At a small cafe named The Outpost in the South Yarra suburb of Melbourne, Australia, I kicked off two weeks of anti-work, otherwise known as vacation. This is the kind of place I wanted to love but couldn't completely - it is a mix of good and not-so-good. My scrambled with black truffles should've been a deal-maker but they were suprisingly bland. They looked so beautiful that I chewed and chewed, patiently waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. Dash of salt, bit of pepper, still nothing.
Puffin made the right call - stacks of french toast strips with carmelized walnuts and bacon on top. Absolutely excellent. I, of a chivalrous nature, gladly helped her out with this daunting pile of food. It was the least I could do.
9 Yarra St