When we moved into our little part of the inner-west a couple of years ago, more than one friend or colleague said the same thing: “Oh, you’ve GOT to go to Big Brekky!”
Well, it’s been eighteen months, and last weekend we finally made it.
Situated in a little corner shop on a rather shabby stretch of Stanmore Road (it’s a pitching wedge away from the local titty bar), it’s definitely got its charms. There’s a big garden out the back with a play area, which was popular with the local aging-hipster parent population, and we watched a number of mums in their Thai fisherman’s pants chase after their sprogs while calling out their Newtown Names. It occurred to me how much the parents of toddlers are like immigrant cabbies: Once upon a time they may have earned advanced degrees, but in both cases fate has handed them got full-time jobs that involve chasing after incoherent, irrational humans who puke and wet their pants.
There was a wait for the table, but we didn’t mind. They brought us coffees (good!) and a piece of bacon for the dog (yum!). The waiter covering the garden delivered an entertaining high-camp patter. We sat. There was no question, once we looked at the menu, what we were going to get: Corned beef hash cakes with wilted silverbeet, fried eggs, blistered grape tomatoes & tomato chutney. I’m a big fan of corned beef hash since, well, forever, having grown up in New York diners. Mrs Prick has loved the stuff ever since she had a breakfast that also included poached eggs, hollandaise sauce, and G&T at some resort up the coast. My comment, reading the menu item, was, “Damn! I wish I had a hangover!”
This is what we got:
Was it good? Yes. Was it great? Well … the corned beef was fine, but there was too much potato and not enough salt. The silverbeet looked more like English spinach, but no matter. The eggs were, however, perfectly cooked, and I wish I had thought to ask for Tabasco.
So the big question: Will we be back? Probably, sometime. But the place is still just a pinch of Maldon away from greatness.