A dilemma of the tastiest type struck me last Thursday morn.
With proposed ‘morning tea’ plans for roughly 10am at St.Kilda’s grungy café Galleon I made an eight-thirty detour to my nana’s house to give her a kiss and to remind her how much I love her. Somewhere in my breakfast crazed mind I knew I was interrupting a daily ritual for my nana and her partner and one which I would surely be welcomed to join (as I had been the day before). Sure enough I was shortly seated in a comfy armchair as a traditional breakfast from this pink, pretty house underwent preparation.
The elderly couple shuffled about the kitchen, arguing in Eastern European tongue. Nervously I eyed the time…nine o’clock, five past nine! Finally the elderly man entered the sitting room cautiously carrying a plate almost three times his size (he has a slight hunch). Now before me, on this giant white plate lay a familiar arrangement of fruits lined up in sequential colour code. One long peeled banana lay beside a finely sliced cantaloupe, neighbour to a halved red papaya, followed by a ripe and juicy persimmon. A tropical mango cut up and criss-crossed accompanied the platter as a friendly side.
“Apple and sultana porridge or apricot and almond?” Nana telepathically interrupts my fine feast to take orders for next course.
“Apple and sultana today thanks nana!” And off she returns to the kitchen. I hear her rummaging about; the sound of the instant porridge sachet tearing and microwave buttons beeping, add a few minutes for the sure movements of elderly folk, milk pouring, footsteps approaching and second course is served. The rainbow of whole fruits is no longer visible whilst my belly happily absorbs the warm red, yellow and orange tones. Half a banana remains from my previous platter – just waiting to be sliced up and sprinkled over my adored microwave porridge. Nine-thirty! I slurp the porridge smoothie down – segments of the checked mango mixed in – complementing the sultana and apple chunks superbly and then…
“Thank-you nana, but I really must be off”.
“Coffee? Tea?” I am prepared for her partner’s final request. Already standing by the door I refuse and kiss them both profusely.
“Thankyou really but I have plans I must run.”
Run I don’t but ride I do. Nine-forty and I am on my trusty red bike speeding along the beach into St.Kilda. As I turn up into Carlisle Street, stomach slightly queasy I begin to panic. What defines morning tea? How full or empty is my companions belly etc etc and then…
I am being waved over and into the grungy Galleon café. I pass young trendy gals and guys, neutral singlets, wavy long hair, slightly stubbled faces, wooden benches, colourful crockery, groovy gossip and an array of damn good-looking meals; big juicy burgers, blt’s, sweet-potato, basil and fetta hash browns, scrambled tofu salads, tempting chunks of banana bread… And then my heartbreaks…
“No, I haven’t eaten breakfast yet – I think I’ll get the porridge with stewed apple and rhubarb and some cold milk on the side.” My companion knows how to hurt me.
“You said morning tea! And I had a long ride ahead and I just couldn’t do it on an empty stomach…”
“What can I get you?” The gorgeous Galleon waitress interrupts.
“Oh I can’t I’ll just have a soy chai tea...oh um oh and… actually” I take a deep breathe, I pat my bulging belly, whisper a soft prayer and “may I please have the house bircher musli with rhubarb and yoghurt? With a jug of cold soy milk on the side?” I succumb to the dream menu.
Memories fly around my manic mind of the fresh avocado and grilled mushrooms on chunky rye toast and the Galleon homemade honey spiced ricotta teamed with orange biscotti biscuits. I enjoy this place; the mismatch, multilevel arrangement of the tables, the no fuss feel, the vegetarian friendly menu and the open ever-active kitchen – speaking of which – I see movements, a big bowl approaches (the porridge I suspect) and, and a tall glass of…
“The Bircher musli?” I signal the waitress and a surprise package of house bircher musli slides my way. Oh I like this place! And I’m devouring my dish – pushing past the sliced almond topping, appreciating the subtle yoghurt flavour, praising the unexpected crunch of whole hazelnuts and plummeting into the sweet rhubarb combination. My drink is demolished – the soy milk (often a life-saver) barely touched. This bircher musli stands on its own, proud and tall.
We stay awhile – noticing celebrities and speculating on future meals at the Galleon café.
And when we part, and I get back onto my sturdy bike feeling the weight of a three-course breakfast (with lunch awaiting!), I reflect on a dilemma which often plagues my mind. Breakfast in or out?
I ride along the tempestuous sea, traditions and new taste sensations balancing themselves out inside me. As the wheels go round and round I catch my mind in a slow hypnotic trance dreaming of regular rituals from familiar faces then anticipating mere speculative dishes; sensational spanakopita, crispy crumbles in shabby st.kilda scenery.
It seems a combination does me nicely.
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