Melbourne: City of Friends, Family & Food

The alarm goes at 6:30am out of habit, and at 7:30 I jump out of bed, refreshed and ready for a day of food, friends and fun. There’s oats, fruit, nuts and a friendly, “Good Morning!”, before I race off to meet Zane at Matcha Mylkbar.

In typical Melbourne style, the weather has turned. From sweating buckets it’s now raining buckets and with an icy wind outside, I lament the fact that I’ve left my raincoat back in Wollongong. Robyn helps me to the tramstop, where I’m pleased to discover that my Myki travel card still has funds from the last trip. Thanks, past-Mem! In St Kilda I stand undercover, working out my bearings while a woman shuffles past and grins at me, rolling her eyes at the rain. Before too long another woman passes, clutching her jacket close. She nods her head away from the shelter, groaning, “Melbourne!”, as if that explains it all. Actually, it does, and she’s chuckling to herself as she hurries on.

At Matcha Mylkbar I’m reminded why I loved this place so much last visit. They’re blunt, honest marketing mixed with deliciousness and incredible presentation. The rain is still coming down sideways and there’s a woman sitting to my left in cycling lycra. Shorts and t-shirt, that’s it. She’s clearly cold, but that’s nothing compared to the man who arrives to join her. Poor guy is so wet and cold he’s shivering violently. So much that he can’t unclip his bike helmet. His legs are jiggling uncontrollably under the table, and his teeth are chattering so badly I can hear them. Even when his hot drink arrives his hands are still shaking and as he stands to greet another friend, I see that even his little, lycra-clad bum is shivering too. The waiter, a young, fit, super-cool man comes and leans casually on the back of the chair opposite. “Cold?” All this poor, wet cyclist can do is nod, grin and shiver.

Melbourne still functions in the rain, even if the drivers forget what they’re meant to be doing. People are still walking their dogs, going for runs, working and shopping. It’s like Scotland - you just deal. A little dog stops on its lead outside the window. She’s dressed in a chicken suit and looks like a sad, wet, miniature Falkor from Neverending Story. Sneaky photo to share with Zane when he arrives. He’s stuck in traffic, as tends to happen when the rain comes.

By the time he does get there, I’ve gone through the menu a few times in detail, and decided that I’m obliged to have the rainbow pancakes. They’re rainbow, how could I not? The presentation is

amazing of course, but even for a sweet-toothed fanatic like me, the level of sugar is just too much for one meal. It’s the second ordering blunder of the morning, the first being a questionable decision to try the mushroom and date latte. The name alone should have served as a warning, but I’d already tried most of the others on the menu. If you happen to enjoy a slightly sweet cream of mushroom soup, then you’d probably like it. I drank it out of duty.

Zane’s nachos toast was also amazing, especially if you like spicy food. Slathered with jalapeños, it was a necessary antidote to the sweetness of my pancakes. In typical Mem style, I’m talking about the food more than the company, and of course it was wonderful catching up with Zane again. Now a regular occurrence each time I come to Melbourne, we picked up where we’d left off nearly a year and a half ago. A meal is never enough for a proper catch-up, and Zane kindly drives me back to my car, and we go for a wander around the park - giving the geese a wide berth.

It’s then home for a bit. I have work to do, and it can’t be put off much longer. There are people waiting for me to come through with edits, and I want to get as much done as possible before dinner tonight. At 6:30 my sister, Lex, and Moshe pick me up for a visit to Vegilicious. The food lives up to its name. We get a platter to share and indulge in curry puffs, polenta chips, okonomiyaki, and a token salad. Neither Lex nor I can resist dessert and regardless of how full we are, insist on adding some sweetness to complete the meal. One doughnut and a choc-orange slice later, my belly is aching and reminding me that gluten is still not my friend. It’s a lesson I’ll likely never learn, but given the variety of food to try wherever I travel, I’ll take the punishment every time.

Moshe suggests we drop into The Local next door and shouts me a Talisker. As much as I like my whisky, I can’t put it away like Moshe, and while I sip slowly on it, my company start yawning. They both insist I take my time but I know we’ll be here for another hour, as the waitress has topped us right up when she poured, and if I drink it any faster I’ll be babbling drunk in no time. I call it a night, Lex drives me back to Robyn and Philip’s place, and it’s back to bed for this happy traveller and her bloated belly.