coffee’ places. But I dig that. They still serve the boring kind. It just costs extra when they have to spend so much time doing chromatography and distillation and all that highschool science stuff to extract the caramel syrup from your latte.
It’s got one thing that so many CBD cafes lack and that’s personality. And coffees that don’t cost $3.50.
But it’s got one other thing that is very dear to my heart, and that is that they are open til late, or at the very least at 11.15 when Nice Guys finally finished – highly recommended but a good thing it was nowhere near dinner.
Stay tuned for a special SecretSydney edition later wording you up on 24-hour cafes – if you can’t sleep you might as well meet your fellow insomniacs.
So look past the setting sun (good luck with that), look past the unflattering lighting, and see a suburb that just might be a good bean waiting to be served in a better cup.
And in the end, wherever you stand, Mars Hill has funky chairs for you to sit.
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Comment by Cibbuano
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damn girl, you nasty: cucumber creme brulee? No, you can have the big piece.
I'm definitely looking forward to your 24-hr edition!