Monday, April 04, 2016


I had breakfast on Sunday morning at Bowery to Williamsburg, a hipster café named after Hipster Mecca. I had poached eggs with creamed corn, smoked trout and hushpuppies, a combination that didn’t completely work, but I salute their ambition.

Any disappointments in the food were compensated for by the presence of rather excellent Bloody Marys - just the right level of chilli and very nicely balanced flavours.

Hipster and Grey did not feel worthy.

In the late afternoon I went out to see a jazz session at one of Melbourne’s many heritage corner hotels. In true jazz tradition, there were about nine musicians who ebbed and flowed on and off the stage, and while they were all superbly talented and played brilliantly, it was clear that they hadn’t actually practiced the songs much. It was especially evident when each song ended, and the musicians, being musicians, wouldn’t stop playing. Instead of a snappy crisp finish, each song meandered along for an extra twenty or thirty seconds as the individual players either tried to get the last note in or just weren’t paying attention.

But I've obviously been in Melbourne too long if I start complaining that excellent music isn't ending enough.


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