My Morning Coffee

Day 35: Bean There, Done That - MMC Wraps Up

2010-05-27T05:15:00.000-07:00

Ahem, ahem. This is a teaspoon-to-coffee-cup tribute. It’s time for the good-cafe toast, and the bad-cafe roast. Before we put ears to the grounds, MMC would like to thank those who drank. First, to Friend of MMC, Robin to the coffee drinker's Batman. Vibes, you're tank. Next, to T-Love and the Advertiser food liftout who recommended this write-up. Last, to Radelaide.net, the little website that could, and did, remind MMC to finish the damn blog. Which blog? Oh yeah. My Morning Coffee. The Order: 35 cups of coffee, 35 nights blogging and 35 bleary-eyed days of legal clerking.

Let’s recap on the MMC mission. No barristers or baristas were harmed during the making of this blog. My Morning Coffee was no empirical study. Reviews were based on two cups purchased per day, from the thousands any SA cafe will make in a week. That’s harsh, quips a critic. Tough cookies, latte lover. One bad cup of coffee can ruin a consumer’s day. One bad cup of coffee can ruin a cafe’s reputation. If a single snail in a single bottle of ginger beer can found the entire law of negligence, one hastily-made beverage merits hardline reviews.

Within the MMC framework, cases were judged on the facts. One cafe only from each coffee franchise, and one coffee franchise per week. What did MMC find in the Disneys of coffee land? Uno, due, tre, quattro caffe bar, nothing Ciborgasmic, and nowhere we’ve Bean Bar Stax would we return. Laboured puns aside, the so-called efforts of the Cibo CBD broke collective hearts. If red/white takeaway is your shtick, MMC will shoo you to the nearest Stax. But why settle for consistently average when you can have consistently excellent for the same price?

Starting from up high – but in no particular order – you’ll find The Value: up there at Air on North Terrace. (A shout-out @ Chris Jarmer for calling to return MMC’s newly acquired, newly forgotten [fresh-framed] law degree.) If your café is your castle, enjoy The Vibe: at Kappy’s and Nano: Ready to Go. For The Service: get served at Viva Espresso and Rigoni’s Bistro. Prima facie, Honours go to The Beans: at Il Incontro in Adelaide Arcade, and Energize in Market Plaza. On non-sitting days, get more for The Pour: at Cikolatte on Melbourne St and Espresso Royale on Magill Rd.

The lesson: MMC had Fair Trade. MMC had Organic. MMC had single origin, and well, more origins. MMC learned the ABA –Acidity, Body, Aroma. MMC had Rainforest Alliance, for flip’s sake, and recommends boycotting Fix Coffee/Grinders everywhere. We've had excellent coffee, and we've drunk dirt. We’ve had excellent service, and we’ve been treated like dirt. Loyalty cards? Take ‘em or leave ‘em. Hear ye cafes: our loyalty is for sale. You can buy it with capital-Q Quality and capital-C Consistency. Give your customers smooth coffee, silky milk, and a smile. Every time.

The latte word: When it comes to coffee, Adelaide’s CBD C.D.B. – Could Do Better. Commuters Deserve Better. They call ‘it’ ‘the daily grind’ for so many reasons. From a rose-coloured latte-glass-holding MMC, now resident in the ACT, it’s an overall 3 beans out of 5. Three city cafes out of five are worth your drive. To all who read MMC, happy drinking. If you’re thirsty, keep reading, because MMC is re-opening the case in another jurisdiction. You betcha – join MMC in June for My Morning Coffee Canberra.

Link: Adelaide plus sugar at www.radelaide.net

Day 34: Cibo Marathon

2010-01-29T10:00:00.000-08:00

In icon-happy Adelaide, local business is the ultimate in consumer chic. Does Adelaide plus coffee equal Cibo? With a chain-a-week modus operandi, the CBD Cibology caused MMC some head scratching. Which store, and when? Days of deliberation led to a diabolical solution - the final morning Cibo Marathon. Gouger, Frome, King William/Grenfell and Pirie were duly visited. The Order: one caffè (sized) cafe latte, takeaway. The Price: a consistent $3.20.

Phase one: North Adelaide ristorante. Phase two: Rundle St espresso bar. Phase three: world domination. Cibo Espresso is one of those small-town success stories that we love to love. It's a household name, and its takeaway cups are household recycling. Brandwise, it's a default that straddles utility and integrity. Shops are white and red all over, with that stainless steel modernity. 'A Little Italy' reads newish marketing, and Italian pastries and coffee styles are massive menu coos.

As much as MMC loves the macchiatone/half latte, we're not doing things by halves today. 7.30 am. Gouger Street: The One Across From the Markets. By night, this Cibo glitters with gelati goers. By morning? The Greeting: a sleepy grunt from someone school-aged. The Service: waity. We wait. The Pour: a classic Cibo swirl, good lookin'. The Flavour: hmm, malty. Not quite that morning kick, but MMC is able to sip it over market breakfast without sighing.

8:00 am. Rundle Street: The One With the Mall Rats. With fountain view tables, it's arguably an atmospheric option. The Greeting: uncheery, but efficient. The Service: ditto, and quick. The Pour: dream creamy, swirl. Flavour: pleasant, but still no jump start. Friend of MMC finishes it smilingly on the mall stretch.

8.15 am. T&G: The One on the Corner of King William and Grenfell. Shopspace: nil, but killer commuter locale. The Service: an award for Team Work 2009 mocks us from a spilled-milk counter - it's snail's-pace, but crawling with staff. The Pour: an artless cup of bubble. The Strength: absent. The Flavour: it's the ghost of Cibos past - somewhere in my memory, nowhere on my tongue. It's what incendiary Advertiser blogger Michael Harry called 'cookie cutter bland'. MMC makes it drain fodder.

8.30am. Pirie Street: The New One. Pirie has a plateful of coffee-craving corporati, and Cibo's largest brags popularity with a displayed accolade. The Service: there's spark - good flirty hospitality. The Pour: silk milk, but no presentation points. We've ordered two, and the single swirl on one is proved accidental by the other's baldness. The Strength: we can tell from looking that it's lacking legs. In the mouth, it's 'meh' - a dubiously caffeinated take-it-or-leave-it. Sadly, it's our last cup, so we take it.

The Next Day. Prospect Road - The Funky One. Driving North for the weekend, a closed Cafe Komodo pushes a curious MMC to one final Cibo. The story here is that three-ish brunettes threw in the schoolteaching towel, and started polishing latte glasses. The store is mosaic-y and the coffee is clean and crisp. After a day of dishwater, a gutsy multi-shotter dazzles with unfair advantage. The Pour: it's sleek, and we heart the heart. The place has spirit - if MMC may, they've put the 'chi' into 'franchise'.

The Lesson: CBD Cibo is marketing right-on, but quality lite-on. In the 'burb, we found personalised service, and professional product. If the rest of the Cibo children tune in, they can return their city ops to a rightful ready-steady-drink status.

The latte word: for the Cibo CBD (sans Frome/Rundle) - an average under 3.

	Rundle Mall	3.5 beans out of 5
	Gouger St	3 beans out of 5
	T&G and Pirie St	2 beans out of 5
	Prospect	4 beans out of 5

Start the drumroll - MMC is working on a big blog wrap-up. Thank you for sharing 35 cups of My Morning Coffee.

Link: How to lose friends and irritate cafes - Michael Harry's controversial Cibo blogpost

Day 33: Bistro Dom, 24 Waymouth St

2010-01-28T10:00:00.000-08:00

On 33 Thursday, MMC goes bistro troppo. Waymouth street straddles work and play - it's the corporate jungle, colonised by chic. Along the Northern side, George's is too imposing for coffee alone. We agree to meet at Bistro Dom, down-the-road darling of almost three years. The Order: two skinny lattes, to go. The Price: a gasp-worthy $3.50, but for compulsory double shots.

With almost negative street presence, there's a good chance you've walked past BD blink free. The Shopspace: on the net as 'a long narrow lap pool', it's introverted in a way that conventional marketing avoids. MMC has backup waiting stobie-poleside as friend of MMC has a FML* moment, flaking for the first time. Baristaquaintance in tow, MMC busts the blank page frontage with flourish. Alas, it's service negative. The Greeting: nil. The Service: uh, hello?

Named for the restaurateur's esteemed offsider, BD is the incarnation of 'bistro'. The French concept evokes small restaurants with simple, well-priced fare. In France, patrons of leetle beestro don't expect professional service or printed menus. Back in Oz, caffay patrons expect some kind of fair dinkum howdy. At BD, we're stonewalled by, well, a wall - the strange partition between takeaway and dining-type areas. In shiny mirrored sheen beyond, two staff members conspire about more important things than customer service.

Breakfast can be the most delectable of dine-outs, when priced and prepared to perfection. Online, BD projects breakfast venue de jour, but in person, its long tables are empty to a fault. After service sloth, our ultimate baristess assumes we are eating in, and we argue otherwise. Are we judged for taking away? Quite possibly. Coffees ordered, we settle into the takeaway 'area' with the coffee machine an almost awkward metre away.

Owner Ben Johnston has amassed some coffee cred in Adelaide. His are (or have been) Duthy St Deli (Parkside) and the Queen St Cafe (Croydon). The man himself is rumoured to be a high-flying barista, and our expectations soar. The Pour: no flaw. We're offered pre-pour sugar. The Presentation: cups nicely neutral, lids a sipper-style let-down. The Strength: two-shots au lait is easily a winner. The Flavour: baristaquaintance proves his mettle - naming something musty in the mouth. It's a back of the cupboard, old beans type of palate puzzler: a points loser, given the stakes.

The lesson: someone wrote of BD, 'it says you are stylish simply for being there'. But with outside incognito and interior service veto, we feel silly simply for ordering coffee there. Ultimately, MMC is bitter - no regular friend to appreciate the up-shot, and no little bistro to rave to stylish friends about.

The latte word: a paltry penultimate 3.5 beans out of 5. On finale Friday, it's a chain-to-chain coffee marathon - follow us to your favourite for My Morning Coffee.

*Link: Having a bad day? Share it at fmylife.com

Day 32: Ciao, 14 Adelaide Arcade

2010-01-27T10:00:00.000-08:00

Back from the Oz Day weekend that wasn't, MMC and friend meet a very significant other for coffee in Adelaide Arcade. A News Limited food writer we'd Love to name, we had hoped to talk blog over brilliant coffee. Ciao looked the wood-panelled part, an arcade island at the Grenfell-ian end. We talked, we were snapped, and we got the coffee. The Orders: one skinny cappucino, one medium flat white, one small latte. The Prices: smalls at $3.20.

Adelaide Arcade sure is pretty. Large and leadlit, it's chockas with old-school servicepeople - cobblers, tailors, milliners and chocolatiers. Built in 1885, it was the first mall in Australia to boast electric lights. With irony, or just bad luck, its 1887 caretaker died from a fall into the generator; he was investigating a flickering light. Ciao looks to be capitalising on trad cultcha a la Italiano cafe. The Shopspace: we've wrought-iron signage, and a gracious counter top for talkative takeaways and on-the-run have heres. At a glance, it's humming, happy and high-quality.

Upsizing on early-ness, MMC has time to vibe-scout before friends and foodies arrive. Screeching a clunky chair inwards, there are odd glances from a sparse and settled clientèle. At predictably peak hour patronage, traffic is paltry at best. One to two staff slog on unsmilingly, and the Melbourne magic isn't materialising. MMC's party places orders with a surly and silent barista, and settles at one of too many free tables. The Service: efficient, but nil on frills.

It's quick, it's on the way, and it's in Adelaide Arcade: why are the punters shy of Ciao coffee? Have they spied the caretaker's ghost between button shop and battery bar? Allegedly captured on 2008 security footage, the ethereal element could draw a whole new demographic. An 'unexplained mysteries' forum friend writes of the ghost, 'I like it. It looks like a light being to me... It is a good catch and it proves that our technology is making it possible for those to come through the veil and interact with us.' See the footage and LLOL (literally, laugh out loud).

Alas, MMC is a supernatural sceptic and, some say, a coffee cynic. If you don't believe in ghosts, we'll give you another reason not to visit Ciao. It's ESP - especially substandard produce. Our famous foodie, no fanatic, notes this coffee's peculiar after-effect - a dry sharpness that steals salivary equilibrium. The Pour: a dry, foamy milk, and the cappuccino is 'traditional' in the bad sense. We're a little embarrassed, and a lot thirsty.

The Lesson: Ciao could do location, work station and celebration. But as the journo jots down MMCisms, coffee unquality is an elephant in the Arcade. The morning coffee mission ends in days, and we can hardly name a consistent commuter cafe. Is the CBD just a sea of average?

The latte word: a tepid two beans out of five. MMC resolves to go bistro tomorrow - one more on Waymouth for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Youtube - the Adelaide Arcade Ghost on Security Cam

Day 31: Cikolatte, 133 Melbourne St

2010-01-26T10:00:00.000-08:00

Australia Day on a Tuesday. Who woulda thunk it. To overcome the headfunk of the whole affair, MMC and friend decided to meet for coffee as if it were a workday. The differences? A luxurious 10.30am meeting, and North Adelaide instead of the scabby Sundayish CBD. The Orders: a small skinny latte and a medium cappuccino, have here. The prices: $3.30 and $3.80, respectably.

Melbourne Street almost has a vibe going on. Big guns like The Lion, Cibo and The Store are pulling posses weekdays and weekends. Further down the road, the boutiques - of clothing, cuisine and coffee - are thirsty for traffic. With some weekend buzz, Cikolatte has scattered bums on seats. We score a streetside setting between cyclists, and appropriate generous armfuls of news.

Entering Cikolatte is not exactly a dim dash into a Turkish coffee house, but the resemblance is not lost on MMC. The Shopspace: neutral is made nice with tea-lined walls, a handful of four-apiece tables, and a raised couchspace that's equal parts child-friendly and chic. Bright-lit, the spacial slip is a long shiny walk to the front-facing counter. Even with smiley service, it's a self-conscious slog.

At Melbourne Street's most recent, the Turkish coffee tradition is more than a trendy allusion. Online quoteth the famous 'black as hell, strong as death, sweet as love', and in store they serve and sell with prepared panache. As well as the grounds-settling Turkish service, we've the choice of handmade chocolates and what MMC will call the Melbourne coffee experience. Today, the Greeting: bubbly, earnest and blonde. The Service: by sitting outside we signal sleepy not snappy, and coffees come accordingly.

MMC admits presentation ain't everything, but at Cikolatte, it sure is something. The Pour: with a rosetta here and handsome half-choc there, it's all round eye candy. Under the covers? It's a bright, breath-warming blend, perfectly tempered. We ahhh at upfront flavour, friendly and unchallenging. Friend of MMC, fan of organic offerings up the road, is a surprised convert. Our linger is languorous. The Turkish say 'A cup of coffee commits one to forty years of friendship.' MMC says a good cup of coffee commits one to forty minutes of lazy gratitude.

The Lesson: in Turkey, all festive meals end with a cup of coffee. In the Adelaide CBD, all fetid day jobs begin thus. The antithesis of the tired takeaway, Cikolatte's few frills make coffee festive. If city cafes ever catch on to coffee culture, they can take some leaf art out of their book.

The latte word: a Turkish delight at 4 beans out of 5. Stay reading for more intended puns - Wednesday sees us say Ciao at an Adelaide Arcade icon.

Link: Turkish Coffee in Turkey

Day 30: Baretto Corte Caffe, 302A King William St

2010-01-25T10:00:00.000-08:00

On our last manic Monday, all the cool kids have cashed their AL for an Australia Day weekender. To ease the pain, a leisurely have-here is planned for Vic Square. It's MMC's second attempt to visit Dragonfly's neighbour Brunch on the Square. Will there be brunch on the square today? Not so much. We make the disgruntled diagonal to Baretto Corte Caffe on King William. The Orders: to have here, a small skim flat white, and to take away, medium skim and medium soy lattes. The Prices: $3.20, $4.50, $5.30. (!)

In its former unglory as the Court Cafe, BCC was known for purveying Adelaide's worst cafe coffee. Now Italian both in name and reputation, rumour has it that the spouse of an Adelaide legal eagle took over in 2009. Cashing in on ridiculous proximity to the SA Courts, it is reasonably foreseeable that barista meets barrister on a regular and profitable basis. The Shopspace: entrance is into a narrow counterfront clearway, and bingo! MMC almost collides with a dreamy suit clutching takeaway. Mmm, coffee...

After order-placing with a ribbon-haired waitress slash law student (?), we have a hung jury on BCC. The Greeting: icy and frosted, with a suffocating lack of small talk. Our lactose intolerant guest drinker declares she was so mean it was attractive. But after more bigtime blank stares from barista boy, friend of MMC is in an early a.m. über-huff. We impose only long enough to place orders at the awkward end of a handsome wooden counter, and settle outside for the bitching.

It's a truth previously acknowledged that bad service = nosy bloggers. The only dirt on BCC is direct from the Environment, Resources and Development (ERD) Court. In early '09, the city council gave a thumbs down to their proposal to encase the al fresco in PVC blinds, a la La Trat. Later that year, the ERD court found on appeal that 'the alteration would not be consistent with what remains of the original street façade when the building is viewed in its totality'. Ouch. Maybe that explains the service - the sun was in Miss Muffet's eyes?

If gripe one was service, gripe two was pricing. MMC is happy enough with a small at $3.20. Friend of MMC is reeling after forking $4.50 for medium - at $1.30, the upsize is well above the standard 50c/$1.00 increase. Number three has made the mistake of ordering soy, and we've cracked $5. Even a lactose large goes for $5.20 - a massive price attack. We debate the ethics of charging more due to clientele, charging more for soy... The latter is perhaps fair - MMC has heard that soy has a nasty habit of curdling. Blech. But really, the best form of coffee for the lactose unlucky? Black, baby.

The Lesson: on the facts, BCC is still suffering from a lawyer-hangout hangover. It's un-Italian trendy for soft organic coffee, and hearty Italian for panini, ragu &c. Inside, it's warm, wooded and well-lit, but outside we perch uncomfortably on the original produce of Cane Corner. Perhaps chasing liquid-loving lawyers is plenty lucrative, but to broaden base camp, BCC will not be fully dressed without a smile.

The latte word: 3.5 beans out of 5. This is considerably classy coffee, if you like it organic. Smooth and well foamed milk, with a near-floral pour. It's a delicate flavour palate, but we walk away with a sour aftertaste souvenir. Classy brown takeaway cups, but not so much of that deliciously brown coffee breath. Keep reading for an Australia Day epic - we venture slightly outside of the CBD for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Vorrasi v Adelaide City Council

Day 29: 227 Espresso Cafe, 227 North Tce

2010-01-22T10:00:00.000-08:00

North Terrace, university heartland, has a self-conscious coffee strip of its own. It's a bit of a detour for an MMC, but with happy memories of Chris Jarmer @ Air, we duck in for takeaway before the uni crowd has awoken. 227 Espresso Cafe has picked up where Un Caffe Bar left off, or has it? The Order: one standard cappuccino, and one medium flat white. The Prices: $3.20 small and $3.70 for medium - one of the smallest and best upsize margins we've seen.

Countering the soporific lecture effect, Number 227 has for years been the closest refuge of lazy-eyed law students. As an early Un Caffe Bar, the jaywalk was always worth it to avoid well-priced, pallid in-house fare. The Shopspace: perhaps less distinctive than its Un Caffe days, the red is replaced with Lavazza blue. The back wall's Euro street scene plays to Lavazza's 'Italian Espresso Experience' themery. Grey newspapers, silver benches, a backlit tableau... It's soothing and more consistent than the red shiny wow, but arguably less consumer-grabbing. In a splash of inconsistency, we note that the UCB red machines remain.

There's still a great have-here vibe going at Cafe 227, or whatever mumbled moniker they're going by. Pervasive signage probably has most meeting at 'Lavazza on North Terrace'. Outside, those silver chairs beckon showy intellectual D&M, and days will see their tables filled with talky talkers battling traffic noise. Inside, music is bright - the wake-up loudness masks the outdoor drone. MMC arrives on hold hostage to phone banking, and is allowed to hover unmolested in a deserted cafe space.

It's tempting to climb benchwards and start thumbing newspapers, but the walk to work looms large. The Greeting: when friend of MMC arrives, we're in the warm embrace of a one man show - a cheery, busy, prototype barista. A few orders have stacked up by this time so we wait a little, none too long. The Presentation: happy in sturdy blue Lavazza. The Cafe is medium-populated, and we shamelessly snap lidless pics in the corner.

Solidly half-chocked, the MMCappuccino looks like a winner. The Pour: both are flat with flawless foam, no fancy business. But after mesmerising minutes watching the perfect arc of the espresso shot, there's a certain sadness in the first sip. Flavour is buried deep within milk and foam - a bodyless, bland experience. To an extent, it's that smooth and unoffensive Lavazzaism, and MMC wonders whether a small -cupped have here would have been mega better.

The Lesson: as it is, we sort of agree with Adelaide Cafe Review's slight misnomer: 'the blend does seem a lot weaker than Vittoria/Rio'. With Lavazza love all across the world, however, laying blame on the blend is a Big Call. Perhaps the Italian Espresso Experience doesn't translate so well to the Australian oversized takeaway cup. Or perhaps we can stick with the safe call - human error.

The latte word: a worth-trying-twice 3 beans out of five. Strength a definite site for improvement. Next week, follow us towards the Courts- it's tres legal eagle for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Adelaide Cafe Review on the subject

Day 28: Town Hall Garden Cafe, Prince Alfred Lane

2010-01-21T10:00:00.000-08:00

Dreaming of inner-city deck-chair courtyard coffee? Dream no longer, desk rats. For at least a decade, Town Hall Garden Cafe has been serving food 'n' bev in its garden beds. Did people know about this? MMC was certainly surprised, and a thirsty Thursday was set aside for the big Taste Test. The Order: one skinny flat white, have here, and one skinny latte, takeaway. The Prices: a nice, round $3 each.

THGC seems to have it all. Location, location and location. Or as the uniniated would text message frantically, location? location?? um, location??? It's borderline buried in the square between Flinders, King William and Pirie streets, accessible via all three but visible via none. We enter from Pirie, where a sharp turn towards the Town Hall shunts us straight up the disabled-friendly ramp. Some next day recon uncovers a snazzy throughway along the side of the Treasury, following Prince Alfred Lane.

It's all very regal - teacups, the Town Hall and tended gardens. Prince Alfred would approve, whoever he was. Who he was was the second son of Queen Victoria, infamous for an 1867-8 visit to Australia that saw him wounded in a Lennonesque Sydney shooting. Outraged and embarassed - our first ever princely visit! - we Crown-loyal Aussies executed the irritated Irish Catholic gunman within a month. We earned Prince Alred's 'conviction of the loyalty of the colonists at large', and a repeat visit the following year, when he opened an eponymous boys college and a hotel that was - aha! - formerly connected to the Town Hall. Who knew.

Back in the present, and the coffee looks like it could be a gift. MMC hasn't seen much of Monjava, yet another orange SA coffee co., batch-roasting (in small portions) for boutique brilliance. As well as by branding, MMC is greeted warmly by the solo staffer, a definite owner vibe, over-50s. I say flat white, he says how high - pushing the go go espresso button before I hand over the gravy. The Service: needless to say, it's impressively instant, and table delivered.

In the monjava moment, a few mysteries remain. The Pour: a bit of an uggo - the demarcated crema/milk is perhaps the legacy of the premature button press. Had the machine handles been pre-filled? If so, when? And should the shot sit in cup for fetch/steam/pour milk minutes? There's enough, and creamy enough, milk/foam though. The Flavour: none-too-shabby - a pretty mellow moment. FMMC has arrived and taken away - he's far from failing it on flavour or strength.

The Lesson: it's agreed that the chance to escape the cubicle-clad corporate collective adds almost a full bean to the coffee experience. Newbies like Funk replicate the office environment with clean lines and central cooling. THGC is oasis-like in its open-air isolation. MMC doesn't often plug, but small business, big rents... If nothing else, take your Nanna there for lunch and coffee when she's in town for Morning Melodies. The home-fare food will be the closest thing you find to her cooking. P.S. they sell coronas!

The latte word: a solid and sunny three beans out of five. It was quick, it was quiet - none of this what'syourname on-the-run chain store crust. More of the latter tomorrow - we're back on North Terrace for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Prince Alfie and the 1868 Clontarf Assination Attempt

Day 27: Phat Coffee, 207 Hindley St

2010-01-20T10:00:00.000-08:00

On a warmly Wednesday, in breach of all commuter coffee proximity guidelines, Phat Coffee's shiny reputation magpies us Way Out West. At first, it seems like a manageable sidestep between train station and office. At second, an 'are we there yet' distress text from friend of MMC strongly suggests otherwise. Will it be the elusive 'worth it walk', or the wasted one? The Order: one regular skinny cappucino, and one medium flat white, takeaway. The Prices: $3.00 regular and $4.00 (ouch) medium.

Phat, adj: 1) Cool. 2) Pretty Hot and Tempting. As in "Dude! That shit is phat!'" What would we do without the Urban Dictionary? With a name so ghetto superstar we don't know what they are, Phat Coffee / Kitchen are pretty sure of themselves. Specialising 'in corporate catering Monday - Friday' since 2003, they're tap-tap-tapping into office snack supply. Ever modest, the Phat website also explains that the business "has established it’s self as one of the areas leading coffee shops". Not one of the area's leading punctuators, Phat Coffee inspires enthusiastic testimony from suitably artsy students who value coffee over commas.

Phat Coffee, phat decor? The Shopspace: slick front-facing counter reinvents a speckled marble look. The Greeting: as casual and immediate as the horizontal orange logo - it leaps from the black of walls and uniforms worn well. Funnily enough, far from Bean Bars, we're still in orangetown, and no closer to decoding its marketing magic. Sure, Phat use Rio Coffee, so orange cup conformity is convenient, but standing across from the UniSA school of marketing, we're sure there's more to the storyboard.

Straight up, the black / brown element of coffee's colour-scheming is a no-brainer. Apparently, market research guinea pigs, aka "consumers", are over associating brown with 'dirt' - as a colour it's now 'rich' and 'robust''. Black, synonymous with death and depression, is now consumerspeak for modernism and sophistication, and also the face of our short and long espresso friends. Orange and brown hail from the same section of the colour spectrum, but is that enough of a causal link? Dear Phat Coffee, Rio Coffee, Bean Bar, Viva Espresso, Energize, Fix Coffee and Taste: why orange?

Online, theories abound. Apparently, orange stimulates the appetite. It's the universal safety colour. It contrasts well with the sky, because blue and orange are complementary colour buddies. Also, since culturalia like A Clockwork Orange and Andy Warhol's screen prints, orange smacks of modernity, with designers labelling it 'the visual equivalent of an exclamation point'. Damn those invisible exclamation points Perhaps more relevantly, orange, like red, is a warm colour. By reminding us of things like fire and sun, orange evokes warmth. Mmmm, a warm cuppa...

The Lesson: dude! how phat is marketing? Maybe it wasn't colouralia that inspired our kilomarch, but word of mouth sure did. Phat referees all mention its frank, fantastic service. Casually greeted but left to our deciding devices, we felt suburbs from the crazy busy district. We wait minutes that could have been moments, but don't begrudge the barista chitchat. Even the bircher-loving blogger at Adelaide Cafe Review ('ACR') pays homage to great service before praising great muesli (and fair enough, at $5). Also well served, MMC goes all bad journo and buries the lead, the heartbreaking hometruth of 'the coffee being bitter and thin'. It's undeniable. One year since ACR, and Phat Coffee is still flat coffee.

The latte word: a disssahhhpointing 2.5 beans out of 5. Particular points off for the Pour: back at the office, cup insides are ringed with dry dishfoam-textured remnants. It's un-creamy, un-bodied, and un-worth the walk - unless of course, you go to UniSA. Tomorrow, it's home turf, and alfresco at that - join us again for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Don't believe me? Ask Adelaide Cafe Review

Day 26: Double Shot Espresso Bar, 16-20 Wyatt St

2010-01-19T10:00:00.000-08:00

After riding the coffee train to 25 different cafes, MMC starts to crave consistency. We've been to good cafes and bad cafes, but our cafe eludes us. Hearing that Double Shot Espresso on Wyatt make coffee 'as you like it', the whiff of a personalised experience has us noses to ground. Screeching in after Tour Down Under traffic, MMC finds second and third opinions waiting. The Order: one small and two regular skim lattes, takeaway. The Price: small at a reasonable $3.00, and regulars at $3.80.

Double Shot's reputation for regulars (customers, not size) is immediately corroborated by friend/s of MMC. Apparently the entire contemporaneous clientèle had names and orders recited by Ms Barista. We award props for prediction. Excepting the time MMC was confused with a large chai drinker, it saves time to be remembered. Some regular-regulars have been allowed to write in texta on the white walls - for example 'best weak cappuccino ever' and 'great coffee, great listner [sic]'. Best weak...? What fresh hell is this? We're reassured that the coffee strengths will be tailored to our needs.

As the penny drops on Double Shot, we've an exuberant greeting from the solo staff member. The Service: instantly old-friends friendly. The Shopspace: what shopspace? It's a caffeinated shoebox South of the Wyatt St parking station, squished in next to a Karl Chehade. Without any name signage, word-of-mouth labelling is gospel. We've an empty floor box and a messy coffee station in front of a corrugated iron wall and a vintage coffee pin-up. Clean and tidy are a low fridge of takeaway salads, and a tray of homemade muffins. It's almost inner city New Yorkian, sans bagels.

Soaking up the NYC vibe, we feel lucky to be ordering espresso instead of drip-through American-style. We're super dooper lucky to be requesting strong, weak or normal, and are even pressed to specify milk tempered drinkable or hot. MMC orders drinkable and strongish, and gets tongue-burn and over-run bitterness. Friend of MMC wants (to be) hot and strong, and gets tongue-burn and OK strength. Yeouch all round - a third toasted tongue testifies that hot hot heat is Ms B's definition of 'drinkable'. The temperature issue is alone forgiveable; it's the contrast between request and result that truly burns.

Tongue pains make for grumpy, snooping bloggers. Query: if de coffee is so-so, why and for how long has this establishment been so established? Miracle satellite imagery reveals a front-window logo, and an entirely different interior architecture. But how often does Google Earth change its images? A: They're continuously updated area-by-area at least every 3-5 years. They're usually less than 3 years old, and it seems there's been movement at the station.

The lesson: at some recent time, whoever owned Double Shot shot through, leaving its customers to the bubbly barista inside. She sure is bubbly. We hear all about $5 salad lunches (cheap), and with encouragement, a homely muffin waddles its way into MMC's possession. The Pour: unfortunately for all, the milk is also bubbly. MMC's "latte" was topped only with a thin, bitter, dirty patina. Entirely lacking milk froth, the biting, acidic misconception of 'strength' is all the more obvious. Wonderful service, woeful coffee.

The latte word: a coulda shoulda woulda-bean 2.5 out of 5. Friends of MMC are less scathing, but maybe also less scalded. Better luck next time? Tomorrow, we fly west for My Morning Coffee.

Day 25: Nano Ready 2 Go, 23 Ebenezer Place

2010-01-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

On the hamster wheel of full-time work, morning motivation is something of an oxymoron. Out of necessity, the morning caffeine hit has to be On The Way. Off the public transport track, we'd decided Rundle street was more playspace than workplace, but all work and no play makes MMC a dull blog. Voting with the vox populi, we step across to Nano Ready to Go on Ebenezer Place. The Order: a small skinny flat white, have here, and a medium latte, takeaway. The prices: $3.30 and $3.80.

Ebenezer Place, for the uninitiated, is the one-way horseshoe shape that nuzzles Rundle street to the South. Ebenezer Place in Wick, Scotland holds the Guinness Book of Records title for the world's shortest street (2.06 m). Ebenezer Place in Adelaide, Australia is a front-runner for the SA title for the most cool per city square metre. New to the 'neez, Nano rubs shoulders with Adelaide's favourite wine shop, beer cafe and vintage clothing vendors.

Re: Nano, The Advertiser describes its 'little Italian piazza vibe', but on a quiet Monday morning, we're close to vibe neutral. The Shopspace: inside, we're doing that sparse, industrial thang. MC hearts the friendly, enormous, front-counter feeling - it's unAdelaide in its bigness and buzz. Approaching front-on, scanning maybe-marble tables left and right, the now grandeur almost intimidates. Defying the morning chill, MMC is drawn to one of many vacant tables outside - the army of custom-made umbrellas shine a too-cool-for-school yellow.

The latest brainchild of the restaurant-ready Capoccia family, Nano Ready to Go is little sister to a since-passed Hutt street cafe-in-the-wall. Probably not yet two years old, the new sibling has the privilege of the family's seven years at Nano (the first) and almost 20 at the institutional Amalfi. On our visit, we've warm service from the family's second generation. The Greeting: perky, personalised. MMC orders for outside, while friend of MMC hovers for the token takeaway, only to be assured his coffee will be delivered.

Nano - a la nanotechnology - means super-small. We're not small on style, and MMC waits to size up substance. A shiny sheeny flat white is delivered semi-promptly, mouth-warming even to look at. The Pour: classy crema in concentric circles. It's classic catches - perfect temperature, strong and solid on flavour. Body, mouthfeel, aroma - an atmospheric ahhh of an experience. Friend of MMC clutches well-presented takeaway - homemadeish cups ringed with gold-print nano paper.

The lesson: 'Ready 2 Go'? Nano's newbie is true its naffishly numbered name. Perhaps for the full experience, a weekend breakfast would be the go, but the coffee alone? Well priced, well presented and well worth the walk.

The latte word: a family-friendly four beans out of five. Next, with ten cups to go, we choose our own adventures for My Morning Coffee.

Link: The Advertiser on the full foodie experience

Day 24: Big Table, Adelaide Central Market and Zuma Caffe, 56 Gouger St

2010-01-15T22:00:00.000-08:00

Aside from Friday morning sleep-ins, Friday morning breakfasts are the ultimate luxury. Foregoing the former to indulge in the latter, MMC meets an acquaintance at Adelaide Central Market's Big Table. The big plan at Big Table was to resist coffee, eat breakfast, and meet friend of MMC at Zuma's for blog fodder. What went wrong? Picture perfect pouring, that's what. The (unintended) Order: one skinny cappuccino and one flat white, have here. The Prices: $3.30.

Big Table, to MMC eternally 'the cow-print stool place', is a.m. aflutter. Unnoticed, we slide easily into bench seats, so coveted during busy spells. The Shopspace: effectively a raised corrugated iron shed, customers perch teppanyaki-style to ogle coffee and food prep. The Service: in the lunch-making hour, only the turkish bread is talking. The Greeting: once from an owner-type who chats offside to friends/favourites. Twice from busy barista brings our bevvies, and thrice from busy baguetter who finally breaks from the pack to collect our breakfast order.

First comes coffee. MMC stares barista-ward as much as politeness and proximity allow. Finally, a unique pouring style! Almost a figure-eight/fishtail hand motion. Cappuccino comes heavy chocked - some pre-pour, some post. MMC's breakfast buddy, famous for eating the 'froth' first, dips her spoon, and freezes. With only a film of silken milk, this cappuccino's a genuine faux pour. MMC's cup is a wiggly wonder, and the same froth film is a (good) strike in the flat-white ball game. Predictably, breakfast buddy's coffee is weak - it has a quarter more unfrothed milk than a cappuccino needs. They're sizey teacups - even flat white is on the strength down-low. Temperature-wise, we're in deliciously drinkable territory.

Next comes coffee. After breakfast - buttery mushrooms on high-GI white toast, if you were wondering - MMC is eager to strengthen workday resolve with the decadent Second Cup. Zuma's was the plan, stan, and for some reason - too early for smokers? - an outdoor table is easily procured. We sit down, stand up, turn around and plod inside to order. The Greeting: friendly enough, from owner-type who immediately demands details. We're given change and a funky wrought iron table number with Zuma's name on it.

Speaking of nomenclature, Zuma's Caffe sure ain't owned by Mr Zuma. As far as MMC can tell, in its 15ish years of operation, it has never been. The top 5 potential namesakes? 1. Zuma, clan name from Zulu tribe of Africa. 2. Zuma, from the Arabic zulema, meaning 'peace' and 'full of life'. 3. Zuma, Japanese for 'running horse'. 4. Zuma, name of Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale's second child, itself after Zuma Beach in Malibu. 5. Zuma, name of market in capital city of Madagascar, apparently the largest market in the world. Bingo! MMC likes #5 - to market, to market! Meet me in Madagascar.

Zuma's tables start to fill with basket-pushing marketeers. Inside and through into the market, they're buzzy busy. Back in our lucky spot, we're easy to forget, but the wait ain't long. The Service: somehow, sulky. Our waitress does Act I: 'Which of youse is having wot?' She unceremoniously dumps beverages accordingly. Act II: 'You waitin' on anything else?' closes with a violent seizure of the table number, already positioned for the blog photo. It's not just our blog-bred service-sensitivity - the lady got 'tude.

Ever ready to forgive and forget, friend of MMC dips eagerly into mug o' flat white. He's OK with it, but sans fireworks. MMC agrees, sipping wimpy latte. A sugar tab reveals Zuma use Victorian 'Veneziano Coffee', boutique blenders who described their espresso as 'balanced and versatile'. Unfortunately, we're having difficulty sniffing a 'sweet-toned aroma with fruitand chocolate complications', or mouthfeeling a tight, 'syrupy' smoothness. It's an OK cup, but if Veneziano's coffee flavours for-real harmonise with 'enzymatic citrus notes', then the current Zuma's setup is not quite doing it justice.

The Lesson: the coffee ante ups when you step onto Gouger, and so do customer expectations. Was it a bad day, or are Zuma's Caffe and Big Table breakfast blitzers only?

The latte word: for the beauties at Big Table: 3.5 beans out of 5.

For the zest-less at Zuma's, 3 beans out of 5. Stay with us - we pull out the big beans in the next week of My Morning Coffee.

Day 23: Rigoni's Bistro, 27 Leigh St

2010-01-14T10:00:00.000-08:00

If Leigh Street is little Europe, Rigoni's Bistro is little Italy. Down the lane, the Corner Bistrot has le petit francais covered, and freshman Casablabla is doing the Spanish-fusion thang nighttimes. Early Thursday, MMC trips across town to test whether Rigoni's coffee credentials out-rep their ripper breakfasts. The Order: two takeaway lattes, skim. The Price: $3.20 per cup.

The tiled toothpick between Hindley and Currie, there's something otherwordly about Leigh Street. It turns out the unique space has unique history to match. In 1839, wealthy philanthro William Leigh donated the entire street and surrounding land to the Anglican Church, as you do. Incidentally, the generous chap was also a heavy donor of the 'Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts' - missionaryish folks overseeing the transplanting of Anglicanism into colonial soil, and then proceeding 'in the best Methods towards the Conversion of the Natives'. Used for God-knows-what, Leigh Street and adjacent buildings remained in church ownership for 150 years.

The nouveau-heritage, pedestrian-sensitive space we see now is as recent as a 1997 purchase. The new owner's reno plans aimed to maximise the street's existing character and minimise the impact of car traffic. It's curious to consider that when the switcheroo took place just over 10 years ago, Rigoni's had been operational for 16. Was their initial landlord an Anglican archbishop? Or did the first Rigoni's roots grow elsewhere? The doormat mosaic detail is certainly eras newer than brass wall plaques proffering 'traditional' menu options. A prize to the googleite slash historian who can nugget that out of netspace.

Rigoni's reeks of long-time ownership. Friend of MMC counts tiles in the cosmopolitan sunshine before we steal inside for sustenance.The Greeting: front and centre and first thing- signor has a real maître d' manner. It's heartbreaking to say we're only up for takeaway, but he takes it in stride. Is this job security speaking? Never so in hospitality, it seems. The interweb really is this blogger's Bible - MMC learns that as little as three years ago Rigoni's was in 2006 liquidation - the second cafe this week.

These first-time restaurateurs must be pretty proud. Since resuscitating Rigoni's in late 2006, they introduced the now-famous breakfasts, and steered the sunken ship to 08/09 Restaurant and Catering Association (RCA) Awards wins for Best Informal Dining. Awards aside, Restaurateur #1 tells the RCA online that his proudest achievement has been 'watching [his] daughter teach staff to make a coffee, she’s five'. Ouch! Mister barista, what do you say?

The (quintessential) barista before us has clearly been taught well.One-part arrogance and two-parts charm, a European grin lets him getaway with an über-sarcastic'have a great day, 'cause I know you will!' It doesn't hurt that thebrew is presented to us pronto. The Presentation: MMC's favenatural-coloured cups, lidded. The Pour: pristine, even after lidextraction. Caramel waves lap the shore... Pleasure mmms. It's RioCoffee #2 this week, but it's a new experience for MMC - a differentblend? Either way, it's flavour sweet, full-bodied - mouthfeel smooth,tongue-warming.

Online ouch #2 is from Restaurateur #2 - and isn't restaurateur an amazing word? There really is no 'n'! - when asked about the worst part of being a restaurateur, he answers
'having to listen to whinging & whining customers who have no idea what they are talking about'. Does this include coffee bloggers? Luckily for him, excellent hospitality is the cure of most whinging.

The Lesson: it feels like both generations of Rigonians have preserved an inkling of Italiano(?) arrogance. They wear it well - with white tablecloths and well-filled water glasses. It's the friendly kind - the kind that will happily serve takeaway to collars of all colours, and with gusto.

The latte word: 4 to 4.5 beans out of five. We want to return the next day to be the barflies on Rigoni's perfectly placed bar stools. Alas, the MMC express is leaving the station - the last stop for the week involves piggies at a market for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Australian Institute of Architects re: Leigh St

Day 22: Funk Coffee + Food, 45 Grenfell St & Saldechin, 21 King William St

2010-01-13T10:00:00.000-08:00

It's a sad day when work gets in the way of blogging. MMC and friend had agreed to meet at King William Street's Saldechin, but MMC's eleventh hour deadline left friend of MMC in the lurch. MMC needed somewhere quick, somewhere close to the office, somewhere to dash in-and-out-of without the superiors noticing. With Pirie all blogged out, it was coffee franchises to the rescue. Enter Funk Coffee, newbie on Grenfell. The Order: one lonely latte, hit and run. The price: $3.20.

Funk Coffee + Food are so well set up it's almost scary. A stone's throw from legal eagledom at 'the black stump', the newest Funk sibling is the essence of clean, white-collar marketing. A spoonful of google proves this is no accident - they're online as clients of marketing wizards dcstrategy. Firing at 'corporate offices' in 'concentrated business districts', Funk marketing and Funk stores are shiny, hassle-free, and completely complementary to corporate attire.

Meanwhile, across town, friend of MMC is in a venue somewhat less streamlined. Blog contenders for novelty value alone, Saldechin's elephantine space claims to straddle tearoom, restaurant and martini bar, not to mention yum cha, fusion tapas, cellar door wine, furniture showroomery and online tea sales. Even the name boggles - a conjunction of salon de chinois - French, but after a 16th century Chinese style gathering of intellectuals. Initially enchanted, friend of MMC texts 'shame to get takeaway, quite the have-here vibes'.

Back in the clutches of clean, aggressive marketing, MMC is having one of those rare 'customer service experiences'. The Shopspace: Funk's a little buried at the base of the building, but the bench vibe outdoors makes the strip hot lunchtime property. The store is wide, but not prohibitively deep - eye contact is immediate on entry. The Greeting: jovial, professional. MMC plays nice and earns a simple grey Funk stampcard (eleventh free). The entire transaction is cucumber cool. As MMC blends into the cloud of waiting corporates, the owner smiles at the obvious wisdom of his franchising choice. Like a deer with a target-marked forehead, MMC is, to borrow Fitzgerald, "both enchanted and repelled" by the marketing headlights.

The Lesson: perhaps today's marketing moral is akin to the K.I.S.S. principle. Keep it simple, Saldechin. At one-trick-pony Funk, everything runs smoothly. The Service: smooth. The Pour: smooth. The Flavour: smooth. The Blend: 'from the best Arabica beans... creamy and smooth'. It's 'drink meet eat' like they promised - entirely simple. Juggling a fusion styles and substances, show ponies Saldechin dropped the ball on coffee. Friend of MMC will never forget his five dollar foray, and word-of-mouth marketing is out to play...

The latte word: for Funk Coffee - definitely above average at 3.5 beans out of five. At Saldechin, we're scraping the barrel - one half, that's 0.5, beans out of 5. To make it up to friend of MMC, our next leap is to a Leigh Street legend for My Morning Coffee.

Link: dcstrategy case study - Funk

Day 21: The Perfect Cup, 77 Grenfell St

2010-01-12T10:00:00.000-08:00

By law of averages, somewhere on Grenfell must make a killer coffee. In ramshackle red, The Perfect Cup, by name, can talk the talk. Hushed in peak-hour, we've the choice of leather-look seating. We set up near the beans-for-sale, and wait for the walk. The Order: One large latte, one small flat white, and one ristretto have here. The Price: small for a finicky $3.15, ristretto at $3.00.

For starters, MMC's side-dish ristretto order meets barista incredulity. As it turns out, the sweet shorty is necessary backup. The Greeting: unlively. No outside-the-square offers of freebie-at-eight punchcards. The Service: unlively. The Perfect Cup family has seen better days, MMC thinks. The main focus of their now-daggy online sales, the Market Plaza stronghold seems to buzz, but 2006 saw Grenfell change hands and Hyde Park in liquidation. Memories of corporate law suggest that ain't so perfect a record.

Known for selling tea and coffee, MMC hunts fruitlessly for info on what we'll actually be drinking. Online, it's clearer: 'The Perfect Cup specialises in single-origin 'grands crus' coffees' of AA Grade. Their own blend? Not so much. As we discover in person, The Perfect Cup uses the similarly SA-based Altura Coffee. Aha! Altura are also 'Specialists in single-origin grands crus coffees' of AA Grade. A perfect match. Now, what do all these fancy words mean?

First, it seemeth that single-origin coffee beans cometh from just one country. Is this coffee better than a blend - a mixed-bag of countries and plantations? Au contraire, or at least not always. Similar to asking wine drinkers if riesling is 'better' than semillon sauvignon blanc, you'll get some from column A and some column B. Both coffee and wine are subjective drinks. Sometimes roasters, like winemakers, mix beans to create unique palate sensations. One view is that over single origin, a blend of beans is more likely to bring all of taste, body, mouthfeel, aftertaste and aroma. For beginner drinkers like MMC, this makes for a more exciting drink.

Second, Grands crus is a newly borrowed french wine term - grand is roughly 'great', and crus refers to 'growth places' and their produce. AA Grade is reputedly the best of the best. The Perfect Cup tell us their coffee comes from a pretty sweet spot, but we're not sure where. Altura - Spanish for 'height' - source green beans from high up places, so they're all grown between 4,000 and 6,000 feet. These are 'the world's premium coffee producing regions', apparently. How high falutin'. We just want good coffee...

The Lesson: you can judge a coffee by its label, but it's easier to taste until you find your flavour fave. Jargon aside, did The Perfect Cup match its moniker? Perhaps it was the new 'single origin' experience, but MMC and friend found the flavour unspecial. None too bodied, wan and wooded, the flat white went unfinished. The Pour: the latte had leaf art, but the flat white was pedestrian and milky.

The latte word: For an unfinished cup? 2.5 beans out of 5. Pedigree, perhaps. Perfection, no. Tomorrow is chain store day, and there's a new kid on the block serving My Morning Coffee.

Link: Barista Basics on 'Single Origin Coffees'

Day 20: Glow Cafe, 98 Gawler Place

2010-01-11T10:00:00.000-08:00

Melbourne's a litany of laneways. Canberra's one big roundabout. Sydney has harbour drama, and Brisbane's a one way street. Adelaide has a rep for straight streets and no-nonsense navigability. How, on a melting Monday, did friend of MMC lose the way to Wyatt? Street-corner stranded and lateish for work, we're clutching at stirring straws. A standing street sign promises Cafe Espresso Cucina, and Gawler Place's Glow is our beacon. The Order: two takeaway lattes with extra shots. The Price: tres reasonable at $3.50 - single shots at $3.00 flat.

A quick recovery from the directions disjunction, MMC and friend sync orders for the first time. The Glow prices are pleasers, but will MMC regret a double-shot debut? The Shopspace: worryingly empty for a 7am-3pm cafe, we've the choice of unremarkable wooden chairs. There's something sloppy about having to slow-weave our way to a buried service station. The Greeting: a sour stone-wall from a waitress we hope to heaven is not making our coffees.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your coffee grow? In berries, on trees, in Central America, it's hand-roasted in Stepney by Rio. MMC is medium chuffed to have stumbled on Rio Coffee. Synonymous with Hutt's Chianti and King Will's Melting Pot, it's on the down-low that Rio are also the makers of Cibo's special blend. They source smart coffee for smart cafes, and even Australian-grown coffee for the environmentally deluded. MMC is aglow with expectation.

Pushing signora aside, the prize barista bursts into the ring, nostrils flaring. He's young, but it seems this bull took his mother's milk with espresso. The red flag's waved, and he charges towards us, hand-delivering two lidded takeaways. Inside the orange cups? Colourful, strong coffee. The Pour: smooth milk, with concentric-circle crema. The Strength: a big mm-hmm from friend of MMC. MMC struggles to judge at twice-strength - it's a mouthful of rich, bouncy yum.

The Lesson: sometimes good things happens to bad cafes. From our few weeks' observation, Glow aren't serving a lot of meals. The stragglers in and out for takeaway coffee, however, are onto something. For coffee alone, a glowing review from us.

The latte word: an almost-more 3.5 beans out of 5... Half down for service/space weirdness. Tomorrow, we're promised perfection - join us again for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Coffee growing in Australia

Day 19: Buskers Cafe, Rundle Mall

2010-01-08T10:00:00.000-08:00

<Coffee al fresco - the height of luxury? With time for breakfast, MMC and two friends waltz into Buskers Cafe, the mall's answer to outdoor dining. Sandwiched between King William St, Haigh's and Darrell Lea, Buskers has a sweet location. A cafe that you don't even have to walk into; the crazy convenience compensates for loss of shopper shuffle-space. The Order: two skinny lattes and one flat white, have here. The Price: $3.20 p/p, and no separate accounts.

'Al fresco' is agreeably Italian for 'in the fresh air'. Certainly as first time visitors, it's an electric feeling to burst from intersection bustle into cafe-pen serenity. Is it just MMC, or have diagonal crossings made the day-to-day pedestrian experience that little bit more frantic? It's none too frantic in Buskers, where a dearth of fellow patrons earns us the full choice of clean, unoriginal furniture. The Service: with the full attention of an unoriginal waitress, pleasant.

Wistful with a white sheet of milkfoam, friend of MMC calls in the violins. The Pour: at one third foam, latte is loamy. Artistically, nothin' whatsoever going on there. One glance at buzzing Beehive Corner reminds MMC why decoration matters. Now a chock-a-block slice of gothic revival-ism, in 1896 the Beehive building screened Adelaide's first moving pictures. In 1915, Mr Haigh's tasty trade in chocolate and sweetmeats began. Somewhere in the perhaps-70s, buskers outside starting pan flute-ing in the mall. In the 90/00s, the busking space was filled with a cafe ironically named in their honour.

A mall without buskers - like a cafe without coffee? Even without the celebrity of busker-bred John Butler (WA), Adelaide has some gems. There's psychadelic central market guy, slumped xylophone man, or Mr Smooth in the shocking suits. There's the painted-statue man, and the kid who's halfway through Kumon violin school - let's hope he can scrape pennies for proper lessons. Who did we miss?

Can just anyone busk? It's similar to the question 'Can just anyone make coffee?' The Answer to both: in Adelaide, not so much. The brews we're brought are browned with overrun crema - a burnt, bitter flavour that mentor of MMC calls strong and MMC calls astringent. Surprisingly, buskers have to declare they're 'fit and proper persons' without 'relevant criminal records'. All MMC requires is a fit and proper barista, with relevant coffee training.

The Lesson: like baristas, buskers have to comply with certain rules. Buskers must not play bagpipes. Buskers must not perform within 2 metres of the central line of the mall. Buskers cannot perform outside prominent buildings such as the Town Hall, or in privately owned areas like the Central Market. Buskers must pay for permits, but at $2.60 per day or $23.00 a month, it's cheaper than a coffee habit. Baristas, on the other hand, must not forget yesterday's golden rule - well-ground coffee + a thirty second extraction = music to MMC ears.

The latte word: a no-excuses 2.5 beans out of 5. Marching on, we continue the search for the perfect cup of My Morning Coffee.

Day 18: Sylvia's Cafe, Hindmarsh Square

2010-01-07T10:00:00.000-08:00

Sylvia's Cafe, Hindmarsh Square. Dangerously close to the Citi Centre (McDonalds) arcade, it's a homey, hot-dogging hideaway. There are plastic tablecloths. There are plastic-looking donuts in a display case. There is a ridiculous amount of Lavazza signage, and somehow, Lavazza's apparent faith gives MMC faith. The Order: one small skinny latte, have here, and one medium latte, takeaway. The Prices: a rounded $3.00 for small, $3.50 for medium, and you guessed it, large'd be $4.00.

The poster-cafe for all things old-school, trad hospitality and a wi-fi hotspot are a deliciously incongruous combination. Thanks to easy-peasy Internode, baby boomer cafe owners are putting wi-fi in the e-trolley right after facebook profiles. Wi-fi, thankfully, chafes less with their gen-Y offspring. After the order, MMC settles into a clanky al fresco chair for some opportunistic podcasting.

Pop quiz. Apart from hearty restaurants with blue-and-white-decor, what is the Greek nation internationally renowned for? Correct, Athens, Greece was the birthplace of the Olympics. For bonus points, Athens was also the birthplace of the 'tragedy'. The Greeks developed the suffering-based art form that has paradoxically, perversely entertained for 2500 years. A true Greek tragedy is simple. The protagonist will suffer a rapid and detrimental change of fortune. The suffering will largely be caused by his/her own flaw or error of judgment. Readers or viewers will be moved to fear and pity, and then skip away having experienced catharsis, or emotional cleansing.

How did tragedy touch the MMC story this week? The curtain opens on the placing of an order with shy young barista of distant Mediterranean descent. In Act l, we see a snap-happy MMC gloating over an attractive latte. 'The Pour', MMC soliloquizes, 'it's a leaf!' So many Lavazza photo competitions to enter, and ecstatic texts to send. Mid Act II, MMC dips into the coffee with a tentative spoon. The sips are slow, and repetitive. The tastebuds will not respond. What foul play is this? A tastebud trismus? It's a flavour-free freak!

Audience, where did did MMC go wrong? In the quest for coffee art grail, have we lost sight of what coffee truly art? The very night before, we'd uncovered the 'golden rule' of extraction. When Friend of MMC lines up for takeaway, out comes the stopwatch. There should be 30 seconds between the barista's button press and your fully extracted espresso shot. Alas, there's thirty seconds there, but thirty seconds between the button push and the complete delivery of a poured latte. Friend of MMC is furious - so cost-effective, so shot-defective. This is supposed to be Lavazza - love-AHTS-ah - Italian, full-bodied. Instead, we're unwrapping an empty present. No flavour, no crema. Weak is the word.

The Lesson: Lavazza umbrellas do not good coffee make. You cannot build a city on leaf art alone. By all reports, this is no fluke - the milky bar kid regularly pours with a sure hand. Kid's got talent, but no training. How tragic.

The latte word: no body, no beans - our hands are tied at 2 out of 5. Next, the Mall calls - meet us in the middle for My Morning Coffee.

Day 17: Caffe Amore, 162-170 Pulteney St

2010-01-06T10:00:00.000-08:00

Is this Adelaide's biggest cafe? It's almost eerie to perch in an empty Caffe Amore early Wednesday. Patrons or no patrons, the coffee machine/s must go on. The Order: an earlybird large cappuccino for friend of MMC, and a later-comer's small flat white for MMC. The Price: at $3.20 for a small, we're approaching boutique pricing.

With a 300+ liquor licence, Amore is a powerhouse on Pulteney (or Pulteny, according to its website). They're impressively equipped for coffee, with multiple machines glinting behind slipper-red benchtops. The Shopspace: Radelaide.net describes 'warm red tones', but sans morning customer glory, the place shows its truly generic colours. Red, white and black, we know the drill. Online, they distinguish themselves with a corporate-geared order form - just "Pre Fax You [sic] Coffee Order and Receive 10% Discount'. That's initiative.

Friend of MMC has already settled windowside and waded halfway into a mug of 'thin, grey' liquid. MMC approaches the counter and places an order with a pair of skinny leg jeans. The kid must be new, because he thinks-out-loud a la 'how rad is portable POS'. The Greeting: skinnylegs is genial, and the older barista weighs in with a mildly sexist comment. Content aside, such small talk is as endangered as pandas, and less government funded. If we're not careful, hospitable staff will soon be extinct from hospitality. A good barista should be subtly milking you for talking points - a chit-chat a day keeps bankruptcy away.

In a cacophonous age of Cibo beepers, it seems luxurious to have a beverage brought tablewards. The Service: it's quick, but the third lackey staffer is lacking in aforementioned personality. What's in the plain white cup? Vittoria Coffee - doing that 'true blue Italian family business' thang in Oz since 1958. It's a strange brand - the type you recognise vacuum-packed in the supermarket aisles, and see in the background at fine dining restaurants. Either way, Vittoria are proud to be a rich, traditional blend of 100% Arabica, sourced from around the place and served anyplace.

Does the moon hit my eye like a big pizza pie, that's Amore? Not exactly. Flavour: an already rich coffee perhaps overdrawn, it's somehow both thin and bitter. And why are there grounds at the bottom of our cups? Baristacquaintances explain that this 'sometimes just happens', but unlike the Turkish fortune-reading grounds, it doesn't add to the experience. We leave wishing we'd wanted to stay...

The Lesson: if you want to turn one-hit wonders into frequent sippers, start with small talk. Judging by elevator conversations this week, humans will never tire of talking to two topics: the weather, and themselves. Hear me, baristas: more than the pour, it's rapport that will keep 'em flowing.

The latte word: From MMC, 3 beans out of 5. Friend of MMC cracks the strength whip, 2.5. MMC just wants a-more - we're thirsty for a sophisticated pour. Will we find it tomorrow across Hindmarsh Square? The quest continues for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Get street press without the inky fingers at http://radelaide.net

Day 16: Energize Cafe, 53 Central Market Plaza

2010-01-05T10:00:00.000-08:00

On the twelfth day ofChristmas, true love sent to MMC, twelve closed cafes and a juice bar thatmakes good coffee. On January 5th, twelve whole days after Christmas Day, the city’shospitality honeymoon continues. With Hindmarsh Square still snoring, we duckedbetween the Hilton and the Courts building into Market Plaza, joining a decentqueue at cafe island ‘Energize’. The Order: one small cappuccino and one mediumlatte, take away. The Price: small for a cheapish $3.00, medium at $4.00.

With three staffcrammed into their bamboo-framed space, Energize offer ‘coffee, juice andsnacks’ in a family-business kinda way. The Shopfront: orange logo, orangechairs, orange coffee machine, and orange t-shirt print leap out of earthygreen. A bold ‘Coffee Orders Here’ avoids the potential awkwardness of the fouravailable counters. We obediently approach the busy, pregnant blonde whoemanates authority re caffeinated beverages. The Greeting: a no-fuss ‘what canI get you?’ and a no-muss pronto start. She confidently collects new orderswhile steaming our milk, and leaves money talk until the end.

Loyalty cards flashfrom the next wallets in line, and MMC’s hopes rise. Who are these Energizers?And why do they favour the American –ize spelling over the Australian –ise?They’ve no net presence, so MMC settles for a dedicated Wiki on the divergenceof American and British spellings. Different dictionaries by different men werefavoured in each nation – who knew? Historically unstandardised, Britishspellings now follow Samuel ‘Dr’ Johnson’s 1755 Dictionary of the EnglishLanguage. The Americans owe their differences to Noah Webster’s nationalistic1828 effort to emancipate American English from ‘the clamour of pedantry’(adherence to rules, details).

Shock, horror! Most‘ize’ suffixes are not actually Yankeeisms – they’re interchangeable in Britishusage, though –ise is preferred 3:1 here in Oz. Pedantry aside, there’s noreason not to bounce into Energize to get energised/energized. ThePresentation: the eco-friendly colour scheme continues into neutral-brown cups,served lidded. The Service: faultlessly quick. The Pour: a heavy-chockedcappuccino for MMC, but the one maid a’milking has skills – it’s like silk. Nostrength complaints from friend of MMC. Flavour: by process of deduction, it’sa smooth blend – MMC is disappointed that the chocolate flavour overpowers, butthe aftertaste is warm and long.

The lesson: onlyscholars of Greek/Latin/French word etymology can really pull off spellingsnobbery. And very respectable coffee is available Courtside of the markets, evenduring the twelve days of Christmas.

Thelatte word: from MMC, 4 beans out of 5. Fromfriend of MMC, 3.5. Arguably as good as Short Black Espresso’s offering, with afar superior service experience. On Wednesday, we pull into a Pulteney St powerhousefor My Morning Coffee – will their multiple machines deliver quality orquantity?

Day 15: Stax, 88 Flinders St

2010-01-04T10:00:00.000-08:00

It’s the first Monday in 2010, and we're back in the game. For the first time in 15 blogs, friend and MMC arrive simultaneously at Destination Coffee. For the first time in 15 blogs, Destination Coffee is clam-shut. We skip back into the CBD, and gasp! All around, hospitality is on holidays. We need somewhere standard, somewhere steady - somewhere like Stax. The Order: one medium flat white for friend of MMC, and MMC accidentally goes medium on skinny latte. The Price: $4.00 ($3.20 for regular).

Stax is a strictly CBD phenomenon. Two on Flinders and one on Waymouth, their byline is 'subs and coffee'. A cibotastic colour scheme and a suss 'sub' concept, Stax could well be the essence of unoriginality. Is and the operative word, though? Mad scientists can get combination patents for inventions uniting existing components in a novel way. Have Stax bionically fused the six-inch sandwich stop and the red/white coffee call? With a teaspoon of ‘useful’ and a pinch of ‘inventive’, they could have a patentable business concept to their name. Patents are trickysticks, though. The simpler alternative was made famous by none other than Subway sandwiches – it's our old friend, the franchise.

Only one cafe from each coffee franchise. Only one coffee franchise per week. These are the MMC rules. The less-discerning Adeladies and gents seem to love the coffee franchises. Are we the penny-pinching state, lured like stingy moths to low-budget lanterns? It’s famously reported that Sydneysiders wear sexy, Melbournites wear style, and Adelaideans wear sale. Unlike at soul-sucking Harbourtown, however, the cup size ain’t actually cheaper in your average coffee chain. Nor will you necessarily see price consistency between branches – MMC paid $4.00 for a cup listed $3.80 at Stax online. Forget those customer loyalty sip 'n' saves - so often lost, and so seldom filled.

Buying coffee is touch and go, hit and miss, and a stab in the dark. A good cup is a needle in a haystack, and a bad cup is money down the drain. Clichés aside, it’s quite possible that franchise branding lends predictability to an otherwise unpredictable experience. What do we get at Stax? The Shopspace: generic, clean. The Patrons: young suits, with familiar faces. The Greeting: with a smile, and a stamped card. The Service: not speedy, not super-slow. The Presentation: lidded for the road. MMC buys a friand. It begins to feel like routine. Easy pleasey.

After a Stax sip, friend of MMC quips, 'it tastes like it would be consistent'. We've struck franchising middle ground - above average in price, and dead average in quality. The Pour: zero effort, not a swirl in sight. The Flavour: unbitter, a little sweet, and happy to wash down a friand. Nothing to write home about.

The Lesson: according to the vox pops, franchise = familiar, and chain = consistent. But why settle for consistently average? Consistently excellent could be just around the corner at no extra cost.

The latte word: a genial 3 beans out of 5. Keep drinking, and join us wherever is open tomorrow for My Morning Coffee.

Day 14: Lucia's, Adelaide Central Market

2009-12-24T10:00:00.000-08:00

That little town of Bethlehem, how still we saw it lie! The first Christmas Eve was a silent night, a holy night. On a Christmas Eve morning at the Adelaide Central Market, nothing is calm, and everyone's bright. It's a carol of Christmas chaos, and MMC can't stay away. The Destination: Lucia's. The Order: one latte and one flat white. The Prices: $3.20 each way.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Where were they all? At the Central Market, silly. What was MMC thinking? Perhaps that a carpark would miraculously open up on Gouger street, and that the older gentlemen who vacated it would stop to pass on a still-valid parking ticket. God bless ye, merry gentleman! One of the coveted Lucia's tables gleams vacancy. Joy to the world!

Lucia's, the cafe equivalent of your extended family. Warm and familiar, it's been around for generations. The Shopspace: a splash of tomato red, it's crowded, sprawling, loud and bright. Inside, chairs, customers, crostoli and Lucia's own product range cheerily elbow one another. Orders bounce in and out the door with flaming Italian hospitality. Outside, settling into black furniture on the uneven market floor, you feel like you could easily be forgotten. But even on this the merriest of days, our orders arrive without confusion and within eight minutes.

Serving Italian cuisine to Australians since 1957, the family of Lucia Rosella have built a stronghold of spaghetti and home-made sauces. Hark! Even the New York Times sings, calling Lucia's "one of the most beloved stop-off points in the market". Hearing only tales of pizzas made orgasmic with unofficial bolognaise sauce topping (ask nicely), MMC believed Lucia's coffee to be a sideshow only. Their snappy website explains, however, that 'Home–style Italian cooking at its best and fantastic coffee is the base of Lucia’s.'

Über-patient in a disorderly queue, MMC has time to survey the scene. Held hostage between coffee machine and counter, our older female barista defies cafe stereotype. Wielding a spoon, and constructing cappuccinos with skyscrapers of dry foam, she also defies cafe trend. Not in the mood for mountain-climbing, MMC orders a latte. Alas! The Pour: Mrs Barista pitches wide with a froth-laden latte. Surely this is not the true Italian way. In rare Carrie Bradshaw form, MMC 'can't help but wonder': is 3D foam a valid stylistic choice, or a reason for a teasin'?

The Lesson: at Lucia's, not only the cooking is home-style. The coffee - hmmm, it's strong on substance, short on style. With a bump of the table, the foam wobbles like Saint Nick's belly, but underneath is a fine cup of Lucia's own blend. It has to be coffea robusta beans - it's the full-bodied, Italian way. Like red wine has 'legs', this coffee has the lingering mouthfeel. Friend of MMC is a big fan, and MMC has to admit that like its vendor, this coffee got character.

The latte word: A split bean decision! From Friend of MMC, 4 beans out of 5. From MMC, 3.5. After the Christmas/NY break, it's back to the corporate heartland for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Adelaide according to the NY Times

Day 13: Short Black Espresso, 87 Hindley St

2009-12-23T10:00:00.000-08:00

Poor ol' Hindley Street - the baby boomers give it a bad rap. By day, Hindles is just a sleepy hive of commuters, creative types and tourists. Short Black Espresso, Hindley's contempo cafe-in-a-shoebox, seems to straddle these disparate markets. Its street setting is usually swinging, but can it dance the takeaway tango? Voila l'Order: Small skinny cappuccino, and long black, take-away. The Price: an up-there $3.30 per cup.

The textbook eclectic interior. The fruit-tingles-fresh outdoor furniture. SBE can claim aesthetics cool. Unfortunately, at the 8.30am of our visit, SBE cannot claim temperature cool. Attracted to the funky/gritty outdoor vibes, MMC and friend are forced inward by a gang of worker bees swarming for breakfast. Normally, mismatched furniture and unhung paintings would appeal. On this warm Wednesday, the smell of un-airconditioned eggs scrambles our senses. Takeaway is a dead cert.

The Greeting: hmph. Dead in front of the not-quite counter, MMC has snapped half a dozen iPhotos and solved the target word (almost) before someone gruff proffers 'We'll be with you in minute'. This is the kind of response that acceptably precedes a long wait. If your customer's already been sweaty waiting for 5-10, this response is irritating. Let's just say that sans MMC mission, no aircon + no service = sayonara. The Service: when it returns from serving eggs, it is unapologetic. One of two brother-types takes our order - NB cash only, and onto a silver tray, not my hand, please - and commences coffee.

It's warm, we're waiting, but there's plenty to ogle. The Shopfront: newbie cultural barometer Radelaide dot net describe it as a 'wispy little lick of a room', and it truly is - old maps and shiny San Marino machine cram cool into a small space. SBE employs the shopfit equivalent of its strangest coffee offering, the 'espresso ristresso'. Much, much more often spelled 'ristretto' or 'ristretta', this $3.00 treat is fabled to be a 15mL concentrated short-black - capitalising on the first, sweetest part of a drawn shot. Not for us today, but a chalk-cursive menu is so extensive that googling its offerings will get you Italian. If you can decode Granite Espresso, Espresso Ghiacciato and Cioccolata con Pana, SBE should be your destinazione.

The Lesson: the hard-working high-spirits at html hangout Radelaide.net want to prove Adelaide is not Adelame. MMC wants desperately to prove that Adelaide has coffee culture. Short Black Espresso seems to be on both boards. If they can get it together, it'll be the place for a get-together.

The latte word: 3.5 beans out of 5 - half a bean off for service slovenliness. Long black is strong enough even for friend of MMC. Cappuccino has perfect temperature, good body, aroma. + The Pour: is it the mystical prechoc-uccino, where adding choc dust early creates a speccy within-foam effect? Either way, it's well-formed, tasty goodness. Keep up, kids - next, MMC follows the Christmas flow - it's to market, to market for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Upsize your Adelaide at www.radelaide.net

Day 12: Un Caffe Bar, 61 Grenfell St

2009-12-22T10:00:00.000-08:00

Stream of consciousness, noun: a freestylin' literary techniqueemployed by holiday-mode bloggers behind on their copy. Par exemple:Tuesday-before-Christmas, early o'clock, Un Caffe Bar, Grenfell Street North.Red machines are new-car slick. Boy barista in driver's seat,talldarkveryyoung, sports-car confident. Mothery type takes orders, his mother?Hmm. The Order: One latte and one medium flat white to take away. The Prices:steepish, from memory. tbc.

Shopspace: channellingindustrial kitchen, the silver benches are concept over comfort. Newspapersspread, fashionista regulars chatter, MMC and friend hover - attractiveumbrella options are streetside but we're for the road. The Service: quick,lidless, straight up on shiny benchtop. The Pour: fie, the blank canvas ofartless latte. Lids applied, taken in stride. Streetsip: face scrunch. Ergh!

Sip 3, MMC to Friend of MMC:'If this was Bean Bar, we would have turfed these by now'. Heads shaking, wegroundbreakingly swap cups, and reach agreement. Flavour: maltmilk. Strength:varies small -> large, marginally more drinkable in two-shot territory.Aroma: nil. Overall, far below expectations. What is it that keeps us drinking?Memories of smooth have-heres at the now-defunct North Tce locale linger. Thefire-engine-red machine is imprinted in our brains. Saved by the brand, UCB.But which brand?

Refresher on the UCB story?It's quite simple, really. Un = one. Caffe = Coffee. Bar = Italian forcoffeehouse. An early info-cup detailed(ish) that 'two Adelaide brothersdreamed of opening "ONE Coffee Bar". And so they did.' Is there more?Not much. Online, the Tambakis brothers invite consumers to 'experience theculture'. They boast 'cutting-edge transit design': tick. They use 'the world'sbest commercially available espresso'?: here's the kicker - it's illy.Everybody loves illy.

Whenwe drink coffee, our tongue gets painted. As long as it stays painted, it remains tasty! - Ernesto Illy, son of illycaffèfounder Francesco Illy. Thanks to quality and quotables, illycaffè is one ofthe top 25 internationally renowned Italian brands. Est. Italy, 1933, it's upthere with handbags and high-street clothing. The numbers stack up. Blend ofnine types of Arabica beans. Exported to 140 countries. Served in at least 50 000public venues. Whether or not our tongues were painted today, illy sure arepainting a picture.

The lesson: The UCB foundersattribute their success to a 'strong family background'. MMC attributes it to astrong association with a strong brand. Illy is the first coffee MMC’s familyever ran through their new ‘90s home machine. It has history. If you illy it,they will come.

Thelatte word: Abetter-luck-next-time 2.5 beans out of 5. At this standard, simply not theGrenfell coffee drinker's choice. Let's hope tomorrow's short stop on Hindleyis a stronger choice for My Morning Coffee.

Link: the illy taste

Day 11: Manna Caffe, 12 Waymouth St & Latte 'n' Lunch, 8 Waymouth St

2009-12-21T17:02:00.000-08:00

School holidays are gifts of the public transport gods. Monday morning sees MMC five minutes early, and hovering at the corner of indecisive and Waymouth. With the spankin' new Advertiser lining its Southern flank, Waymouth Street seems to have coffee carte blanche. Not up for white tablecloths at George's, it's a coinflip between Manna Cafe and the newly funkified Latte 'n' Lunch. The cosier choice for a have-here, MMC opts to go incognito inside Manna. The Order: one skinny flat white. The Price: $3.00.

Manna Cafe so almost has character. A ridiculously skinny slice of big-city building, the street-corner entrance strikes MMC as uniquely unAdelaidean. Shopspace: polished floors / big windows / wooden tables - teetering between haphazard and homely. The Greeting: logistically impossible, with a counter binoculars-far away. After a winding walk to order, an apologetic smile promises coffee pronto. The Service: quick - coffee arrives before friend of MMC does. Tut, tut.

The flat white is apparently an Australian invention. Obvious from its no-nonsense naming, you couldn't order one in Italia. Still, shy of a short black, MMC considers it a serious coffee drinker's order. In format, it is unforgiving. A 'bad' flat white will display all its warts. Burnt coffee will be more than an aromat - its crusty crema will stain. Badly steamed milk will be bold in its bubbliness. An un-pro pour will have customers playing spoon hockey with too-much foam. Today at Manna Cafe, the flat white is served warts 'n' all.

Sigh. As MMC ponders how skim milk can possibly taste so full cream, friend of MMC arrives to take a sour-faced sip. With a Christmas-Friday cup to account for, a bold decision is made. Can we do two cafes in one day? It's pretty radical. Leaving a bitter and unfinished FW in our wake, it's across the laneway to Latte 'n' Lunch.

So recently converted from a 'Kwik n Fresh' that Google Earth isn't up with it, the fact that we have to line up for takeaway is instantly promising. The Shopspace: traces of its supermarket heritage in shiny salad/sandwich display. Furniture is clean and bright. The Service: what's the feminine equivalent of gruff, bitchy? At least we're treated to two staff. The Order: one medium flat white, and one small latte, both skim and takeaway. The Price: hazy memory - $3.20 and $3.90.

Ms Barista barks orders, and we meekly retrieve them unlidded. The Pour: smooth, latte looks lovely. Presentation: different cups - the larger in of-course orange. A streetcorner first sip, and - pah! - it's just not coffee. Flavour: malt 'n' milk. We struggle to identify its special disadvantage. No body? No aroma? We swap cups for a second sip - at least friend of MMC's is stronger. MMC has had the worst of both worlds today.

For the first time, the potential defamatory impact of the blog strikes us. Shattered at the prospect of two more disparaging reviews, MMC gazes glassy-eyed at the Advertiser building. People who work for newspapers in glass houses certainly shouldn't throw stones. Should the lowly blogger?

Turns out defamation and the internet are yet to share many days in court. But on or offline, surely our figurative freedom of speech gives consumers a voice? Not so much. Defamation protects the reputation of companies too, but only the small fry can sue. In SA, small = less than 10 employees, and unrelated to any other corporation. Uh oh. Manna Cafe looks like a friendly little family business...

The lesson: perhaps we should stick to defaming the big guns, but they're not the only ones making bad coffee. Waymouth street, where is the scoop?

The latte word: Two cups at 2 beans out of 5. First: bitter, second: bathwater. Tomorrow, we're coming to 'a coffee bar' near you for My Morning Coffee.

Day 10: Caffe L'Incontro, Gays Arcade

2009-12-18T22:00:00.000-08:00

Deck the halls with boughs et cetera! Adelaide Arcade is looking grand as MMC and friend sweep in for fingers-crossed fabulous coffee. At 8.45am on an otherwise frantic Friday, we're the first of only two tables filled at Caffe L'Incontro, the sprawling central cafe in Eastern offshoot Gays Arcade. If Christmas carols are playing, they're the classy ones. The ceilings are high, and our expectations are higher. The (first) Order: one regular skinny cappuccino, and one large flat white. The Prices: $3.50 (despite menu listing $3.00) and $4.50.

Caffe L'Incontro = Italian for 'coffee meeting'. Perfectamundo. The shiny shopspace sure is suitable. Gays Arcade is a swift sidestep from the main Arcade bustle, and helpfully accessible from the trendoid Twin Street. Never heard of the place? You're not alone. MMC will never forget the morning a stranger requested assistance locating "a shop called Tarts in Gays Arcade". The random (R-rated?) question met splutters of ignorance, and searching glances for 'candid' cameras. Without noticing the nomenclature, a younger MMC had actually spent many happy student lunchtimes a sugar lump's throw from textiler T'arts.

A little less the starving student, MMC is now all over the Gays Arcade story. Way back in the day, the entire Adelaide Arcade space was a furniture factory owned by a Mr Peter Gays. After it burned crispy in December 1884, construction started on what would become Adelaide Arcade and Mr G's next-door namesake. It's rumoured to have used two million bricks, 50 000 square feet of glass and some crazy futuristic thing called electric lighting. 125 years later, it's the 1880s birthmark of the Rundle Street boom.

Approaching the coffee station, we're surrounded by iconic Italians. The Blend: Icon # 1. Worldwide, Lavazza Coffee is sold as 'Italy's Favourite Coffee'. In Australia, it is 'the Italian Espresso Experience'. The Greeting: Icon # 2. Friendly owner/authority figure Federico oozes Italiano, particularly in his habit of repeating orders back in la lingua madre. The Service: flying solo, he's drawn our first coffees within minutes, and Friend of MMC is serene enough not to object when he receives a gutsy cappuccino instead of a Flat White.

Friend of MMC slowly savours his size-up, and quality leads to quantity as MMC breaks the rules with a second order. Question: Why did a flat white chaser seem necessary at a dangerous 8.53 am? Was it a) The Temperature: instantly drinkable, b) The Pour: well-creamed milk meets its no-nonsense brief, c) Flavour: robust, and with good reason? Our first blend of both arabica and robusta beans in weeks finally delivers that bodied Italian mouthfeel, and the chance for MMC to show off some new words. Acidity, that dry tickle under the tongue, sharpens a smooth but persistent postpalate... Answer: d) all of the above.

The lesson: today, we got what we paid for. It's generous presentation that sets the L'Incontro experience apart. Our orders may have been placed barwards, but they're gallantly delivered to us on a round tray. Each coffee comes with a glass of water and a piece of biscotti, perhaps explaining the upwards pricing.

The latte word: A festive four beans out of five. For full marks, MMC will keep shopping for a trendy topping. Is Waymouth Street the mouth's way? Find out tomorrow during My Morning Coffee.

Day 9: Fix Coffee, Station Arcade

2009-12-17T22:00:00.000-08:00

In on-the-run Europe, cafes are to train stations as presents are to Christmas trees. At shiny trackside patisseries, the croissant and coffee combo invites you to start your day the French way. Keen to embrace Adelaide’s own commuter culture, MMC and friend descend upon Station Arcade’s newest face – the Rainforest Alliance Certified ‘Fix Coffee’. The Order: standard skinny flat white and smaller latte, to go. The Prices: $3.70 and $3.20.

High-ceilinged inside handsome facade, descriptions of the Adelaide’s 1856 train station usually contain the word ‘historic’. Each weekday, at least 40,000 people tumble up or down its ridiculous ramp, and surely several thousand demand coffee from its providores. Which of the four-ish station cafes should a South Australian visit? Uniformed, MMC was at the mercy of marketing.

Fresh-faced between donuts and pawned electronics, it’s the ‘Fix Coffee’ fit-out that drags us from more traditional traders. Fresh in black and ubiquitous orange, the new subsidiary of Melbourne’s Grinders Coffee sports a prominent Rainforest Alliance certification. Even in complete ignorance, lining up opposite that green forest pic feels vaguely virtuous.

The Service: rainforest cool, jaguar quick. It’s takeaway all the way, and this proves vaguely awkward as we balance hillside. Our man is immediately away with friend of MMC’s order, and MMC has to interrupt to place a second. He has no time for Rainforest Alliance FAQ. Happily, a little research separates forest and trees.

First, an acronym: NGO, for Non-Governmental Organisation. The Rainforest Alliance is a US-based NGO. Its lofty aims are biodiversity and sustainability. Since the ‘80s, its projects target land-use, business practices, and consumer behaviour. A sustainable agriculture program certifies coffee farmers who meet certain social and environmental standards. Jo the Coffee Grower might have to up safety gear for his workers, and down the use of agrochemicals. Currently, UK, Aussie and NZ McCafes all use RA certified beans.
Does this sound familiar? Digging in this Rainforest unearths comparisons with the Oxfam-controlled Fairtrade movement. Also known for coffee-with-a-conscience, the latter has a trade focus. FT guarantees certified producers at least A$3.80/kilo. Less involved in grower-buyer negotiations, RA has a farm focus. Their shtick is that better farm management will increase both quality and profit margin. Both movements have their critics, and many say their certifications are little more than a marketing ploy.

The Question: if it’s broke, can marketing Fix it? The newbie enviro-brand is hot off the press, and MMC quickly picked its slick over shabbier small-business. Presentation: lidded, in brightbrand cups. The Blend: Brazilian, promising light floral notes and a subtle nutty characteristic. The Flavour: conjures a unique, unpleasant coffee memory. Have you ever savoured the end of a takeaway with a popstick swish? The foam you move mouthwards tastes nothing like coffee. It tastes only of the popstick, palate killer. The Pour: at half-full, down the drain.

The latte word: on a dreary day of rain, a drearier one bean out of five. Ironically (or coincidentally?), our cups of Rainforest Certified coffee were nothing like coffee and everything like treated wood. Keen to get back on the flavour track, we return to an Arcade favourite for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Australian Coffee Traders Association on Fair Trade vs Rainforest Alliance

Day 8: Kappy's Cafe, 53 Flinders St

2009-12-16T20:07:00.000-08:00

Presenting Bill Murray symptoms after the eighth-day alarm clock, MMC diagnoses midweek melancholy. As we sigh on the Flinders street snack bar strip, the hopeful wink of evergreen tiling inspires a cross-street shufti. A taste for the vaguely vintage lures MMC into Kappy's Cafe, date-stamped 1932, and certainly not a chain store. Does curiosity kill these cats? Nope, it takes their money and serves them coffee. The Order: standard sizes - one skim latte, one flat white. The Price: $4.30 and $4.00. Meow.

Tiptoeing into a deserted Kappy's, we're greeted with a smile and a sceptical sideways glance. Wide-eyed at the eclectic interior, friend of MMC offsets his incongruous corporate wear with an emasculating yelp. At the bottom of the menu board there are five magic words. Down to his last four dollars, and starved of early morning stove-percolation, he repeats them breathlessly. All. Coffees. Have. Double. Shots.

Even empty of patrons, Kappy's has an unique ambience. The Shopspace: art-gallery to the right, and tea-library to the left. Soundtrack: jazz. We have a maroon feature wall with some decent local art for sale, and a none-too-clean row of canistered beans for sale. There's a hodgepodge of unordered tables- some green, and some resting on tree stumps. A musty, messy magic lingers. Leafing through the cheapest breakfast menu ever, it's as if we're in Europe. Not a glossy Paris or a perky Spain, but a seedy, dark corners, snickering-old-men Europe. Somewhere like Amsterdam, where 'coffeeshops' are places you're legally allowed to buy cannabis. In Amsterdam, 'tea house' means 'please don't confuse us with those cannabis dens, we really only serve coffee.'

Whether coffeeshop or tea house, the barista is obviously a graduate of the hospitality Hogwarts. First, she turned $5 into 70c. Next, she knows the secret of the layered latte. The Pour: check it out. We realise instantly why a latte is worth thirty cents more. MMC chortles at layer love in the most dramatic of glassware. It's simultaneously freakin' awesome and ridiculously passé. Lady barista shares her secret when asked. You simply pour the steamed milk in first, wait for the layers to separate, and then somehow trickle in the pre-drawn espresso. It's lacking almost everything MMC looks for in a coffee, but we can't look away.

The lesson: let's do the time warp, but to when? German Mr Kappy started the coffee house in 1932, and operated it for a full thirty years. In recent years, various owners have ducked in and out, and it's still listed for sale online. From the apostrophe-less business card to the inconsistent decor, you can tell poor Kappy's needs some TLC. Are we selling modern art, or are we embracing Mr K's legacy? Are we tall-glassed latte, or are we bubbly mug o' flat white? Take Hyde Park's ever-full Spats Cafe. With a coffee-hungry gen-Y brushing off the family LPs, if you get retro right, you'll be rewarded.

The latte word: A wide-eyed 4 beans out of 5. It may be less 'lost art' and more abandoned antiquity, but MMC has to award points for trying. The coffee has body (tick), but our lessons in acidity and aroma may have to wait for a more form-fit experience. With a wet day forecast, join us tomorrow in the woods for Rainforest Alliance Certified cups of My Morning Coffee.

Link: Buy Kappy's

Day 7: Hudsons Coffee, 33 King William St

2009-12-15T06:00:00.000-08:00

It's official. The season is getting sort of silly. First there is the working, the lunches and the working lunches. Next there are the shopping lunches, where scoffed sushi and commando gift grabs have even the mall rats scurrying. It’s beginning to feel like a lot like, you know, Quick-mas. With an 8.47am pitstop at Hudsons Coffee on Hindley (KW corner), Tuesday's children demand that quickie coffee experience. Can Hudsons Coffee put the express into espresso? The Order: two standard lattes, skim, takeaway. The Price: $3.80 pp.

It's been a long time since MMC ventured into a Hudsons Coffee. Until the shame of upsized cupwear, we could not remember why. The Shopspace: at commuter-o-clock, whistle-clean and underoccupied. The Shopwalls: the Hudsons take on eclectic doodles is no more irritating than Cibo's/Wild Thyme's. The Signage: ahhh yes. The novelty beverages. Hudsons equals the cutesy ‘caramelatte’, and the cream-topped sweet nothings. At the sight of whirly ice machines, coffee snobbishness switches on.

Slightly sprinklephobic, we go with the takeaway flow. How 'Hudsons' of us, you may remark. Because opening their first Melbourne store in 1998, Hudsons aimed to fill a hole in the Aussie coffee market – a takeaway-cup-sized hole. Their mission statement (ish): quality coffee - sometimes with sprinkles - served efficiently to time-poor professionals. At over 50 stores nationally, can they claim the ‘Aussie Starbucks’ moniker? Alas, sitting pretty in the fastest-growing-franchises forty since forever, Queen Gloria Jean seems to wear that crown.

Reportedly recession-proof, coffee business is a Big Deal to the Aussie franchising sector. (At $128 billion+, the Aussie franchising sector is a Big Deal in itself.) Unbeknownst to most, the AUS and USA experiences are a little different in this regard. News flash: coffee dinosaur Starbucks is not actually a franchise. Gasp! Provided the prospective parents ‘divest themselves of ALL other business interests’, Hudsons will gladly foster out their franchise babies. Company-run Starbucks, on the other hand, has never ‘needed’ the reliance of a strong kum ba yah network. They only effect licensing agreements to get into prime real estate such as airports, hospitals, and Rundle Mall, South Australia. Did this difference contribute to the SA Starbucks epic fail? We'll never know.

Now We Know: that despite the frappe frippery, Hudsons is not the Aussie Starbucks. For one, at $3.80, a two-shot Hudsonian is better value than that of our now-departed green friends. But the DIY trimmings, including vanilla sugar? My first cave-in to upsizing, and that comfortable carry-me-to-work temperature? The legacy lives on.

The latte word: a tough love 2.5 beans out of 5. Mainly for the Pour (poor): prising off a lid, MMC was aghast at bubbly badness. The Flavour: indistinct, but from the modern-day coffee jungle, no news is generally OK news. Tomorrow, we’ll concentrate. Join us as MMC rates the ABA – Acidity, Body and Aroma - of My Morning Coffee.

Link: 'December Franchising Busy Defying Economic Downturn', December 2009

Day 6: BTS Cafe, 33a Pirie St

2009-12-14T22:16:00.000-08:00

On a sunny Monday morning, a blog called My Morning Coffee turned one week old. And on the same Adelaide morning, a blogger called MMC turned one year older. As the light filtered through the world’s straightest streets, we blew out the candles at the CBD’s cupcake capital, BTS Cafe. The Order: two standard flat whites, and one cupcake. Price: a slender $3.00 per cup.

The Brits have tea and biscuits. The Germans have kaffee und kuchen. The Americans like coffee and cupcakes, and the Australians like Americana. A pink pustule on the wiry arm of Pirie street, BTS Café is the latest to capitalise on the intercontinental cupcake craze. But while we have seen the Sex and the City episode that started it all, MMC & Co are not about the cupcakes. Chasing the only cup of SA-roasted ‘Mahalia Coffee’ in the CBD, we are keen to test the BTS coffee cred.

Customer Service for Dummies, line one, page one: the Customer is Always Right. Perhaps BTS were understaffed this particular Monday. Possibly, MMC ordered a latte by mistake. Undoubtedly, when two flat whites didn’t appear, these Customers would have preferred retreat and replacement to awkward apology. The Service: on this day, as confused as their uniform. Pink shirts and black bustieres: uh, why?

The faux French-provincial is one poodle short of kitsch. Stained-glass windows and slaughtered ceiling roses mourn a less pink prime. Friend of MMC is glum with unwanted latte, and the cupcake uninspires. But in the shade of plastic poinsettias, staring up almost apologetically, is good-lookin' cup of Joe. The Pour: bonus points for love heart, right? The Flavour: MMC hearts Mahalia blends - the best thing out of Robe, SA. The Strength: MMC is happy. Friend of MMC is still bitter (ho ho) about the mix-up. A third reports a weak cup from the well-placed takeaway window. It seems BTS serve the cupcake-addict’s coffee rather than the caffeine-junkie’s, but the pricing reflects this.

Lesson: niche marketing with sprinkles can be tops. BTS is so pink, so saccharine, and has so many women in MMC’s building frosting at the mouth. Any guesses what the acronym stands for? Baked Tart Sellers? Big Time Sugar? No siree. BTS stands for Better Than Sex, a knowing female nod to the powers of the patty pan. Even their association with the girl-power Mahalia branding is a clever consistency. Those looking for less pink and more punch will surely drink elsewhere.

The latte word: 3 beans out of 5 = an average of MMC’s 3.5 and friend of MMC’s 2.5. Tomorrow, we slink incognito (hopefully) into ‘the Aussie Starbucks’ for My Morning Coffee.

Day 5: Viva Espresso, 70 Pirie St

2009-12-11T07:33:00.000-08:00

Fridays are for drinkin’ and celebratin’, especially in this the silliest of seasons. MMC saw no reason why the drinkin’ couldn’t begin at 8.45 am, especially if quality coffee were involved. Once on Pirie, the tricky part was separating the West-of-Gawler-Place La Vida coffee from the East-of-GP Viva Espresso. The Order: standard cappuccino and a medium latte, takeaway. The prices: $3.20, $4.20, respectably.

So what is the dealio - is orange the marketing soul mate of bean-brown? Shopfront: generic. Logo: underimpressive, overused colour scheme. A3 posterboard advertises specialty belgian waffles and cones of chips, and MMC’s chain-store alarm bells ring. Even the menu board looks a little McPrinted. But a wary glance takes in a genuinely friendly waitress and a barista who looks legit: suitably edgy and ooh, did I detect a UK accent? Points.

Takeaway time is spent sussing an entirely well-used cafe space. After ordering, we’re quick to inspect the produce for sale behind us. VE’s own 100% Arabica blend, sourced from Central / Southern America and Africa. The Blend: officially beyond MMC's field of expertise. Onward, to Wikipedia!

Legend has it that high on a hill, an Ethiopian goatherd (lay-odle-lay-odle –ay-he-hoo) got into wild coffee berries after observing the increased activity of his flock after munching on the same. Some say that after berries, his goats stayed up all night. Others write that he saw the goats, you know, mounting each other, after berries. Bored, tired, and/or confused, the young goatherd musta have given it a whirl (eating berries, that is), and told his mates all about it at the next goat fair.

Word travels fast. Next it was 15th century Arabian scholars who were onto coffee’s potential as a late-night study-aid. After 1000+ years of harvest in Arabia (now Yemen-ish) coffea arabica is considered the world’s longest coffee tradition. For some reason, this arabica is rumoured to be less caffeinated than its cousin coffea canephora, the other most common species. Whew, luckily friend of MMC had already checked that his upsize came with two shots.

The Service: not ultra-quick, but redeemed by rare Barista small-talk. While waitin’, we settle near a red kettle-drum-lookin’ machine surrounded by hessian bags of coffee beans (pictured). I take this curio for a display-only relic of coffee production, the way Starbucks might exhibit beans to commemorate the ancestry of your diluted, creamed, sprinkled, soy-decaf beverage. MMC discovers online that this mean machine is a working coffee bean roaster! Yew!
The Pour: best of the week, pretty as pictured. At half-dusted but thickly, it is MMC's ideal cappuccino. While the high % chocolate is tasty goodness, the downer here is that a first sip elicits ‘mmm, cocoa’ rather than ‘mmm, coffee’. Friend of MMC’s choc-free testimony becometh gospel. The Blend: smooth, mild, and organic-esque.

Lesson: Viva were voted SA's best coffee in the online 'I Heart Food' awards 2009, and this is a deserving validation of their product differentiation efforts. The next step would be a web presence to explain the waffles/bean roasting/sourcing stuff, ala Bar Nine of Glen Osmond Road. Here, we see a distinctive blue branding, and a website detailed down to make/model of flasho coffee machino. I quote: ‘this machine delivers the cleanest, most dynamic tasting espresso coffee you will have ever experienced.’ This is not called bragging. It’s called marketing.

The latte word: 4 beans out of 5. Friend of MMC: ‘It might be mild, but it’s a flavour that we probably won't find elsewhere in the CBD.’ Next week: Viva la Birthday! MMC and friend start the week somewhere sweet.

Link: Bar Nine online

Day 4: Chris Jarmer @ Air, 210 North Tce

2009-12-10T00:48:00.001-08:00

Ahem, ahem. Attention, if you please. Today, ladies and gentlemen, one MMC and one friend of MMC may just have located the ‘laide’s best priced coffee. Today, my friends, one MMC may even have stooped to scraping dregs with an unwashed spoon. Order 1: skinny latte to take away, please. Your regular is a two-shotter? Nice. The Price: $2.50. Nicer. Order 2: ditto plus a third shot. Price: $3.30. A dollarish per shot? It’s a Christmas miracle!

MMC knows what you’re thinking. It’s not Christmas yet, damnit! And also, where and when did this Christmas miracle occur? Well, if you guessed Adelaide uni, you’d be close. If you guessed David Jones, you’d be closer. Between the DJs hosiery and the North Tce traffic, there’s a purple sign that reads Chris Jarmer @ Air. While I h8 the awkward namesakery, it turns out CJ serves both damn good food and damn cheap coffee. Between 8 and 11am weekmornings, love is @ the Air.

Coffee pricing is a bit of a slippery fish. Or a kettle of fish? Either way, it’s a bit fishy. On one hand, MMC hears that coffee is all profit. Your cup could cost the café mere cents. On the other, a baristacquaintance testifies that the perfect pour demands a fresh, full-ish jug of milk each time. So as you wave goodbye, cafes are pouring money down the drain. Which tale is true? And why has one week of MMC traversed $2.50 - $4?

Apparently, our moolah is not just buying us brownish milk. @ Air it also buys classy takeaway cups, lids handy. And The Pour: what MMC called clumsy @ $3.30, we call unpretentious for less. It’s shiny smooth… But where were we? Oh yes. Other than choc dust and cardboard, we’re paying for pretty seats in prime real estate. Just today, a reader asked MMC to suggest a prime-location for lap-top leeching – somewhere that wouldn’t object to the sloppy student-type sipping oh-so-slowly. With the right combination of camouflaging commotion and concentrate-able calm, you can stay for hour/s. Everyone knows cafes are more fun than libraries.

So coffee’s expensive ‘cause one cup = an hour of atmosphere in a sprawlingly beige restaurant. Commuters on one cup don’t pay the rent, but beer’s cheap because everyone’ll have anothery. Gotcha. Lingering’s easy @ Air because the greeting’s not immediate. The Service: a bit scatty across a dishdirty counter. For some reason, our coins are dropped into a glass instead of a cash register. Hey, if it saves time. One-woman (woot!) no-nonsense barista show. You give me the money, I give you the coffee. How now, brown cow.

Lesson: that fuzzy first-sip feeling - the embarrassing skip-step, the endorphin wash palate to brain – what do they call that? Economicshelp,org calls it inelastic demand. Cafes call it the reason for unspoken oligopoly, a.k.a. 'howsabout we all charge threeish? Those dopes are addicted!' It’s weird, ‘cause unlike fossil fuels, there’s no worldwide shortage of beans. So why did MMC write an entire ranty blog on price? As friend of MMC reasons, we may be caffeine addicts, but as consumers we have a choice. That last $20 could buy five cups at a four-dollar-franchise, or 6-7 elsewhAir.

The latte word: from Friend of MMC, 4.5 beans out of 5! To quote: ‘I feel that strongly about it’. Strong, geddit? From MMC, 4 beans. Temperature: perfect. Flavour: all roses. The fifth bean? Send me rosettas. Stay on board – tomorrow the good ship MMC sails to South America. We try 100% Arabica for My Morning Coffee.

Link: The Economics of the Price of Coffee

Day 3: Adelaide Coffee Bar, 73 Grenfell St

2009-12-09T05:31:00.000-08:00

As far as workplace ailments go, the only thing worse than Mondayitis is Wednesdayitis. MMC and friend agree that a damn good coffee is required to get through ‘Hump Day’, as named by the innuendo-autistic. The Adelaide Coffee Bar on Grenfell came highly recommended, not least by the pal we saw taking away this very morning. It’s about time, said pal greets us, because the last two MMC visits were a little lowbrow. Remedy: standard flat white, large latte (in the absence of medium). Price: $3.20 = smile, $4.00 = so-so hand motions.

Hark, what is that pleasant aroma? It’s coffee, and it’s character. Greeting: clumsily across food display, but we’ve ordered within seconds of stepping inside warm brick. Shopspace: clever fitout. Two rows of spunky lighting, cheery round tables, and cleverly magnifying mirrors on the far wall. Chalkboard style signage and display counters are loaded with brunchy foods and creative beverage options.

Under the sheltering outdoor umbrellas, it’s possible to forget you’re on busy Grenfell Street. We expectantly settle between breakfast meetings, with envious glances at the next table’s raisin toast spread. The vibe is almost Melbourne/Flinders Lane-y, and we’re wooed by prompt, spill-free table service. Presentation: tall, slender friend of MMC is impressed by a tall, slender glass. One gets the impression that hot chocolate would be a grand affair.

Have a glance at today’s pic. The Pour: what do you think? Middle-of-the-road for a flat white? Feel free to object. Unlike its useless takeaway cousin, a flat white in a dainty cup can be the purest and most magical of the cafe au lait experiences. That perfect high pour can deliver the finest of feathertops, and the subtlest, silky foam coverlet. At an over-generous 6mm, my foam doesn’t approach the ethereal. It is also dark with crema: the type you wilfully leave in the bottom of the cup.

Ach, flavour: also heartbreakingly imperfect. Juusst edging into burnt/bitter/acidic territory, hence the crema-stained facade. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but without a chocolate/mint/biscuit chaser, the aftertaste will linger ‘til lunch. On the other side of the table, Friend of MMC again has issues with strength. Will he find the plus-sized holy grail? Or should he descend to the lowlands of standard sizing? Time will tell.

Lesson: maybe you can’t judge a cafe by its 1898-dated, Gothic-designed, Federation brickworked cover. But if you’re interested to read that Bertram House, converted to a coffee shop in the 1990s, was actually built as the SA headquarters of British & Foreign Bible Society (as in, we publish the world’s best-selling book), either check out the plaque on the Coromandel Lane side, or mosey through the Env/Heritage departmental website. But whatever you do, don’t fling your coffee dregs at the cream render, because the ACB is building-mates with a local law firm, and damaging a heritage lister carries cash penalties of up to $120K. Now that’s a lot of coffees.

The latte word: 3-3.5 beans out of five. Join us tomorrow as we drop in on a city North establishment rumoured to be the best-value vendor of My Morning Coffee.

Link: Article on Heritage Bricks

Day 2: Taste on Pirie, 50 Pirie St

2009-12-08T08:30:00.000-08:00

One day in, and December rain has Friend of MMC texting an order from the safety of the office. Ultra-close Taste on Pirie appears the logical choice. Proximity to office: ideal. Signage: Bean Bar orange, with Old School fonts. Staff: singular (this proves a prob-lame-o). Order: small skinny cappuccino, medium latte, takeaway. Price: Small is listed as $3.20; it’s $6.90 for both. Possible takeaway surchargery, but not bad.

Walking into TOP, I give myself props for supporting the little guy. You know, The Big Issue, beverage-style. Sorta. The Greeting: gruff, and from a one-man barista band, who takes my order while filling handles for another. Shopspace: milk bar meets hairdresser – silver lightweight chairs do al fresco and in fresco, and shiny purple tiles do... nothing good. I almost expect a howdy from Frenchy – post-Beauty School Dropout, obviously. It's friendly/empty enough for unawkward seating. The ‘Tiser is handy, and I guffaw that the ‘Word Target’ is now worthy of a listing in the page 2 index. Word.

Turnover: I’m the second in the café, but other suits are mysteriously collecting before me. By the time I catch myself reading front page Rann-doms, I realise I’m not even nearly next in queue. Mister Man keeps on taking ‘em, when he should be making ‘em. I plead with my best bored eyes. A female staff member floats in and out. The freaky regular crowd continue to submit orders by ESP and pay by EFT. I’m about to conclude that the coffee must logically be excellent, when I spy something starting with F…

Now, back in the eighties, when a day out was a pair of overalls and a Paesano lunch with the parents, cappuccino foam was the ultimate in cool. Like perms, it was the higher, the bouncier, the better. Before 'babycinos' were ever conceived, the siblings and I would request extra teaspoons to help the parentals demolish foam mountains. Do I need to mention that at some point in the nineties, foamy foam went to the same place as overalls and perms? It seems so. It’s not that I’m a slave to fashion. I recently met a lovely lass with a perm, and I still plan to play tennis with her Tuesdays. The Italians agree – cappuccino is great for breakfast, but it needn’t be quite so… ugh! Foamy.

The Pour: yup, the F word makes my beverage taller than its containing vessel. Presentation: lidded, in generic-meets-dated cuppery. No sugar, no carry tray, but owner-type offers loyalty card (freebie at #9). Temperature: non-issue. Flavour: aside from chocolate-taint, it’s gutsier than the Bean Bar malt. Strength: decent for the small, but F o M (FOM?) is again disappointed with medium.

Lesson (if I may): in 1983, Australia ratified the International Coffee Agreement, with goals including improved political/eco relations between producers and consumers, and the increased consumption of coffee. But for a while there, international treaty obligations went the way of, you guessed it, perms and Curlz MT. Café owners and Ethiopian bean growers, you’re on your own. The new 2001 agreement never did get JWH’s signature. If you want to increase the consumption of coffee, you’re going to have to grind with the times. Quite literally, down with foam.

The latte word: 2.5 beans out of 5. Count your coins - tomorrow, we visit a Grenfell Street icon for My Morning Coffee.

Link: International Coffee Agreement 1983

Day 1: Bean Bar, 1/117 King William

2009-12-07T21:30:00.000-08:00

First day of summer job, and a nervous-slash-sleepy MMC starts basic at a friendly franchise. The Bean Bar on King William, 8.30am. Proximity to bus stop: good. Bright orange signage: welcoming. Staff: smiling. Order: small skim latte, takeaway. Price: $4.00.

$4? F-O-U-R dollars! Have I been living in a parallel universe? I still remember the 09 day when an handsome Melbourne Street $3.30 caused me to cough politely on payment. I have to crack out a fifty, and it’s far too early for that to feel good. Friend of MMC goes large for $4.70 without an eyelash bat. I feel grinchy. Expectations soar.

Shopfront: tiny, but staff are savvy enough not to take names and shout at us. Also none of that caring-but-creepy questioning re: sugar. Shopspace: a tad awkward. We opt to hover on the footpath outside. Turnover: quick. Presentation: unlidded, but the treacherous uncovered carry is only a few steps. The Pour: instantly, obviously, heartbreakingly not up to scratch! But maybe you can’t judge a book by its… bubbles. Houston, we have "bubbly froth". Wait! Reserve judgment! The flavour could be the saver.

Flavour: what flavour? I just burned my tongue! Temperature: hot. Too hot. As I read later, a higher temperature will be harder for the tongue to analyse. The tongue is a muscle and reacts to heat. Milk with a temperature well over 70 dC damn well does burn the tongue. I sulk. Halfway to work, I appreciate that I’m carrying a double espresso shot. The generic mild malt is not unpleasant. But it's pale, my milk bubbles have burst. Dishwater. Friend of MMC is not so lucky. He also fears he’s been given a double shot. In a generous 500ml of milk. The phrase ‘worst coffee ever’ may have been used. But this is surely hyperbole. It’s only day one.

Lesson (if I can be so bold): milk should be heated to 60 dC. This will give it a pleasant pouring temperature of 65 to 70 dC. In 1994, an American woman was awarded $2 million in damages after McDonalds served her coffee that was Too Hot. Sure, she poured it on her privates in the car and suffered third degree burns. And yes, the Stella awards for the world's most vexatious lawsuits ARE named in her honour. But still.

The latte word: 2 beans out of 5. If you’re the type to carry your coffee to your desk before a’drinkin’, then maybe the KW BB is for you. But if, like MMC, you treasure that first, magical, street-corner sip (and the change you get from a fiver), then you’ll want to meet me tomorrow for My Morning Coffee.

Link: Liebeck vs McDonald's Restaurants