End KeepCup Prejudice Now, Snobaristas! or, Keep On Keeping Up, KeepCup!

Lisa Dempster has written an excellent article on I eat I drink I work exploring the intricacies of the coffee surcharge, from decaf to mocha to - the main interest of this writer - soy milk. I have always hated but accepted with grumpy surliness the soy surcharge imposed by almost every coffee shop, but Lisa's interviews with various coffee vendors has shown that soy really does cost extra, and despite the call that the extra cost should be averaged out over all beverages, the imperative of the business owner to, you know, make a proft from their business makes an end to the soycharge (ha!) unlikely.

But what really grabbed me was a comment on Lisa's blog that some Melbourne coffee shops have taken to placing a surcharge on, or even refusing to use, KeepCups.

I love KeepCups. They're well designed, they're environmentally loving, they're cute, they'r easy to clean, and they have really caught on with consumers. And what's more, they save the vendor money in not using a disposable cup and not costing them washing up resources. Big shout out here to my regular coffee vendors, Espresso Depot at 1 Collins Street, who after noticing my KeepCup got really excited and started selling the cups themselves. 

I was outraged to hear that some businesses aren't behind the BYO cup surge sweeping the city. But I was even more shocked to experience not hours later my own instance of KeepCup Prejudice!

I went to a team meeting at - name and shame! - City Wine Bar on Spring Street. I asked for my coffee to be put in my KeepCup so I could take it away in case I didn't finish it. I can only surmise that the City Wine Bar's cultivated European atmosphere would be offended by the interloping plastic of my KeepCup, as I was told that store policy was to not allow KeepCups on the table - but they would do takeaways. Quelle bloody horreur!

I kept my KeepCup on the table throughout the meeting - empty, but who was to know? - for over an hour. No staff member asked me to put it away. No uber-too-cool-for-school trendoids fainted. No coiffeured besuited ladies sniffed. No one spat. And then I left, having bought nothing, to go and get my coffee on my way back to the office from the place I like best.

In Grade 4 my teacher banned the phrase "I don't get it" from his classroom. But I don't. There's nothing particularly nice about 100-washes old glass tumblers (and if you Snobaristas think that my coffee will just taste better in one, then leave that to me to decide). There's certainly nothing nice about single use cardboard cups. If you want to impose an aesthetic standard, then start with banning skinny jeans that reveal circumcision status and faux-Rihanna mohawks.

So get on board. Bringing your own cup is sensible, less costly to the vendor, promoting environmentally sustainable choices, and just doing your bit. 

*Disclaimer: I have two KeepCups (Small: white with chocolate trim, light mushroom lid and matt chocolate plug. Medium: white with light green trim, dark mushroom lid and chocolate plug). My sister has two (One medium like mine. One medium: white with fuschia trim, chocolate lid and aqua plug). Buzz has one (Medium: black with chocolate trim, black lid, chocolate plug). Toby has Darth Vader (Black. Just black). Lots of people have them. Speed up.

The Commune coffee - Oh Soy Drinkers, How We Suffer! The Commune, East Melbourne.

Ah, such is the lot of a soy drinker. Used to being slugged a surcharge for our soy drinking at every turn, this earns grizzles and grumbles but we usually succumb to our caffeine cravings and ask for an extra-large cup anyway.

It is my understanding that a coffee loyalty card entitles the bearer to one free coffee after a certain number are purchased. Some restrictions may apply, if published on said card, but in general the coffee purveyor accepts that in exchange for the repeat business of their customers, a small loss may be incurred when the unscrupulous suddenly upgrade their freebie.

Not so the owners of The Commune – Basement 2-6 Parliament Place East Melbourne, www.thecommune.com.au – which services the captive audience of bureaucrats around St Andrews Place, Macarthur Street and Treasury Place. Their freebie comes with (unpublished) caveats – soy drinkers must pay for their soy as an ‘add-on’ even when a free coffee is reached, and even when they have purchased the requisite number of soy-filled coffees. Apparently this is because some customers would ‘suddenly’ upgrade to soy on their freebie (at the wallet-busting cost of up to 80 whole cents a pop)!

As a soy drinker I find this highly suspect. Non-soy drinkers hate soy. You do, you tell us all the time. I find it a stretch to think that hordes of devious caffeine addicts would consider the opportunity to sneakily add soy to their free coffee an irresistible temptation to commit fraud. Some might do it for an extra shot, maybe; or some vanilla syrup, likely. But I can’t for the life of me imagine a dairy-drinker gleefully whispering “Today I will get soy! For free! Oh mwahahaha!”.

So what other reason could there be? Arrogance, perhaps. This writer has already been on the receiving end of unsolicited public soy-bashing from staff at The Commune (written about in a blog piece when she was too discreet to name and shame), or perhaps it is simply the opportunity to express disdain of ‘not real coffee’. In that case, please add a $10 charge to every small weak skinny decaff and refuse to serve anything but a short black after 10am.

A step too far, Commune. Sort yourselves out.

Gelato, Joy of Vegan Desiring, or: Carlton offers up some soy dessert in a cup

I'll just put it out there that I'm not a motorsports fan. When Buzz and I found ourselves cruising down Lygon Street, heart of Melbourne's Italian community, with people spilling out of their pavement restaurants onto the street, wandering across the road and posing to have their photograph taken next to the innumerable Ferraris and Lamborghinis that had parked under streetlights on a Saturday night, I swore and began to think that accidental death by motor vehicle was sure to be understandable in the circumstances.

It wasn't until we passed the Ferrari shop with its horses and red flags aflying and afluttering, "Feeling' Hot Hot Hot" pumping out of megabass speakers, that I remembered that it was Grand Prix weekend and not only had I broken a personal rule by driving between Victoria and Alexandra, Rathdowne and Lygon on Saturday night, but that Ferrari had taken it out and all the Ferrari groupies had amassed, magnetised, to their spiritual heartland.

What was it that made me venture into Little Italy in the first place? It sure wasn't the allure of doing blockies with the Commodores. It was, as you may have guessed, food.


Casa del Gelato may not appear from the outside to offer anything particular lip-lickering for vegans. There are, after all, almost as many gelato shops along Lygon as there are pasta places and gentlemen's ponytails. Flourescent lights, sparkling white walls and a vast array of flavours, with a queue three deep - check. Fruit flavours made without lactose - check. But wait! What is that illuminated sign in full view? Does it promise soy based flavour, made without lactose or animal fats, and suitable for vegans? Does it loudly, brightly, prominently placed scream out to me that finally, here may be the sweetie dessert that doesn't force me to order acidic fruity flavours that hurt my tummy? Oh yes! And here's a picture of it!


I ordered four soy based flavours, being baci, hazelnut, pistacchio and coffee, reluctantly leaving chocolate and natural alone. And I had no shame in ordering two thirds of the menu. Each flavour had a lingering soy taste, as you would expect, and each was exactly as promised and bloody bewdiful. Creamy, thick, solid flavours which truly vied with the very best dairy-based flavours I ate pregan in Italy. I could barely pick a favourite, but the pistacchio and hazelnut won a special place in my heart for their clear and fulsome taste. We ate in the mock piazza, a piece of urban planning as naff as it is obvious, and again I showed no shame in slurping out the very bottom of the cup.


Full snaps with both hands to Casa del Gelato. Their soy flavours are well-advertised - with the sign showing that they really understand their market - and they back it up with top notch flavours which are totally lick-worthy. Which I did.

Casa del Gelato
163 Lygon Street, Carlton, Vic
Ph. (03) 9347 0220

Feeding to Fitzroyalty, or: Miss T goes live

I know you can't get enough of me. I can't get enough of me.

Fitzroyalty has kindly offered to stream some of my posts to hyperlocal pages, so vegan musings, eatering, shoppering and other ings are now also syndicated here:

http://indolentdandy.net/fitzroy/
http://indolentdandy.net/carlton/
http://indolentdandy.net/brunswick/
http://indolentdandy.net/collingwood/
http://indolentdandy.net/innernorth/

Or - you could just go straight to www.indolentdandy.net. Whatevs.

Step 1 of my plan to achieve total world domination is go.

PS the wonderful Cindy and Michael of Where's The Beef are also over there so it is most certainly a place of quality.

Desecration Decoration, or: The Carlton Hotel is despicable.

In the hallowed, insular state-of-being of Australian Rules Football, there are immutable precepts and sacrosanct laws. One of them is that everyone hates the Collingwood Magpies. In return, Collingwood's mortal enemies are the Essendon Bombers and the Carlton Blues. As a one-eyed 'Pie, I am bound by blood, duty and honour to loathe mine enemies and smite them (this causes some real problems with Buzz, as we are in fact a mixed marriage. Whilst I am a mongrel magpie, he is a bloody blue and I can't repeat the epithets I delivered to him when Carlton beat Collingwood twice last season).

And I now have another Carlton to loathe and despise. Last night we went to the Carlton Hotel and the contempt I hold for their decorating preferences outstrips by a millionfold even my antipathy towards the Blues.

The Carlton Hotel is festooned with the stuffed bodies of animals - peacocks, parrots, butterflies, an ostrich and the neck and head of a giraffe. A rhino head is a copy in flocking, but in the midst of the other 'exhibits' provides little relief.

I just can't fathom the decision to pay for the corpses of deliberately killed animals to adorn your walls. They are positioned, observing, around the bar; dumbly witnessing the evening and the subject of both pointing fingers and bland stares from eyes that slide over them as they would any other object.

Perhaps I am an animal sizeist, but it was the head, neck and part of the chest of the giraffe that made me the saddest. So large, so quartered, so anomalous in her journey from wherever she was killed to an upstairs bar on scummy Bourke Street on a drunken Saturday night. She raised her head over the goings-on, like a spire, with the body of a tiny bird perched on her ear in a parody of life.

Somehow no matter where I tried to stand, I was always facing her.

As the night wore on I noticed more, and what became apparent after closer observation of the animals made me angry, contemptuous and despairing.

The ostrich had pearls wrapped around her neck like a choker; the giraffe had been prettied up with glittery eyelashes and golden eyeliner.

It was meant to be amusing, quirky, perhaps a reflection of the clientele; but it was the ultimate assault on the dignity of death. Such a fate - slaughtered to become a still and silent 3D mannequin, only to be gussied up for decoration and display. It's not enough that a living, breathing, sentient animal's dead body is presented for decoration, but it must be made a mockery of, dressed up and dolled up like a grand dame.

I can't think that the Carlton Hotel is bringing itself any good karma. I can only despise a decision to display what they have. You should bury those bodies with the dignity they deserve.

A night out in Carlton, or: we visit Shakahari and I experience religious ecstasy (read: tofu caramel)

Bad vegan I am, I have never, not ever, eaten at Shakahari. This Carlton institution of 18 years claims to be one of the first to use Asian tastes and skills in cookering, well before the official 'Asian Fusion' craze.

I must admit that I had expected something more Carlton-esque foodwise - big serves of piping hot, punchy tasting, simple-but-honest food. I did not expect something more haute cuisine-ish, but for the excellent prices this food was fighting well above its weight.

I began with the signature avocado rolls, trumpety scrolls of avocado and tomato wrapped up in deep fried tempura eggplant spongey crispness (bits spongey, bits crispy). The light, Asian and very green coriander sauce was a tangy accompaniment to the hot and squashy rolls.

Buzz's entree was entirely different; soft pasta-like Agnolotti dumplings stuffed with pumpkin and corn. This was more of the Italian-style Carlton I had envisaged, and an excellent counterpart - warmer, richer - to the light and crispy avocado rolls.

My main was croquettes which appeared on the plate glistening with fresh fried-ness. In the mouth, however, they were a little disappointing; perhaps with something excellent from the supermarket and a pan of ultra-boiling oil I could have done the same.


The outstanding element on the plate was the apricot chutneysauce - more fluid than chutney, thicker than sauce - it coated in a stickily sweet contrast to the hot softness of the crispy-edged but thickly-centred croquette.


Buzz ordered the most meaty looking main, tofu and seitan kebabs with satay sauce. The skewered cubes on their own were like little basketballers - always up for the rebound. You could press one between your molars and it would spring back and push your jaws to open. A little dry (and disconcerting), they were improved by the spicy satay and well complemented by the pickled sides (although I was a little perplexed by the mini-mountain of rice).


And so to dessert. Buzz the ice-creamer chose one of the dairy desserts, but as I was confronted, as happens so rarely, with more than one vegan sweet, unable to choose I asked our waiter what the tofu caramel was, and I quote: "It's a little bit of heaven on a plate". Cliches notwithstanding, I am all in favour of God-like oral experiences, so I agreed.

And. Yes.

The tofu was silken and disintegrated into a cool meltingness in the mouth, without any of the tofu taste you would expect. It was almost flavourless, allowing its topping of a thick and sticky, almost crystallised, caramel sauce and chopped pistachios to become the flavour and texture focus of the dish. The contrast between the runny, sugary sauce and the crunchy, salty pistachios, mixed up with the dissolving tofu, was as promised Dei-riffic.


Shakahari was a great night out - nice enough to dress up but affordable enough to be followed by a movie. Friendly and unpretentious service belied the sophisticated presentation of the food, which was, although at times leaving some room for improvement, outstanding and exceptionally good value. And you have to give credit for its status as the first Melbourne veggie eatery & longevity- snaps!

Dear Mr Lethlean,

Hi John,

Thanks for including a vegan dish in the latest Melbourne Magazine as one of your “favourite dining moments of the month”. The seasonable vegetable salad at Council House looks great, and even though you didn’t actually say it was vegan, we can tell. Cheers. (Also, hope the move to New Ltd is working out. I’m sure you’re glad you’re in the glossy mag and not the tabloid bit).

Anyway, I did notice that right next to the veggie salad is the hand-cured meat plate at La Luna. I mean, I don’t know if you meant that to be ironic, although I did notice that back at The Age the veggie articles were usually surrounded by ads for fish or something, but hey ho, it’s your page and you’re allowed to do what you want with it.

But, John, did you really have to write this: “The vegetarian’s anti-Christ, North Carlton chef and restauranteur Adrian Richardson, has hung his hat very much on animal protein. …” and did you really have to finish off with this: “… how could you live without meat?”.

How could you? Was that meant to sound rhetorical? Because the answer is: because I’m healthier for avoiding the heart-clogging, asthma-inducing, cancer-encouraging, cholesterol-skyrocketing animal products that you eat; because my carbon footprint is so incredibly teenier weenier than yours no matter what you do ever; and most of all, because no animal had to live a painful, miserable life, be tortured, suffer and die so that I can have a sandwich. More to the point, I live without meat so that animals can live, which is like, the point of being born alive - to get to live, I presume, and not to become someone's casual lunch.

So please stop writing silly things John. I don’t expect you turn veg overnight, or ever actually, but I do expect a bit better in the way of sensibleness. There are myriad reasons why people can, do and should live without meat so that was a very silly question indeed, wasn’t it John?

Cheers,
Rach

PS I actually really like your reviews, and I share your obsessive collecting of silicon kitchen gadgets. Just no more silliness thanks. Ta.