Think of it like this: those people you see outside Pantry that will never love you because you’re not good looking enough will one day get old and eat at Cafe Florentine. Although it is in judgey Brighton, it expects less of you. It’s okay to go to Florentine and then pop up the road and shop at Maggie T.
The ‘Cafe’ prefix is new, by the by. As long as I’ve been going there, it’s just been ‘Florentine’ (or sometimes a flirty ‘Florentines’). It’s frequented by Joan Rivers clones colour blocking in resort wear who gas bag for hours about their dead husbands. I know this because I walk past to go to the bookshop and emerge the following September and they are still there. With all the teeth smacking and enormous sunglasses.
We were at Florentine this morning so I could hand my beloved children over to my parents for a trip to Adelaide. My dear mum is startled by loud noises, so the soothing sounds of old biddies helps her power through her morning. I thought we should have breakfast at Revolver, but that was met with some opposition (“What is Revolver? Why are you saying words I don’t understand?”).
Again, I ordered Eggs Benedict and added stuff to it. A little dab of hollandaise is like adding sunshine to breakfast.
It’s lucky I wanted a whole branch on my plate, because that’s what I got. The little earthenware dish was a nice touch.
The ‘toast’ was actually half of a turkish bread roll, I think. It neither added to nor detracted from the experience, which is a shame. I then entered into a long conversation with my mother about how often restaurants miss the opportunity to add a bit of flair with good bread. It’s true though, I am always impressed by slightly unusual bread.
Florentine serves the exact same hashbrowns as The Spare Room. They are moderately better than the Birds Eye ones. I’m going to look for them in the supermarket for my own entertainment. Unless they’re from Aldi, I don’t go there.
It’s green! Praise the avocado lord. It was a little hard.
Again, and I don’t know if this is because I spent the whole night drinking gin and putting cigarettes out on my tongue, but the ham didn’t offer much to improve the meal. I mean, it was fine, but it just didn’t have a lot of flavour.
See that stuff that looks like a yeast infection? That’s what happens when you don’t cook your eggs properly.
Benedict + extras was $15.50 plus $3.50 plus $3.50. I don’t have a calculator on me and you’ve seen above how my brain is going today.