Cafes of derision

Papa Giuseppe (yes, truly his name), a former Titanic media officer has emailed me, wanting to know 'why is Pellegrini's so highly bloody rated? The coffee is CRAP; the food so-so...'

I responded by explaining that as far as La Pep in Alice is concerned, it's more a case of imitation being the sincerest form of flattery.  Terrible food, strange burnt-tasting Lavazza coffee, awful pictures of Italy on the walls, surly service, silvery '50s-style kitchen tables inside, Alice's select population of Mediterranean men on the pavement outside.

But all this has left me wondering, sometimes do we actually desire, even look forward to paying for an experience of derision in a cafe or a bar?  I mean, most of the service in Alice's premier cafes is fairly interesting, as I've discussed elsewhere.  But what about examples of actual derision or even contempt?

Seaching back through my memory index cards, two examples come to mind.  First, the Black Cat cafe in Melbourne.  For some reason, when I first moved to Melbourne about 15 years ago, people seemed to think this was a wonderful place to go.  Grotty, tatty, sporting an unremarkable menu, including 'spiders' (like 'the blushing cockroach').  But best of all, the service.  I'm sure I made it back to the counter 3 times on some occasions, asking where on earth our lattes were (how can it take 45 minutes to make a coffee?), because the staff were all behind the counter doing drugs.

Then there was the MCA Cafe in Sydney  -- clearly up the opposite end of the spectrum to the Black Cat in flavour and demeanour, but it used to be simply appalling if you looked in any way studenty (this is going back almost ten years, so maybe things have changed). You could stand in that 'please wait to be seated' queue for hours before they'd deign to find you a table anywhere. Which leads me to another question: is it better to be dissed by the Cool People of Brunswick St than the Snobs (i.e. for not being a Sydney Culturati matron wearing a Margaret Preston scarf)?  For some reason, I'm more inclined to go with the former -- but maybe I just find it more acceptable to be inserted into that hierarchy.

An addendum to the white trash stuff: The Young Feller, whom I work with, said (unsolicited by me): 'Oh there's something I've been meaning to say to you....Savannah, isn't that something of a white trash name? Like someone you'd expect to be living in a campervan?'

This was in response to my joy in reporting that the Boring Normal Girl on our floor, with her incessant discourse on real estate and child-rearing ('Savannah and Phoenix -- now they're strong names!') had been replaced by a quiet Afro-American woman (who's actually becoming less quiet and more therapeutically OPEN in an American kind of way in the tea room).

'Yes,' I said. 'Especially if you spell it with two "y"s'.

The Young Feller's father was a shearer, and he was the first one in his family to go to Uni (tho come to think of it, my sister probably was in my family). So that made me feel a little better about casting nasturtiums on white trash....

Comments

[Angus]

Ha, yes I've identical experiences in both the (awful) Black Cat and the (actually rather good) MCA Cafe (but not good enough to put up with that rubbish). Mario's also has a reputation for being rude, but only if you ask for decaf or soy or "skinny" (ie you deserve it).

As for Pellegrini's, I kind of agree with your friend, I was definitely underwhelmed when I first went to this supposedly legendary place. But it's all about the history I guess.

[Francis Xavier Holden]

I always used to like the Black Cat years ago and my kids loved the spiders. It was always friendly.

I still like Pellegrini's. Sitting up at the counter of against the wall looking in the mirror is great if you are by yourself. Good place to meet someone. Used to be great to go by yourself and have a ciggarette. Those days are gone.

[elsewhere]

I was never too keen about the looking-in-the-mirror aspect of pellegrini's, I must admit!