Monday, May 25, 2009

the forbidden fruit...

I will spare you the details, but studying law was never very gratifying for the soul. Judgments, statutes, commentaries...Your Brennans and your Dixons and your Dennings and your Wilberforces, and your courageous little Kirbys, disagreeing with the whole bloody lot. Law: the last remaining bastion of fricking fine print. Alas, soul has definitely been lacking and Canberra is the last place I thought i'd ever find it again, but anything is possible, especially when you have a friend called Rowan.

Rowan is more worthy of being deemed an enigma than life itself is. An amazingly good natured Griffith raised Ph totin' chess playing, Chemist-Physicist who has a penchant for doing Wheelies on his motorbike, being refreshingly welcoming to life and all its possibilities, while either flying planes, or missing them. R is for Rowan, and R is also for Random. A cross between Christ and Kramer. One of Danny's best pals, Rowan is like an endearing mushroom of a person that pops up in life every now and again, the results are almost always fun, and very rarely fungal. He lives in Canberra, and when Dan and I headed down for the weekend, we were a little suspicious about Rowan's spontaneous offer to take us to a little apple orchard just outside of Canberra city, not the least of which because it sounded a bit first date-ish. Rowan has a very laisse faire attitude to life, plans and timing. Normal concerns about space and time are all completely anathema to this man: what road map? so imagine our surprise when Rowan's haphazard directions actually landed us at Loriendale Orchard, where, under a waning sun, we spent the afternoon remembering how to forget ourselves.

The aimiably named Owen Pidgeon has lovingly tolled this tiny apple farm into a boutique operation that now boasts over 110 varieties of apples, can you honestly imagine? Rowan discovered this fanciful patch of green on Loriendale's annual Apple Day, which draws hundreds of people in from all over the land. The intention was to stop by for a moment and pick up a few apples, but after watching Owen for a few minutes I knew there was a story that wanted telling. Owen is one of a dying breed of old schoolers, among my favourite kind of people, they appear serious, firm, resolute, but underneath it all there's a cheeky and half-hidden playfulness that if you tease out in just the right way, beautifully betrays the expanse of a truly giving and happy nature. Owen is my kind of foodie, too, he's excited about what he's doing and he wants you to be excited too...after all, it is all about the apples.

Unlike most other fruit, it's hard to find an organic apple that isn't decent. I am a bit batty about Granny Smiths, sour and tart in a good way (like Dylan Moran), a good face scrunching sourdoursmartintartbitesinkcrunchitycrunch Granny is up there with my most hallowed of food experiences. Now, I don't mean to brag, but I just might have gotten buying the perfect Granny Smith down to an almost infallible art. It's a bit of a formula that can be extended to other members of the Clan Apple, and if you promise to keep it on the down low, i'll let you in:

Firstly, I only buy small apples, not only are small apples usually organic, but they give you a more even skin to flesh ratio which is texture heaven on fussy molars, if you have too much flesh and not enough skin it can get a little bit too sweet and soft, the skin gives an otherwise innocent fruit that little bit of rock n roll, think Doris Day in spiked leather with a pierced tongue. The next thing I look for is a skin that isn't too smooth or shiny, you want an unwaxed green that has little white dots on it and a generally uneven texture, if you can see the markings and textures, it's usually the result of more authentic growing. Green apples especially should have a slightly dull skin, if they're too bright then you're allowed to make the same conclusion as we all do about Sly Stallone, if it looks that big and shiny, it can't possibly be real! On the road to the Perfect Apple there is only one more step:  look over both shoulders, not once, twice, check if the Evil Fruit Shop Man is watching (trust me on this, I got abused once), and if you get the all clear,  place a plump little ball of potential appleish delight into your shifty little paw and ...squeeze, just a little, not a lot, and if it's firm, it's sold. If Owen's Granny Smiths were a Nicole Kidman movie, they'd be To Die For. I devoured six in the first hour. They remind you why crunch is an example of onomatopoeia.

Listening to Owen talk apples though, drove home how little I actually know (even though this is a general point of which Danny is at constant pains to remind me). With his sources coming from over 20 countries, I was delighted to sample some kind of French Golden variety that was so subtly sweet and elegant, almost like a not sickly honeyed taste with a bit of spice. He spoke as well of a lovely Hungarian variety, sweet and spicy. Beauty of Bath, Summer Strawberry, Lodi, Red Free, Summer Red, Gravenstein, Earligold, Ginger Gold, Royal Gala, Galaxy, Summerdel, Spartan, Cox's Orange Pippin, New Gold, Hi Early Red Delicious, Pomme De Neige, Belle de Boskoop, Smoothee. Sounds like a Melbourne Cup line up, but, no, those are all apples! Cheeses Christ. I think I have to visit 'Linc UK' one day though, if those kids actually christened an apple 'Peasgood Nonsuch', then it is my new life's purpose to wander among whatever kind of madness it is that dwells in those quirky old Linc UK minds...Adam would've definitely given Old Eden the boot if he ever got wind of Loriendale.

And it's not just apples. By a replica wooden antique juice press, Danny and Rowan laboriously picked and cored apples (while I kicked back munching and watching) to feed the old turning wheels of this amazing juicing contraption, I think it was only $2 a liter for the best apple juice I have ever tasted in my 29 years. Not too sweet, fresh, and with undertones you just can't find in commercial juice. It was beautiful and cloudy, begging to be mixed with some hacked Mint and Ginger.

Now, I am so sad to say that I didn't get to try, in the cosy impromptu afternoon tea that was gorgeously whipped up for us at the last minute in the solar powered farm house, the Famed Loriendale Apple Pie. They were all out of pies when we came, Rowan swears these are maddeningly good, he got to try one at Pie Day. Can you imagine, the cruelty... the degradation of hearing about the existence of perhaps the world's most wholesomely luscious Pie brimming with steamed spice Loriendale Apples...and not a crumb of it in sight to try. My strategy when I was three and stuff like this happened was to chuck a major tantrum, but you just can't pull that kind of thing off if you're cankle stage is more than 5 years behind you, so alas, I pretended to take this news with good grace. Make sure if you ever visit this orchard, you make it your yummy business to procure for yourself one of these coveted beauties. They are apparently so good that Canberra foodies put them up there with the tart and cake range being cranked out from the Stunning Silo Bakery.

Apples, Juice and Pies not enough for you? Come at the right time of the year and there are nectarines and the sweetest strawberries I have ever had, they are so small and so, so red, like little perfect exclamation points of sweetsharp taste love. Jams in CherryPumPeachFigEtc, Relishes and Chutneys are available all year round, as are other pie varieties. I even bought a copy of the Fruits of The Orchard Recipe book, flicking through it has just made my fingers itch to be away from law notes and into the cinnamoned embrace of some cosy baking mittens. There's a crumble recipe that is begging me to make it in maple syrup.

Come, Talk, Eat, Pick your own apples, Make juice... If you can handle what is sure to be apple overload, get in for apple day. 

Loriendale Orchard, along the Barton Highway North of Canberra, turn right at Spring Range road, (2k's north of the NSW border), or alternatively, discard directions and have Rowan lead you haphazardly, but fruitfully, toward this little patch of organic heaven. The website is here.
Thankyou Owen and family, for the time and the talk and the tea and the apples. Thanks Rowan, for being Rowan and for reminding us that fun is always waiting to be had.

2010 Apple Day will be the 27th March, it's always a fundraising activity, even with a Commerce degree behind him, Owen is all about the giving!

No matter how great Owen's apples are, nothing will ever replace the apple of my eye*. Aww, shucks. 

*airsickness bags are stored in the pocket beneath your tray table.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Pea Arthur Soup..

[this piece comes with a CPD (crap photography disclaimer) poor lighting and general distractedness have resulted in these shoddy illustrations, please ignore]

i dont believe in much, but i believe in soup. its taken me a couple of years to figure out how to make this most cunningly simple of concoctions translate from uh-huh, into ooh la-la. even when i think of the most elaborate meals i have ever had: dense, warm, wicked belgian waffles with organic hokey pokey and spiked caramel almonds, dracula-rare 40 day aged beef with obsequiously pleasing mashed potato and porcini butter, an earl grey infused dark chocolately Dessert Thing, really roasted chicken, succulent and crisp, and mum's roast garlic potatos, tessa-touched moist, yielding organic carrot cake with maple syrup, pecanwalnuts with a richrichrich dream in heavy cream lemonesque vanillaed cloud floating densely and velvetly above like a honeyed whisper from the distant heavens... soup, simple, unassuming, bountiful, beautiful, brothy frothy creamy soup, still releases from somewhere deep within me, the stillest, the most nostalgic, the most resolute, the most guilelessly golden of glorious sighs. all together now: 'ahhhhh'. 

the quest to produce perfection from the pot has taught me most of my cooking cardinals, so much so, that i believe that if you can make a really fantastic soup, you can make almost anything. soup, real soup, is never a cheats meal, it takes time, a slower mind, steady hands and knowing how to layer kindred souls of flavour into and on top of themselves into a warming bowl of perfect union. soup is all about patience, which is probably only why it feels like so recently that i have come to grips with its subtle ways. like a composer who can make the music of an instrument reveal itself in a new way by timing it and pairing it with other sounds, conjuring the release of an entirely unique music, so too, should you be a little bit of a schoupbert (the jury was out on whether to embolden those letters or not, but hey, im almost 30, if i cant embrace my inner retard now, then when can i)? much like many of the beautiful things in this world, it all begins with the light of a match. soup is a meal that remembers the flame that it was made with. without getting too technical on you, gas flames really are the best to cook with. cancer studies (admittedly, Hippie Cancer Studies) have revealed how detrimental it is to cook with an electric flame, gas top cooking is said to produce a much more nurturative and steady heat that energises and heals. so if this is the type of cook top you have, great, if not, do what Posh Spice does and ignore the dodgy flame, keep going on with your life as is, (not) smiling (at all, ever). the strength of the flame is something to be mindful of throughout the whole process, in the earlier stages of infusing the herbs a heavier flame is required, but after that, i always take all the time i have (not so long now, when you think about it) to draw out the cooking, a very gentle flame left to warm a heavy pot will release a much more subtle and true flavour, no biggie, just crank it low, sweet cherry, and (if you're not ben, who tells us he has burned 3 pots of stew this month by falling asleep) go and do whatever it is you do when you're at home with something spicy a-cookin' on the stovetop.

the pot is the next thing to think about. Dan has bought me a gorgeous, thick, french oven style pot in fire engine red (The Best Colour Of All Time), i have had to dub it my Little Comrade Marx for reasons two: firstly, its red and secondly, much like our Karl intended, it effects a very even distribution of resources (resources being heat) throughout the whole pot, so rather than just being overly hot in one place (a la Paris Hilton), your soup is heated evenly, all the way through (a bit like Anthony Kiedis circa Californication). i'll do a piece on pots soon (when exams are really close and i desperately need to procrastinate). if you have a crap pot, you can get a heat diffuser for about ten dollars, its a little thing you stick on top of the flame on your stovetop that spreads the heat out so its not so concentrated, otherwise, ignore me completely and move to the next step. 

with the best ingredients you can find, select a simple medley. the biggest mistake i think i made with soup was an anything goes policy, if you chuck it all in it can taste okay, but i have had much more success when i choose just a few ingredients that i think will mosh it out quite happily together, and in they go. i have two main combinations, the second one tasted good in my head when i thought it up, actually trying it out was the birth of the best soup me, dan and dad have ever had (ask them, if you dont believe me). the first time i ever made this it came out the best, every version since then has suffered slightly from my propensity to be a bit of a zealot with ye olde ginger, beyond this, it is just about the best thing you could ever put on a spoon!  because it is a wholesome, hearty soup, with a strong kick of spice and sass, erin and i dubbed this baby Pea Arthur soup. we are both golden girls nuts, and, very saddened by death of someone so wonderful, this eponymous broth was born. its as good for you as Rose, gives you a hell of a Blanche kick, and you feel like a total Sophia whipping it all up!

Pea Arthur Soup goes a little something like this...

Pea Arthur Soup:
3 creamy potatoes
3 bunches of asparagus
1 large packet of frozen baby peas
2-3 liters of chicken stock (best you can afford, use vege stock if you are a vegan/egetarian)
1 small red chili
ginger
2-3 bunches of coriander with long stringy roots attached
2 leeks
1 brown onion, medium-large.
olive oil and/or organic butter
lots of cracked pepper

on a medium flame warm a good slosh of olive oil with some cracked pepper, some finely chopped coriander root, sliced chili and fresh grated ginger root, up to about one tablespoon for this amount is quite firey. the heated oil releases all of the favours of the herbs and spices, if its extremely cold weather or you would like a more warming soup, a knob of organic butter doesn't go astray either. after about 5-10 minutes of simmering, add the chopped leek and onion and turn the heat up a little, stir as they brown well, you don't want to add the stock until the onion and leek are very browned, otherwise the soup has too much of a tangy taste. by building the soup up in this way and sauteeing the leeks and onions you actually create much more depth of flavour than you would if you just chucked a bunch of veges into a broth. after the leeks and onions are hot to trot, i drown them in about 2-3 liters of low sodium chicken stock, freerange stock is preferable, but we have an economic crisis on our hands, so cambells stock'll do. escoffier (snobby french culinary god) said that stock was essential to cooking, indeed, its the soul of any good soup. soup made without stock or with a poor stock lacks depth and body, it tastes thin and leaves you wanting something more substantial. good stock lends so much character and life to vegetables, homemade stocks especially are great way to get more nutrients. 
annnyway, turning the heat down very low, into this i add roughly chopped up, non skinned but thoroughly scrubbed potatoes (skin gives more texture and nutrients). this is the part where you go and wash your hair, watch some tv or 'read' the telegraph. leave it on low for as long as you can, ive simmered this for up to 3 hours, when the potatoes start to soften and to crumble up, i add the asparagus and turn the heat up a little more. 20 minutes or so later, i put in my whizz bang stick whizzer and puree the bejesus out of it all, while also adding  some more cracked pepper. when everything is smoother than Vanilla Ice, i add the frozen peas and leave them to defrostify for only five minutes before i commit baby pea infanticide to the third degree with the silver blades of my evil whizzer. not overcooking the peas gives a pure shock of green to the final soup, its like the english country side in a bowl, and it also allows the liveliness of babypeaness to shine through. peas are very subtle, they should never be mushy and dull green. a final crack of black pepper and lovingly ladled into a willing bowl with a neglige of fresh chopped coriander cavorting on top, and your taste buds will stop, collaborate AND listen. its so yummy and so rich, deep and light at the same time. a small bowl of this leaves you feeling full and energised, and the colour makes it so beautiful to eat. if gumby drowned in this soup, youd never find him! these measurements make enough soup for about 10 people, i leave some in the fridge and take it heated in a thermos for lunch, or have it cold, its a great way to eat your vegetables, much more interesting than on the side of some crucified slab of overcooked steak. especially as the weather becomes colder, having very warming ingredients like ginger in your cooking gives you a long lasting heat that seems to seep into your bones. like traumatic childhood memories of peeing in your pants, it really is a warmth that stays with you. its so comforting and protective, i feel great when i have good soup in my belly and im all rugged up and outside or inside on a cold, cold day. you feel so insulated, so beautifully aware of everything that you are in your own space. this is also a great meal to share with friends, having a few people sit around with soup and good chunks of bread and wine is a nice way to hold a thoughtful, deep space together, soup draws people in in a gentle way. eating pizza with a few people is so different from sharing soup together. i think i just made get togethers at my place seem both awkward and morbid. you guys are craving pizza right now, right?

Pea Arthur Soup, slurp it up x a


Wednesday, May 13, 2009

ACH-taliano!

there are lots of odd combinations in this world: strawberries and balsamic, roast chicken basted in coca cola, dark chocolate and pale pink peppercorns, O.J Simpson and a not guilty verdict. some of them work, some of them don’t. adriano matteoni works. this scottish-italian hybrid human is truly one of a kind: rollicking, speedy, nervous, cheery, cheeky, moody, energetic, styled, furiously flirtatious briskquickquickhowdoyoudotakeaseat have a coffee type lad. a cad. a chap. a lad’s lad. a ladies man. a jolly, smile-inducing whatthefuck smack-in-the-ear to early morning coffee seekers. a fella. hes like a trailer for a guy ritchie film, but he’s no fiction.

the boy knows food. the boy knows coffee. the boy knows why Danish furnishings are the only kind to buy. the boy knows his business. the boy knows he knows. the boy has an opinion on bread. on property. on cars. on bicycles. on where to live. on how to dress. on exactly how I should be living my life. oh, ardri. his mouth is a mile a minute incomprehensible litany of god knows what, i hardly understand a word he says, the accent is thicker than his velvety lattes and twice as frothy! that has not, however, been any impediment to a friendship that has grown itself out of awkward run ins since I first met him at the UNSW coffee cart in 2001 (like me and my uni degrees, this one gets around a fair bit).

ardri manages to greet you, to flirt with you, to insult you, to serve you to gossip with you about your friends and make you smile while nervously dashing in and out of eye contact and leaving you with an overwhelming impression that hes just about the most likeable person you are ever likely to meet. hardly anyone ever walks away from an encounter with ardri without smiling a little to themselves in a gentle coffeed confusion. to appreciate the enigma that is ardri, you need to understand something quite fundamental: he is a grown man with the soul of a four year old little boy, really excited about what he’s done and really eager to show and tell, let him regale you with his words and his coffee and your day will be that much buzzier.

he’s got that killer scottish accent and tightwadedness with a good, strong double shot of the italian love of food and coffee, as well as the mediterranean arrogance and disdain for anything that is not simply smackyourlips be-liss (imo). he has measured his competition, and he has come out on top. in his head, the whole world is a bit of a cafe-special olympics, and he is always winning gold. mr matteoni was always going to succeed, having owned some fine cafes in balmain, the entrepeneurial firecracker set his restless, twinkling brown eyes on the much needed foodie revamping of Glebe. hallel-bloody-lujah. cake + the knifers, meet clipper coffee, The Place To Be.

there’s no elegant way to say this, but clipper coffee is as charming as shit. its a whitewash little establishment with green shutters and a deep, earthy wooden table filled interior (‘i’ve had the tables and chairs custom made’). open from 6am to 6pm, it’s even on the right side of the road to catch the reclusive morning sun. so quaint, so charming, so cheery and neat and small and nice, it should have been made out of ginger bread! it’s home away from home to macbook pro toting uni students and tech geeks, also to the builders from next door and the sweet mother and daughter who come in most mornings for brekkie, and to the couple with the adorable son that has the afro, the smile and the curious gymnastics of the very truly young. greg, a thoughtful, smoking vintage car nut who’s followed ardri all the way from balmain can usually be spied out front in the sun with his little dog and the auto section of the paper. the whole set up is a bit of a beatles song, really.

clipper takes its name from a scottish cigarette lighter, and it has already, in its very recent beginnings, set a steady and promethean flame to the glebe point road coffee scene. back in the day, i was a well connected gal, my misspent youth occurred within the grungey surrounds of that classic coffee hole, studying and just being an aimless, caffeniated student, concerned entirely with ideas and not at all with the world. my, my, how far we have come. several years later and i am all the way across the road, doing pretty much the same thing.

across the road, and a whole world away. glebe needed a place like this, most of the glebe point road cafes are much of a muchness, hard to tell apart. ardri, however, has the ambience, the menu and the coffee, down. bloody. pat. this cafe is the classy mastermind of a man at the top of his game. the law group all meets here almost every day for our pre 4 hour seminar splenic tirades (don’t let that turn you off), which are way more appetising when accompanied by potent long blacks, dense gourmet paninis and baked goddamn eggs with HOME MADE napoli baked beans and hella good halloumi...with zartaar toast. yum. dad adores clipper, he is using it as a prime arena for his newly acquired habit.

dad, at the tender age of 70, and with true arab-father cluelessness, has just discovered the wonderful and curious world of Banana Bread. he gleefully smears it thickly with butter and honey, though you’d do much better to try the ardri version which is fresh, not frozen banana bread (it makes a difference, kids), heaving and golden toasted under the bacchian bounty of some sinatra smooth ricotta, honey and berried fruit. its as pretty as a picture in pink AND it turns your mouth into a bit of a Breakfast Club. erin was laying into these a few days a week, but that was before our pre-exam health kick. is banana bread too low brow, too gloria jeans, too run of the mill for some of my more genteel gastronomers?

then get the same decadent topping balancing upon some salacious sour cherry sourdough, not only do you get a delicious breakfast, but you get to quietly condescend to all others as you smugly digest. arabian style bircher is also up for grabs, arabian in that it is laced delicately with cream, pistachio and poached-spiced-fruit and because its the bomb, eating it is like dreaming with your mouth. if brekkie isn’t brekkie unless a hen has laid it out for you, then ardri has some very creative things happening on the very ho-hum egg front. I am continually disappointed with Sydney breakfast menus, they’re very uninventive when it comes to giving you the most important meal of the day. not at clipper, nu-uh. gorgeously bright oranged yolked free range eggs play a starring role in the baked eggs, which come out in a little piping hot glass dish and can be had two ways: with halloumi, beautifully spiced napoli and spunky baked beans or lebanese sausage, fetta and spinach. ardri is a gem with eggs, he knows frying them is a foodie no no, the taste is much richer, deeper and also cleaner when you have them boiled or poached, boiling and poaching also allows you to better taste the freshness and quality of the eggs, which are quite easy to conceal with heavy frying. so why baconandeggroll when you can proscuito tomato chutney pecorino and boiled egg panini? oh yes. you’ll be up at the cocks crow for this stuff.

lunch is a long lineup of luscious lovelies. free range chicken salad with walnuts? smoked salmon salad with boiled egg and spinach and lashings of intense olive oil and lemon? anyone? anyone? any of these beauties will Save Ferris. the sandwich list will simply blow your mind. erin and chad scream over the salami baba ganoush red onion jam spinach fetta job, whereas benji gets his kicks from the open faced smoked salmon with wasabi mayo mix and wedge of lemon to boot, and benji has to get his kicks somewhere. simple food, done so, so well.

rich, true, uncomplicated ingredients. sharp sandwiches and salads. generous, comforting servings, so cheap, so filling, so delicious you’ll rub your tummy, and maybe even the person next to you, in glee. ‘it’s good food’, in that way Scottish people say goooood. the sweets cabinet is an old school boiled lolly shop show case of cookies, brownies, friands, little kisses, little oohs and ahhs of dessertish delight, little naughty shapes and sizes of sweet spiced indulgence. take your sticky pickity pick and settle in with some of the best brew i have ever had.

now, you know i am a tea fiend, and i fiercely remain so, but law (contract law in particular) has driven me to 3 or 4 moments of givemecoffeeandnoonedies in the last few weeks, and this belluciain blend of five single origin coffees is beverage elysium: it is smooth, balanced, nutty. i don’t find george clooney attractive, at all, but it tastes the way his eyes look. dreamy, deep, sweet and inviting. never bitter. never too sharp. never too hot. never too cold. its the holy grind, and clipper is rocking it. all the gang agrees: long black ben, capuccino gill and the occassionalatte, amanda. they even have bonsoy, my first born son of non milk alternatives... the way it drenches your soul.

this is the hardest coffee to say nay to, but i’ve managed to do so by leaving some of my favourite earl grey (hampstead biodynamic loose leaf) with them, which they are kind enough to make up for me! the quality of the water ardri uses in his tea and coffee is purer than the pope in fresh driven snow, so smooth, so light, clean clean clean, it is the perfect pool for some diaphanous leaves. Calmer Sutra chai is on the menu, I am on ardri’s case to smarten up the tea range, but, being a typical (half) italian, he has a very anti anglo disregard for this most incredible imperial institution of insane delight. he’s all about the clipper coffee. as Christian says (in an arnold schwartznegger accent, which is his real voice) ‘you looooove it’.

he’s right, i do. absolutely flawless. welcoming, comfortable, anonymous and friendly. ardri knows his business well, he never rushes or shoo’s out those of us who enjoy cosying up with a laptop or a book in a quiet corner and whiling away a few hours, you are welcome to sit and drift as much as your heart pleases and and as much you’re directionless soul allows. a fabulous reading selection includes monocle magazine (ardri’s favourite), marie claire, all the goss mags and newspapers. clipper has such a community feel, you know the regulars, you smile at each other, you cramp in and up close on days when the uni crowd practically swarms all over the cosy confines.

despite the bustle i still find it quite peaceful when i am there on my own, the music is played a little louder in the morning and wraps around you and makes it so thoughts just spill into and out of eachother. the charm is in every nook and cranny, ardri has milked the ‘look’ for all its worth: old school tea pots and bicycles mounted on the wall, little empty italian mineral water bottles packed tight with honey coloured brown sugar, empty coopers bottles filled with water (the Canadias are pretty upset to get a beer bottle filled with a non alcoholic substance), little potted smiling flowers, high sturdy stools and cosy corners, merry smiles and good business all around. awww, shucks. i think i have a crush.

At 16 Glebe Point Road, Glebe, seven days a week, 6 til 6. come and kick back, coffee, tea, breakfastbrunchlunch. shoot the breeze with ardri, say hey to joe, listen to gill’s thankgoditswednesday shenanigns that leave us howling. at clipper coffee, law degrees do themselves and the most useful days of your life pass you by in a beautiful social blur, near a gentle park with a lulling loch...and not a smidge of tartan in sight.

crazy busy some days, if you have lots of friends, ring ahead and book on 0410 688 954 (that's also his personal number, girls). ardri himself does not understand why you would frequent any other place than his when in glebe, he is as pleased as punch with his latest venture and is hearing his two favourite sounds a lot more these days: cha and ching! thanks ardri xx

special mention to joelle, erin, gill, dana, ben, ash, michael, chad, sean and larissa, even if we never graduate we would have had some lovely breakfast on the way.