Most bars I know look a little seedy during the day what with the light picking up the spilt beer and split chair fabric and whatnot. So it’s interesting that Grumpys Green is not only open for dinner and bar snacks, but also breakfast from 10. Having only visited for dinner, I can’t actually tell you how Grumpys fairs in the daylight but perhaps they’re going on the fact that the food is just that good that people don’t care. Or that they’re too hung-over too notice. Both are distinct possibilities.

It has to be something pretty spectacular to get me to trek over to the other side. But when perusing Grumpys menu online, it got my little vegetarian heart racing. The experience of being able to eat anything on the menu is always a little overwhelming, especially when everything sounds totally, one hundred percent mouth watering. What’s not to love about beer battered eggplant wedges in tomato chutney? Not much I tell you, not much.

Which was somewhat a problem because rather than choosing between things, my friends and I ended up ordering most of them and when the first dish of nachos came out like some heavenly mountain range of goodness, (the thing was huge I tell you, several mountains’ worth) we began to worry that we’d over-ordered just a little bit. Thankfully, everything else was a normal size and I even considered dessert at the end (though I am able to fit a curiously large amount of food into a seemingly small exterior.)

But though the food is glorious, the set up is unusual. It’s far more of a pub than anything else, (albeit an environmentally friendly, vegetarian friendly one.) Finding a table for nine was quite a challenge given that none of us felt like embracing Melbourne’s wintery depths to sit outside. Having crowded out some drinkers from the long high table in the centre of the room, we helped ourselves to menus and then began the arduous task of trying to order. In the end we settled for writing a list and handing it to the barman. I’m not sure that’s what was supposed to happen but food arrived and in correct quantities. However towards the end of dinner we experienced a karmic crowding-out from others so we took our leave slightly earlier than planned.

Still, it was a great meal and probably one to be repeated.

Here are some things I have learnt about Grumpys:

The food is spectacular (Highlights include the eggplant wedges, spring rolls and mountainous nachos. Next time I’m going the tower burger because I experienced massive order envy when I saw it slip past our table to a booth behind us. Although the breakfast tortilla sounds great…and there’s still half an entrée menu to sample…)

Keep your party to four or five to maximise comfort and the probability of finding a table.

Glutards* are made to feel as welcome as vegetarians and lactards**. A triumph for all!

Organic doesn’t have to mean exorbitant. All ingredients (including wine and beer) are sourced in Victoria and many are organic, yet most dishes hovered between $8 and $12.

I really need to live somewhere on the other side, where asymmetrical haircuts and grungy knitwear are essential.

*Urbandictionary.com explains this as one who is glutarded, ie:
“Hey, do you want some pasta for dinner?”
“No, sorry, I’m a glutard.”
“…what does that mean?”
“It means… I’m glutarded.”
“Oh. Okay.”

**As above except with an aversion to products obtained from a cow’s udder, rather than wheaten-like foodstuffs.

On the corner of New and York streets, embedded in the back alleys and one-way streets of Richmond, is a garage roller door with the wonder that is New York Tomato hiding behind it. It is not the newest cafe round the traps but it is one of the Melbourne definitive brunch spots. If you haven’t been there, you just haven’t been to Melbourne.

The restaurant sits at the bottom floor of a warehouse and is mainly a courtyard with potted plants, rickety tables and a pleasant beam of sunlight streaming through the shades. Inside there are a few tables and the tiny kitchen open for all to see. When I sit inside it is impossible not to stare at the chefs as they cook and pirouette gracefully around the benchtops and ovens.

The line on the weekends may be timely but a coffee and the presentation of the menu is sure to alleviate the pain. The food is influenced slightly by the Mediterranean with claypots and baked eggs a specialty.

New York Tomato is a relaxed affair, for me, the perfect start to a weekend. As I pour over the Saturday papers with the sun’s subtle warmth on my back I can sit and enjoy a few necessary minutes without a care for the ding of an email, the rush of the streets or the zombie army of shoppers on Bridge Road.

Let’s get one thing straight. When it comes to pizza, I’m generally pretty easy to please. I am by no means a pizza snob. If the base isn’t reminiscent of cardboard and the rest doesn’t feel like it’s been bathing for some weeks in a pool of oil, that’s usually enough to satisfy me and my inner pizza fiend. That’s not to say that I can’t tell the difference between your average Pizza Hut chain store situation and your gourmet pizza-rific delicacies. In fact I have set the bar particularly high, making Ecco in Subiaco my benchmark (if you’re ever in Perth check it out – it’s life-changing). I’ve yet to find a pizza on par with the perfection Ecco has to offer. 

But Ladro on Greville Street comes pretty darn close.

When Ladro’s sparkling reputation reached all the way to the West Coast (the Australian Magazine gave it 4 “Australias” out of 5 which almost never happens, so my mother tells me excitedly from back home in Perth), I thought a pizza enthusiast such as myself best pay it a visit.

With a set up evocative of a New York studio apartment, Ladro’s rustic, minimalist décor is unpretentious and relaxed, while still maintaining that uber chic feel belonging to restaurants in that part of Melbournetown. The menu is sophisticated, with a few fun gourmet twists on the classics as well as some unique creations. I contemplate the merits of pizza versus pasta, as everything on the menu reads like culinary poetry. Then along comes our super smiley waitress and throws a list of specials in the mix which all sound stupendous. I opt for pizza because, at the end of the day, my inner pizza fiend will always triumph.

My eyes zero in almost immediately to the pizza decorated with more varieties of cheese than any other on the menu. I mean it also had rocket and caramelised onion and whatnot – but 3 types of cheese! And where the cheese goes, I will follow. The stinkier the better.  My inner cheese demon is probably the only force capable of taking on my inner pizza fiend and when the two combine, there’s no stopping them.

The staff is friendly, attentive and knowledgeable. Our waitress knows so much about the different cheeses featured on the menu that I am very confident we were either separated at birth or should be best friends. Service is speedy, leaving us just enough time after ordering to work ourselves into a pre-pizza frenzy. When I catch a glimpse of the meal being placed on the table I’m not sure whether to eat it, embrace it, or face-plant directly into it. It smells sensational. I abandon the usual “knife-and-fork versus fingers” debate that usually precedes eating at these up-market pizza establishments and dive straight in. The base has that marvelous pizza-oven crunch, the cheese is warm and gooey without being drippy and greasy, and the flavours work so well together I believe my taste buds might be doing a little jig of joy. It took all my self restraint not to lift the giant, empty plate to my face to savour the last remaining bits of taleggio. But then I was gently reminded that I was in public and such behavior is not terribly ladylike.

As far as portion size is concerned, you will not go home hungry. My culinary partner in crime (who is a big, strong, handsome boy with a typical boys’ appetite) was only just able to finish his pizza, which I believe is saying a lot. The scrumptious dessert menu was calling my name (don’t even get me started on my inner sugar gremlin) and if I hadn’t been so full I probably would’ve asked for one of everything. But as it was, it already looked like I was going to need to be rolled to the car.

So kids, the moral of the story is that: 1) Ladro pizza is great, 2) Don’t eat anything for some hours before you plan to go, 3) I am possessed by a variety of food monsters.
 
If the new restaurant on Greville Street isn’t local, you can go to the original Ladro on Gertrude Street in Fitzroy. Oh, and a word of advice ladies – this is not a skinny jeans situation. Whip out the fat pants for this one.

Nestled behind the Middle Park tram stop, Mart 130 is quaint and irresistibly delicious.

Hidden from the road, this charmingly refurbished station master’s house can be a little tricksy to find. It’s worth persisting though. Decked out with all sorts of vintage maps and knick-knacks, Mart 130 exudes a quiet confidence, that comes from knowing it’s the best café around for miles.

Whether you’re in a granola sort of mood, or up for a full lunch, you can be certain it’s going to be great. They have the usual eggs and sides but also items with a twist– pancakes with berries and vanilla marscapone; nicoise salad with a fresh tuna steak; and a zingy tofu salad (which was a favourite until they sullied it with hefty handfuls of coriander, though really, I know I’m alone in my herb hatred.)

It’s a little pricey, but worth it. Mart is one of those places you take out-of-towners when trying to impress upon them the glory of Melbourne’s café society. It’s one of those places you could very happily visit every weekend and order your regular bircher and flat white, or the sort of place you save for special occasions when you know your friends will be paying.

Not only is the food worthy of reverent hymns, but the gentle, light-filled ambience at Mart puts you in a happy place – perhaps somewhere on the beach, with a fireplace during winter and a hammock in summertime, somewhere free of work stress and children’s swimming lessons and the gloom that lurks in Monday’s socks.

Expect a wait on weekends, but expect a truly fantastic meal to follow it. (Don’t leave your run too late, though. Curiously, the kitchen closes at 3.) And then once you’re truly stuffed, take a stroll around the nearby Albert Park Lake and consider how many special occasions you can create where a trip to Mart 130 is an absolute necessity because I guarantee, one chance at the menu will not be enough.

Dr Jekyll is a really enjoyable coffee experience. It’s a hang out that considers their customers to be part of the family, so much so, that they take customer suggestions to heart. One of these being to expand their premises. Previously, Dr. Jekyll was unable to cope with the constant flow of patrons wanting to take cover indoors instead of on their outside terrace. As winter hit Melbourne like a high-speed train, Dr Jekyll expanded to the shop front next door with a massive bay view window, allowing patrons to sit right on Grey Street and watch the cross-section of St. Kilda’s inhabitance walk past, definitely a source of conversation starters.

At the moment they are negotiating with the council for another customer suggestion, acquiring a liquor license. This would allowing Jekyll to transform from an edgy cafe by day to a quiet chill bar by night. And with the mentioned expansion of the cafe, a liquor license is this only thing missing for it to become a Melbourne hotspot.

Walking into the coffee joint we were greeted with a hearty welcome as if we were entering a friend’s house. We took a seat in the new section of the café. Matthew the owner of the café was there behind the bar with a welcoming smile, He is not only the owner of Dr. Jekyll, but also the order taker and barista, showing a real hands on feel for the business. I ordered a mocha and it was really lovely as it was hot, flavorsome and had the right amount of richness- the chocolate didn’t overpower the coffee. These are the three attributes which I think are key in terms of a good quality coffee.

The baked goodies are displayed on the benchtop and do not feature on the menu as they change daily, depending on the whim of the baker, Matthew’s mother. They vary from gluten free almond and orange cake to chocolate hazelnuts brownies. The cakes look homey rather than generic and the fact that you never know what the cake de jour will be adds a nice element of surprise. In terms of the food, one may do a quick assessment and pass the menu off as being ‘typical’ brunch style. However on closer examination there are unique items such as cured meat and French style baguettes, both prepared by local producers. It’s these alternative type items that keep customers coming back for brunch weekend after weekend.

World on a Wire (Welt am Draht) by Steph Dyhin

If you want to see something you’ll be able to wax lyrical about at dinner parties for months to come, my pick is World on a Wire. The festival guide calls it an ‘epic science fiction mystery [that] has been screened in cinemas on only a handful of occasions…a holy grail for classic cinema fans’.

At the beginning of The Matrix, Neo holds a copy of Simulation and Simulacra, in which French theorist Baudrillard describes a copy that no longer bears any relation to the original. Exploring this notion, in Daniel Galouye’s Simlacron 3 (the novel on which this film is based) a version of our world is presented as ‘a community of ‘identity units’ who, unbeknownst to them, live inside a super computer’. Sound familiar?

The Festival guide describes ‘dizzying cinematography and a bubbling undercurrent of paranoia and sexual unease’. Director Fassbinder ‘completed 44 projects between 1966 and 1982, the majority of which can be characterized as highly intelligent social melodramas’. He had a reputation as the ‘enfant terrible of the New German Cinema, as well as its central figure’, despite being far outlived by his contemporaries Wenders and Herzog. Sounds like it’ll make Inception compare to play school!

Steph is a born and bred Melbournian. A marketing account manager by day and writer by night, she’s addicted to the internet and loves music, cinema and cooking.

The Clinic by Luke Coughlan

Calling all fans of genre films, come one and all this Saturday night to Cinema Nova for new Aussie slasher flick, The Clinic. Loosely based on true events, this film is a slow-burning masterpiece of a psychological thriller, with emphasis on the “psycho”.

We’ve all heard nightmare stories about people waking in a bathtub full of ice with their organs missing, but what if a pregnant mother woke to find her unborn baby had been taken from her? How far would she go to get her baby back? What sort of people would take her baby from her like this in the first place? These are some questions The Clinic has the answer to.

Other than maybe being a little too slow to start, the pacing of the action is done just about right to keep the audience interested and not quite sure when the next thrill is coming. Plus some very powerful female performances make this film a must see for anyone sick of weak female protagonists. A great first effort from writer-director James Rabbitts, with a nice little twist at the end. Support Aussie film-making and check it out! It’s a late night double feature this Saturday at the Nova

Luke Coughlan is a self-confessed film nut & the 50+ films he is watching at MIFF, while continuing to work full time, is testament to that. Oh, and he also likes pancakes.

Rubber, Air Doll & The Messenger by Colin Wilson

If you like your movies a little quirky, then MIFF has plenty on offer. Make tracks to see Rubber, a film by Quentin Dupieux (aka Mr Oizo) about a telekinetic tyre called Robert, who goes on a rampage of death and destruction after suffering from a heavy case of unrequited love.

Air Doll is a whimsical Japanese Pinocchio-esqe tale about a blow-up doll that comes to life. Based on the manga series Kuuki Ningyo by Yoshiie Gōda, the movie looks hauntingly beautiful, but I have a feeling that it, like love so often does, will end in tears.

Another, more traditional movie, that will have a few eyes welling with tears is The Messenger. Woody Harrelson was nominated for an Oscar this year for his moving portrayal of a hardened officer whose job it is to inform the next of kin of a loved one’s death. Not a movie you will soon forget. Whatever you decide to see though, enjoy!

Colin Wilson is @coliwilso and in your pants since 2007!

One of the very few things I look forward to in winter – besides feeling no guilt about the length of my leg hairs and justifying my intake of carbs as “fuel consumption” – is the Melbourne International Film Festival. I find myself surreptitiously looking at the calendar as the event approaches and compulsively checking the street corners for my first glimpse of the MIFF guide. Or as it’s known in my house: The July Bible.

This year was no different. I took a deep breath, inhaling that all-too familiar scent of ink and anticipation, and plunged myself into the pages of the festival program, poring through the mass of films on offer. Now before I start advising you, dear reader, as to the must-sees, the don’t-sees and the I-told-you-not-to-see-it-so-share-your-trauma-with-someone-else-ees, let me say that the MIFF guide is immensely comprehensive, and it would be remiss not to at least have a medium perusal of this magnificent tome. That said, let’s go to the movies!

First, there are always a few films in the International Panorama that end up getting a cinematic release and I have spotted at least three this year: Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, Despicable Me and The Ghost Writer. Might I add, this is based purely on the fact that I have seen all three trailers at the cinema and could very well be proven wrong if they all fail dismally at the festival and end up in the Under $10 pile at your local video store. I’m just saying. Anyway, the crux of that missive was check the coming soon sections of the cinema websites so you don’t miss out on the once-offs.

You may or may not have heard the ruckus about Bruce LaBruce’s L.A. Zombie being banned from this year’s festival, but if you have chances are you have delighted in the newly-created genre it has spawned: gay zombie porn. The film was refused a classification exemption by The OFLC (Office of Film and Literature Classification) but fear not devotees of the weird and wacky! If you like your tongue firmly in-cheek and your women mainly nude and covered in gore, don’t miss Machete Maidens Unleashed! Following hot on the heels of MIFF 08’s Not Quite Hollywood, these 85 minutes will be filled with bosomy babes, dwarves, mutated creatures and no doubt, a boatload of politically incorrect, raucous laughter.

If you’re after something a little less gratuitous in the documentary category, there are picks aplenty this year. A Film Unfinished focuses on the longest film ever made by Nazi propaganda; Catfish tackles the perils of the current age of social networking; and love him or hate him, Hugh Hefner: Playboy, Activist and Rebel purports to show us a wholly unique side of this infamous personality. One of the more potentially contentious films on my list is The Genius and the Boys, which focuses on Careton Gajusek’s journey from Nobel Prize winner to paedophile to controversial theorist. I suspect the Coopers Festival Lounge will adequately blot out any potential trauma with their selection of red wine…

The International Panorama packs a punch this year and after many painful ponderous hours, I finally narrowed my list – down to 20. This led to further agonising moments a la Sophie’s Choice but in the end, it came down to The Kids Are Alright, Four Lions and Brotherhood. Quick summaries you say? But of course! Julianne Moore and Annette Bening are lesbians whose offspring decide to track down their babydaddydonor; terrorist hijinks with four hopeless wannabe suicide bombers; two skinheads battle to reconcile their overt homophobia as a relationship blooms between them. And people wonder why I love this festival.

While I have never seen an episode of Entourage, I do come out from under my rock often enough to know who Adrian Grenier is, and I must admit that his film Teenage Paparazzo does look like an interesting foray into the world of the celebrity snapping. The cast and producer of Peepli Live will be in attendance at the special screening of the film at the Regent Theatre. The film looks like it will be less Bollywood and more insightful, tasty satire. Finally, the winner of this year’s Cannes Palme d’Or features in this year’s festival. Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, featuring a dying man, the ghost of his deceased spouse, his non-human son and a mysterious journey looks just wacky enough to be brilliant.

I could waft on for days, but you people need to do some MIFF work and I need to get some sleep before it all begins. So pick up that guide or go to www.melbournefilmfestival.com.au and sink your teeth into something cinematically tasty.

Maybe just a few more for the mix? Cowboys in Paradise, Rejoice and Shout, Black Bus, Caterpillar, 1981, The Illusionist, I Killed My Mother, The Killer Inside Me.

Aaaaand I’m done.

Happy MIFF-ing!

Oh, and go see The Rebelles at The Forum on Sunday August 6th. They’re an all girl group that cover songs from the 60’s and they are the shizz.

Jodi Rosenthal is a Melbourne-based media juggernaut who feels conflicted about her love for Jimmy Buffett but her hatred of pina coladas AND getting caught in the rain.

Generally, when people go out for a special dinner it is customary to get a little fancy shmancy: Heels, dresses and make-up for the girls; a shirt and a splash of aftershave for the lads. It therefore surprised me upon entering Gills Diner that – despite their chef’s hat and reputation – it was a fairly relaxed affair. Waiters were in sneakers, one customer in army pants.

But do not fret, oh elitists and aristocracy of Melbourne, the food, wine and atmosphere were as good as, if not better, than that of the many… shall we say ‘more rigid’ chef’s hat restaurants around town.

Gills Diner has two faces. By day the glowing red neon sign reads ‘Italian Espresso’ and points to a bakery with sourdough bread and croissants to make your heart chant in joyful praise. By night the adjoining restaurant is home to candlelight diners feasting on mismatched chairs and reused school tables.

The slow-food menu is written above the diners on a blackboard and the waiter tells of the specials. The dishes are seasonal and take advantage of the local produce – we had very wintery dishes for a very wintery night. My crusted oxtail was rich, hearty and very flavoursome. Other dishes on the menu were eye fillet, veal ragout pasta and mushroom risotto.

Luckily there were no vegetarians in our faux-shmancy dinner as there was little on offer for them, though I am sure that this too, would change with the seasons.

The bar is on show in the middle of the diner where the well chosen wines and cocktails are poured next to dj decks and records from another era.

Gills Diner speaks an elegant discourse of Melbourne. The mood is dark, the the place is grungy and the people effortlessly eclectic.

When Round She Goes started out two years ago, it was full of promise – a shining, if squashy, treasure trove packed with $5 knits, $7 dresses and some really ingenious jewellery. It has since expanded and moved, and though there are still bargains to be found, you’re going to have to search a lot harder for them.

Round She Goes now boasts over 80 stalls but seemingly no screening method. It’s quite an overwhelming sight – an entire auditorium overflowing with fabric and costume jewellery and you’d be forgiven for wondering if you’re going to make it out without a elbow induced injury or two. Because even though there is now four times the space, it’s still pretty cramped and you’re just as likely to find close-to-full-price stock from Country Road’s last season or sagging bathers that really should have gone out in the last bin night, as you are an actual vintage gem.

That said, my favourite $5 jumper lady still has a stall and there’s some fun, if not trashy, brooches to be picked up.

If you’re in the mood to spend a little more, there is some good quality and re-appropriated vintage pieces hiding among the riffraff. It’s also a good place to stock up your kids’ dress up box – after all, where else could you find a perfectly hideous, shimmering purple velvet dress with a matching hat for under $10?

So if you’re up for the challenge, get prepared to jostle, sort, pram-dodge scrounge, bargain, be overwhelmed, underwhelmed (and sometimes just plain whelmed,) for the possibility of coming away empty-handed or in fact with a three piece sailor suit you never knew you needed.

So this apocalypse you guys are having… This crazy wind and rain and whatnot. What’s going on there?

I say “you guys” because despite my love for this city, the years I’ve spent longing to live here and my 4-month-long residency, when things go wrong in Melbourne I revert back to my Perthie status. Similarly when your trams run late or your weather gets its Bipolar groove on, I look wistfully Westwards.

There’s absolutely no denying it. The weather is laughable. The extremity of the cold is matched only by the insanity and inconsistency of the other seasons your fine city has to offer. Microwaving my socks in the morning is just one new experience Melbourne has opened up to me. The volatile tram/car relationship requires some getting used to as well. Hook turns – really? Driving on Melbourne roads, avoiding trams, pedestrians and road rage feels vaguely like play Mario Kart. Only with less cheerful chiming and more hostile honking.

But as I stroll through iconic St Kilda, rugged up in my coat and scarf with my Batch coffee in hand, greeted by walls emblazoned with tour dates for Melbourne’s Next Thing, I’m reminded why I love this city (until a glimpse of that excuse-for-a-beach of yours tugs on my Perth beach-loving heart strings, but only for a second). A wander up Carlisle Street makes me feel right at home. I’m surrounded by aromatic restaurants, quaint boutiques, and the throaty sounds of so much Yiddish I feel as though I’m in a New-York-based sitcom (chocolate Rogellacccch anyone?).

Is it pathetic that one of my favourite things about Melbourne is the coffee? Possibly, but I’ll own it. It seems you can’t say “long mac topped-up” around here before you reach the next delightful caffenation station. The streets are lined with them! The challenge? Finding your own little hole-in-the-wall café that’s not already full of people you know, talking about people you know.

So here I am with my designer coffee, making an enormous effort to look as effortlessly fashionable as native Melbournians. It’s almost 4am as I stumble with my friends through the sliding doors of Coles (incidentally, fun cocktails you guys have here too). It takes me a second to register the fact that I’m in a supermarket at such an absurd hour.

“Is it a public holiday tomorrow? Is that why you’re open so late?”, I naively ask the check-out chick.
“We’re open 24/7”, she says in a tone that demonstrates how thrilled she is to be scanning Arnott’s Scotch Fingers at that hour. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week? Having never before been in a supermarket past the closing time of 5:30 in the afternoon, I was noticeably aghast.
“Where do you think you are?” she asks incredulously.

Obviously not in Kansas anymore.

So this is my new city. This city where you can stumble completely by accident across a rooftop vintage market or a secret gig put on only for those who know where to look. Where entire districts are blocked off on weekends to allow and encourage the Football-devout to worship. Where food is appreciated as a culture in its own right and where the CBD consists of more than 3 skyscrapers.

And where you can buy Arnott’s Scotch Fingers at 4am.

Dana is Melbourne’s newest resident. She arrived here from Perth with wide-eyed amazement and has since been single-handedly keeping The Local in Carlisle Street in business