home-made

Sometimes in life, we have experiences that make us want to go and find the things that previously brought us joy and kick them in the shins for being so horrible by comparison. Eating breakfast at 8 Days Cafe is one of those things. Even now, hours later, I am curled up on the couch, crying at the inadequacy of all other areas of my life.

Once a year, tiny people make a mess in the kitchen and then inevitably spill things when they enter the bedroom. They call this day 'Mother's Day', because it's a day when mothers only have to make two meals instead of three. My children are pretty excellent at it.

Once upon a time, there was a piglet called Albert. He was an astute and ambitious fellow, and he decided that when he grew up, he wanted to be someone's delicious breakfast. For the rest of his life, he ate the very best salt for breakfast, lunch and tea, until he was a fat, salty chap. Then the farmer took him to the slaughterhouse and cut off his enormous belly. He made it into delicious pancetta and then Anna ate it.

You could be forgiven for thinking that hobba is actually somewhere you might take your car to be serviced. It has that small industrial feel that's usually reserved for Collingwood and beyond and, well, it's a converted warehouse cum garage. But the untreated wood fairies have worked their magic on the inside, and there's a kitchen and tables and all kinds of things that really make it a convincing - and lovely - eatery.