Troy McNaughtonStone the crows... at The Rocks!
April 11th 2006 00:41
“I went to a cafe that advertised breakfast anytime, so I ordered French Toast during the Rennaisance.”~ Steven Wright
Apparently on George Street in the Rocks there is a nice little bakery with a wide selection of goodies for take-away devourment. This, however, is not the scene for today’s story.
It was a humid, wet, late summer afternoon. The Rocks is not too friendly for the umbrellaly challenged: chronically short on eaves to walk under; aggressive taxi drivers who make you wait to cross the road; cascading torrents of water making their way, ungainly, down the hill.
I decided to take shelter from the elements in a café (which should be the hospitable refuge for any wanderer in Sydney, since we don’t have too many English-style pubs with open fires and cosy décor), but since it was after 5 o’clock this proved to be a challenge.
Why do they all assume that everyone goes to bars and pubs after work?
Everyone knows there isn’t a pub in Sydney that can make a decent coffee. Yet café opening hours tend to be geared to little old pensioners and at-home mums, with no regard for those of us confined to lands starved of cafes until 5pm when we are free to sit and relax over our jitters-inducing beverages of choice.
So I lost myself wandering down a sidestreet, in the hope of stumbling across a lesser known venue, and finally I came across a terrace café, large waterproof umbrellas keeping the vast majority of its tables dry. For the rest, well, there’s no doubt in my mind that the sugar would be stuck together.
It was the Baker's Oven Café, 121 George St, The Rocks.
I thought yes, al fresco, the smell and the sound of rain lulling my mind into a state more conducive to calm reading. But choosing a table was difficult: The mummy table was too cramped (I have personal space requirements, plus I needed to concentrate); the daddy table was too wet; and the baby table, as usual, was a mess. But Goldilocks always chooses the lesser of three evils (porridge wouldn’t by MY choice), so I sat and waited for a rather inattentive waiter to clear it.
I waited and waited, but still my prince didn’t come. Finally I asked him. He seemed confused and asked if the two coffee cups on the table were mine. Apparently all “girls” who sit at his tables look the same. Okay, I’m not THAT distinctive, but nobody likes to get the feeling they’re generic looking.
As I waited for my $4 pineapple juice (and what does it have to do with an apple anyway?) I looked around at the other patrons. Two whinging poms, two camp suits, and a group with an unrecognisable European accent. So between tourists and pretensions I wasn’t surprised when my $4 juice came in a bottle.
And yes, the food smelled great and was well presented, but it was nothing you couldn’t find at a suburban café of any repute or even a nice pub. In the end, the ‘nook’ I had stumbled upon was nothing more than the amateurish side-project of what should not have quit its day job as a bakery. Their only practice in customer service seemed to be bagging and charging; the bill, by the way, came to my table WITH my order, and the menu seemed to imply I was supposed to pay for it upon delivery. Where was I, McDonalds?!?
A word on that: there are divided opinions on the proper time to supply the bill.
Some like it to be sitting ready on the table just in case they want to leave. Personally I think that it pressures you to depart when it’s sitting there looking at you, and you’re certainly not inclined to add to it. In a well run establishment, catching the eye of the wait staff and getting the bill should be a 30 second operation once you decide you’re ready to go.
And one more glaring problem was the state and smell of their dank, dirty, broom cupboard of a bathroom. Nothing makes you more ready to leave than unpleasant amenities.
So by all means sample their culinary delights from the shop on George Street, but for the love of good café experiences take it down to the water or something. The Rocks is famous for their pubs and bars, but as yet I haven’t had a satisfying café experience there.
Last time I made the mistake of ordering an iced coffee without inquiring as to the temperature of their ingredients. Yes, the weather was hot. But that’s precisely the reason I was after a COLD drink. I can only imagine the struggle the icecream had against a HOT glass, HOT expresso and the LUKE WARM milk they undoubtedy had sitting on the counter for coffees. Needless to say it was spectacularly defeated.
So if anyone knows a decent café in the Rocks area, do let us all in on the secret, or next time we’re there we’ll have to drown our caffeine deprived sorrows at one of the hundreds of good pubs there. And all these moderately healthy café types will turn into alcoholics and it will be on your head.
Until next time, remember:
“The voodoo priest and all his powders were as nothing compared to espresso, cappuccino, and mocha, which are stronger than all the religions of the world combined, and perhaps stronger than the human soul itself.”~Mark Helprin, Memoir from Antproof Case, 1995
And avoid the Bakers Oven Café, 121 George St, The Rocks.
It was a humid, wet, late summer afternoon. The Rocks is not too friendly for the umbrellaly challenged: chronically short on eaves to walk under; aggressive taxi drivers who make you wait to cross the road; cascading torrents of water making their way, ungainly, down the hill.
I decided to take shelter from the elements in a café (which should be the hospitable refuge for any wanderer in Sydney, since we don’t have too many English-style pubs with open fires and cosy décor), but since it was after 5 o’clock this proved to be a challenge.
Why do they all assume that everyone goes to bars and pubs after work?
So I lost myself wandering down a sidestreet, in the hope of stumbling across a lesser known venue, and finally I came across a terrace café, large waterproof umbrellas keeping the vast majority of its tables dry. For the rest, well, there’s no doubt in my mind that the sugar would be stuck together.
It was the Baker's Oven Café, 121 George St, The Rocks.
I waited and waited, but still my prince didn’t come. Finally I asked him. He seemed confused and asked if the two coffee cups on the table were mine. Apparently all “girls” who sit at his tables look the same. Okay, I’m not THAT distinctive, but nobody likes to get the feeling they’re generic looking.
As I waited for my $4 pineapple juice (and what does it have to do with an apple anyway?) I looked around at the other patrons. Two whinging poms, two camp suits, and a group with an unrecognisable European accent. So between tourists and pretensions I wasn’t surprised when my $4 juice came in a bottle.
A word on that: there are divided opinions on the proper time to supply the bill.
Some like it to be sitting ready on the table just in case they want to leave. Personally I think that it pressures you to depart when it’s sitting there looking at you, and you’re certainly not inclined to add to it. In a well run establishment, catching the eye of the wait staff and getting the bill should be a 30 second operation once you decide you’re ready to go.
And one more glaring problem was the state and smell of their dank, dirty, broom cupboard of a bathroom. Nothing makes you more ready to leave than unpleasant amenities.
So by all means sample their culinary delights from the shop on George Street, but for the love of good café experiences take it down to the water or something. The Rocks is famous for their pubs and bars, but as yet I haven’t had a satisfying café experience there.
It's old... The Rocks, 1900
So if anyone knows a decent café in the Rocks area, do let us all in on the secret, or next time we’re there we’ll have to drown our caffeine deprived sorrows at one of the hundreds of good pubs there. And all these moderately healthy café types will turn into alcoholics and it will be on your head.
Until next time, remember:
“The voodoo priest and all his powders were as nothing compared to espresso, cappuccino, and mocha, which are stronger than all the religions of the world combined, and perhaps stronger than the human soul itself.”~Mark Helprin, Memoir from Antproof Case, 1995
And avoid the Bakers Oven Café, 121 George St, The Rocks.
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Comment by Cibbuano
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'GRAOICHECHIUMEOS...!'
I caught how you tried to drop 'Umbrellaly' in there like a real word! It's tough, no?
Umbrelly?
Umbrellallaly?
Comment by Lia
On a much brighter note, I adored your quote to remember. Where do you find these gems?
p.s I vote 'umbrellaness-challenged', closely followed by 'umbrellaishness'
Comment by Cibbuano
20/20 Filmsight
Science News
Hunt Famous
Orble Post of the Day
Fat Cult
Techbreak
In China, they have this fucked-up milk that's flavoured with aloe vera. I accidentally bought it one day and poured it on my cereal. One bite, and I was screaming 'Aw naw, HELLS NAW!'