Guilty, as charged

OK. Yep, we did it again.  One would say perhaps, we are infatuated. Yet I prefer the term, loyal.

So with Adriano Zumbo’s café relocating to 114 Terry Street, Rozelle, it was obligatory that we detour on the way to the airport to drop Ken and Nao off, to pay a visit and make sure the macaroons still tasted heavenly and delish as they were at the previous location.  To be sure, to be sure.

G was happy to do some sampling, purchasing five straight up: no flavour-choosing-dilemma, no questions asked and upon paying, turning to his beloved and making it clear, that without a doubt, they were all for him. First up: Blueberry and Lavender.

Proceeding quietly in queue was Ken and Nao, slowly recovering from their eyes popping out of their head and jaws dropping to the concrete flooring. Two lattes and an array of flavours, chosen mainly from the bright colours and preferring not to examine closely what flavours might be contrived from such combinations.

Me next. Oh jeez, lucky these counter girls are patient and as indecisive as this customer. Based solely on the fact that I’d try the vanilla one previously, I was tempted into buying four and branching out a little. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? It would taste, not as good? It would still taste great no matter what and I’m sure between the four of us, there was a mouth that would be pleased to sample the remainder. So I settled for three. Ten minutes later. 

Barely stepping out onto the road again, into the afternoon sunlight- with our eyes now having to adjust to a lesser brightness, mind you- the bags were open and our gobs full of sugary goodness and eyes were once again rolling around, sending messages of total bliss to the brain.

Mmmm...gooey goodness of the Jaffa...

As unattractive as you may think they are, they are not that ugly once they hit the palate. Believe me.

The list of taste testing that was done that afternoon: Blueberry and Lavender, Mandarin, Lemon, Mocha, Jaffa and Vanilla.

Then we had lunch. Ha!

Zumbo's new cafe: 114 Terry Street, Rozelle.

Check out the website here too.

coffee, anyone?

I can now safely say that I appreciate coffee fanatics a bit more. I don’t understand it entirely. However, I respect that they have a passion for something and that something can taste amazing. It can be so different, so versatile. It is a lifestyle. To “catch up for coffee” is such a social event, even for those who don’t drink coffee habitually. Such as myself- at three in the afternoon, I would prefer a cup of tea, yet I would still pose the invitation of, “shall we meet for coffee?”

Anyhoo, I will quit my prattle and continue with the story. 

Nao’s appreciation of coffee and enthusiasm for a café latte in Australia, brought about more admiration for the simple cup of coffee for me. My long blacks are now interchangeable between flat whites and no more chain addictions: this stuff has to be real- sourced, roasted, ground to perfection- and deserving of every sip. The pleasure: to be on both sides of the café’s counter.

I’ve been to Campos before- albeit majority of the time I’m ordering a soy latte on behalf of my sister down the road at work: her alarm clock repeatedly fails to work every Thursday and conveniently I am in the area around the time a latte calls out to me by the name of soy, campos and let’s-wait-15-minutes-while-these-madmen-baristas-whip-up-forty-four-before-mine. Then I shall hurry it on down to her and return to another café for my own beverage.

 This time, I ordered one for myself. “To have here, thank you.” 

Quite unusual to say the least, not to mention the enjoyment of such an occasion. Not only did I have a barista in training at my table, but the good company and smooth coffee went down a treat and I delightfully exited the building that morning, on my way to a commonly dreaded appointment.

Campos Coffee: 193 Missenden Road, Newtown. Nice work kids!

And of course, Ken's sweet tooth was on its best behaviour...

Again, two days later, I was introduced by Nao to a café in mid-city-craziness, by the name of “Workshop”. I’ve often been intrigued by its abundance of customers, however put it down to the fact that it is situated on George Street and at that, a highly frequented pedestrian area.

Needless to say, these patiently waiting businessmen, retail staff, and local city bumpkins alike, are onto it. This is good coffee. And I’m only an amateur at this thing. Just the aroma had me on the corner of Park and George. Can I say that about coffee? Who cares. I am. It was scrumptious. So drinkable, so satisfying, and yep. This is the place I shall return to first.

Workshop. Hit it. 500 George St.

Thanks Nao! And Ken, for amusement, insight, and good friendship, above all...

east coast shoesy explore!

Ok, I have this thing with taking a photo of my feet in places. It started overseas one time.

Proud of my whereabouts, I played slave to the infamous hand-held, self-portrait one too many times. Consequently, all you could see of my travels was my greased up forehead and toothy grin and maybe another tourist in the background. Or a llama, if he was lucky.

So my feet. I feel that if I’m going to be pompous about my location, my shoes might tell a story of journey a little bit nicer than my oily face. Hence, the addiction to now snap wherever the bright pumas tend to wander.

And g has snagged the custom too.

Our recent trip up the east coast brought many seaside adventures- rocky walks, sandy beaches and thus, more snappy snaps with the handy i-thingy, you know whatchamacallit…

And no slimy, tired faces to reflect back on in five years. Thank gawd…