Day 2: Taste on Pirie, 50 Pirie St

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