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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 fruit and 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

 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 get away with an über-sarcastic 'have a great day, 'cause I know you will!' It doesn't hurt that the brew is presented to us pronto. The Presentation: MMC's fave natural-coloured cups, lidded. The Pour: pristine, even after lid extraction. Caramel waves lap the shore...  Pleasure mmms. It's Rio Coffee #2 this week, but it's a new experience for MMC - a different blend? 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

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

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.

Day 20: Glow Cafe, 98 Gawler Place

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

<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

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

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