In Spanish, gas means ‘you’re a dickhead’. Jokes! That’s a lie. I don’t think ‘gas’ means anything in Spanish, which is why I’m still confused as to why Gas in South Melbourne has a Spanish/cultural theme to it. I’m starting to think it’s because the owner likes red ramekins, which is as good a reason as any I guess. But still. Gas? Spanish? Weird.
I haven’t eaten in South Melbourne in, like, forever. In fact I think the last time I ate there was when I was sniffing out South Melbourne Market dim sims. The beauty of South Melbourne is that it’s not as pretentious as Albert Park, but not as casual/touristy as Port Melbourne. It’s kind of like Oz – you don’t really know how to get there or get out, but it’s kinda fun once you are there, and the trees talk to you. Sometimes.
Gas isn’t just Spanish. It’s actually got a billion types of food in it, which is SO much fun if you’re ambitious, but if you’re anything like my mum you may drop to the ground, curl up in a little ball and start sucking your thumb at the sheer variety of food options available. Not to worry though, because I don’t think I spotted one person over 35 there on the Saturday morning I popped in.
Lack of old people aside, everyone seems welcome at Gas. From people with bike shorts (not ok, by the way) to people with prams. I love that people in South Melbourne have pretty dogs, too. If they had ugly dogs then I’m afraid to say I’d probably like them less.
I was really looking forward to eating at Gas. I’ve heard a lot of awesome things about it, so I ordered my French toast for $11, and decided to add banana ($3) and maple syrup ($1), because I like to splash money around and appear opulent.
My truly impressive tower of toast arrived, but unfortunately the chef appeared to have dropped an entire bag of CSR sugar on it before then spilling half a litre of what I can only describe as pure sugar cane syrup extract (if that’s actually a thing) on top.
There’s no words to describe how sweet and sugary my toast was (although you can see from the pic above). I’m honestly, cross my heart not lying when I say that I got through about half a dozen mouthfuls before I could feel my teeth whimpering in agony.
Luckily my partner ordered the Spanish Tortilla (fancy omelette) which has amazing chorizo in it. Chorizo makes me happy, so like any good girlfriend I picked it all out of his meal and ate it. He’s getting a bit porky anyway so I’m doing him a favour by eating it for him. This tortilla is also the reason my score for Gas went from 2.5 to a 3 – because it seems that perhaps French toast isn’t their thing, but damn they make a good omelette!
All in all, I’d be happy to go back to Gas. If not for breakfast then totes defo for the ramekins.