The Roller Door is a quaint little cafe quietly tucked away on a street I didn’t even know existed until I accidentally drove down it. And maybe that’s how they want it, but it’s not how it’s going to stay! No siree.
A simple little place with about six tables and equally as many dog water bowls, Roller Door offers a pretty basic menu of everything you could possibly want to choose from at breakfast (except for a re-enactment of when Fabio got whacked in the face by a duck). It’s nice not to have to make a decision between thirteen different types of bread at 8am, so for this reason, Roller Door gets two thumbs up (apologies to any amputee victims out there with no thumbs). Confusingly, the sign at the front says Mon-Fri on it, so it’s fair to assume they are only open those days. However I wandered past on a Sunday, so either I was caught up in some kind of time travel zone or they just haven’t updated their signs yet. With this in mind, perhaps call ahead should you want to pop down on a weekend to make sure this wasn’t just a fluke.
The service wasn’t so flash hot, but I reasoned with myself that this was a fairly cool part of town and perhaps being unfriendly was the new friendly, so I let it slide. I ordered a coffee and an Eggs Rustic, because I was keen to see how they planned to serve up broccolini at such an ungodly hour. I then spent the next ten minutes wondering who had the mad idea of writing a dozen different names for ‘toilet’ on the bathroom door.
The tiny courtyard at Roller Door is delightful, with a beautiful little herb garden and some mismatched furniture to boot. It really makes you want to become a vegan or something and cut out all animal products to help save the world. Except for bacon.
The coffee arrived, cold, and the meal followed soon after, which was ideal seeing as that’s the general process in a cafe environment. It was then I noticed I didn’t have cutlery, salt, pepper or sugar at the table. It’s impossible to flag anyone down for help because they’re all inside chatting, so after interrupting a incredibly important conversation about what some guy said to some other guy last night, I reported the loss, to which the reply was, ‘well it should be on the table’. Yes. Yes, it should be, but seeing as I’m not in the business of stealing salt from cafes I asked them to cut me some slack, and in turn was given a sugar container with no sugar and a salt shaker with hard salt. Close enough.
After all this hoopla, I’m pleased to report the meal was actually not too bad. Yes, the eggs were slightly overlooked, but the basil and feta combo was to die for, bring a fresh burst to what could otherwise have been a fairly one dimensional dish, and the broccolini was absolutely the highlight, being lightly doused in beautiful olive oil and then seasoned slightly. The mushrooms were cold, but it didn’t really matter once the eggs oozed over them. Not one caper appeared on my plate, and I’m ok with that.
All in all, the first visit to Roller Door may not be perfect, but the food has potential, the venue is sweet and they have a dozen names for the loo, and that in itself makes it worth a second try.