Vive
On the recommendation of Prudence, I ventured into the west this morning and took my breakfast with the Ladies who Lunch. True, they weren't quite lunching yet, but they were only a nail appointment and a friend named Bunty away from it.
I was at La Gallette de France on Broadway. It had everything that a pre-Lunch Lady could want in a cafe: a Nedlands address, the latest white on white interior with shabby chic chandeliers, a range of brand new BMWs and Mercedes parked outside, and, in a surprise move for an Australian French patisserie, an actual Frenchwoman behind the counter.
Not Vietnamese, as most French patisseries have around here. French. The rich sure know how to live.
The coffee was made by a very large man, the antithesis of the pale slender boys who usually man espresso machines in smart cafes. But as Prudence promised, it was an excellent flat white. Unlike a lot of other baristas who can't tell the difference between a flat white and a latte he was light on the steamed milk, so that the strong flavour of the coffee came through loud and clear. I also noticed from the sign outside that they use 5 Senses coffee, which further helps to explain the potency of the taste.
As I was in a French patisserie I couldn't have my usual breakfast choice of fruit toast, so I went with a plain brioche. It was superb, like a light, puffy cloud of carbohydrates. Then I had an escargot pastry, which somehow managed to be crisp and gooey at the same time. Then I felt sick and ashamed of my gluttony, which didn't taste very good at all but at least was light in calories.
I spent more than an hour there, reading the newspaper, writing on my netbook and stuffing my greedy face with French pastries. La Gallette de France will definitely go on the Good Cafe list, but I may have to ration my visits lest I end up more brioche than man, both in shape and in fat content.
I was at La Gallette de France on Broadway. It had everything that a pre-Lunch Lady could want in a cafe: a Nedlands address, the latest white on white interior with shabby chic chandeliers, a range of brand new BMWs and Mercedes parked outside, and, in a surprise move for an Australian French patisserie, an actual Frenchwoman behind the counter.
Not Vietnamese, as most French patisseries have around here. French. The rich sure know how to live.
The coffee was made by a very large man, the antithesis of the pale slender boys who usually man espresso machines in smart cafes. But as Prudence promised, it was an excellent flat white. Unlike a lot of other baristas who can't tell the difference between a flat white and a latte he was light on the steamed milk, so that the strong flavour of the coffee came through loud and clear. I also noticed from the sign outside that they use 5 Senses coffee, which further helps to explain the potency of the taste.
As I was in a French patisserie I couldn't have my usual breakfast choice of fruit toast, so I went with a plain brioche. It was superb, like a light, puffy cloud of carbohydrates. Then I had an escargot pastry, which somehow managed to be crisp and gooey at the same time. Then I felt sick and ashamed of my gluttony, which didn't taste very good at all but at least was light in calories.
I spent more than an hour there, reading the newspaper, writing on my netbook and stuffing my greedy face with French pastries. La Gallette de France will definitely go on the Good Cafe list, but I may have to ration my visits lest I end up more brioche than man, both in shape and in fat content.
posted by Blandwagon at 10:28 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home