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Madame Sousou

Home to the World's Smallest Cappuccino, if this cafe were a person it’d be that guy you meet in a Hipster bar (y’know, the guy in tight black jeans and wearing beret? Yeah, you know him) who smirks at your hairstyle, asks if you want a double barrelled, 15 year old pinot grigio only recently shipped to Melbourne from the depths of Loire Valley, and then walks away halfway through your response.

Home to the World’s Smallest Cappuccino, if this cafe were a person it’d be that guy you meet in a Hipster bar (y’know, the guy in tight black jeans and wearing beret? Yeah, you know him) who smirks at your hairstyle, asks if you want a double barrelled, 15 year old pinot grigio only recently shipped to Melbourne from the depths of Loire Valley, and then walks away halfway through your response.

Home to the World's Smallest Cappuccino, if this cafe were a person it’d be that guy you meet in a Hipster bar (y’know, the guy in tight black jeans and wearing beret? Yeah, you know him) who smirks at your hairstyle, asks if you want a double barrelled, 15 year old pinot grigio only recently shipped to Melbourne from the depths of Loire Valley, and then walks away halfway through your response.

Of course he’s a jerk, but you still want him to like you, so you stay around, bum a smoke and try to look cool.

Madam Sousou is the perfect place to go if you want to feel really average about yourself. The wait staff are all beautiful, and I suspect they know it judging by their general lack of interest in your face or presence (with a couple of exceptions of course). And I don’t blame them – if I looked like any of the girls that worked here I’d be a total arse to everyone, because beautiful people can be arsewipes and everyone just allows it because they’re beautiful and that’s what they give to the world.

I give the occasional wicked beef stir fry. This skill alone does not allow me to be a mole to anyone, except close friends and even they take me down with an aggressive nerf gun shoot out if I push it.

Also, sticking with the French theme, the walls are beautifully decorated with amazing (and of course pretentious) French-style art. Which basically means there are a lot of tits and arses for you to look at while you wait for your eggs to arrive. Note: Nothing encourages appetite quite like staring at an arse.

Presentation
The French are known for the beautiful presentation of their food (I don’t know if that’s actually true, but for the purpose of this piece let’s say it is). With that in mind, this was pretty standard, although I loved how the bacon actually looked like a pork chop.

Bacon
Ok, I paid for bacon on the side (again). Starting to get annoying and it’s only my second review. I actually paid $6 for the bacon. SIX DOLLARS! I thought to myself, ‘man, I’m totes gonna get a STACK of bacon for that!’. I got two pieces. However, those two pieces may actually be the best thing that has ever happened to me. Perfectly cooked and beautifully cut.

Scrambled eggs
Holy sweet baby Jesus, these eggs were so good they make me want to consider the option of marrying an inanimate object. Can I? Is that legal in Australia? Someone please let me know.

Toast
No butter. I’m not even going to bother whinging about it this time around. The toast was, I assume, sourdough and after borrowing a chainsaw from a fellow patron in an attempt to get through the crust, the toast was actually pretty rad. I’d eat it on it’s own…but with butter, of course. I almost chipped a tooth, but it was worth it, and I have other teeth.

Price
To be honest the venue was so beautiful I was happy to pay a little bit extra for this breakfast. $11 for the eggs and $6 for the bacon meant that I didn’t break the bank, but a third piece of bacon wouldn’t have hurt. Just sayin’.

TinyCap

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