Pelligrini's

I'm staying in central Melbourne, and working in our office there, and this morning on the way to work I passed by Pellegrinis and figured, what the heck, I'd have a coffee. It was quite fuss-free, I went in, sat on a stool, ordered a coffee, was served, drank it, paid for it and left. Pretty straightforward. So what's the big deal?

As a young man I always found Pelligrinis a bit intimidating, I always got the sense that if you didn't order the right thing in the right way you'd regret it. The regulars seemed so at ease, the staff gruffly friendly with them, that the frosty reception they gave me on the one or two times I went there seemed like a deliberate slight. It was as though they were saying we don't want your type in here, mate. When I was first going out with my ex (my wife, the mother of my children etc) one of the many things about her that impressed me was that she'd mastered Pelligrini's - she was on nodding terms with the staff, they treated her with courtesy and professional respect. I loved that! She couldn't understand why I was so hesitant about the place, she'd never had any problems there, and of course I was left thinking its just me.. they take one look at me and they hate me .

Flush with this morning's success, and feeling quite chipper, I went there for a coffee after lunch. I found a seat at the bar, got out my book (finishing that Tim Winton - see previous post about bad hair and good writing). I caught the eye of the guy who works the back of the place, the guy with the cravat and the loud voice. I raised my hand, said "a latte please" and was a little disturbed by his lack of reaction.

Did I or did I not order a coffee? My old Pellegrinis insecurity came back. Was this part of the working of the place, they took your order with no fuss, in which case would catching his attention again and ordering a second time be an implicit insult? Or had he just not heard me, in which case in a few minutes they'd be wondering why I was sitting there like a fool not ordering something? My life's complicated enough without having to think all this through. I read my book, a man saves his brother from a shark, but it's caught up in an intense sibling rivalry - the younger man was a football star who'd turned his back on the game, the older man a wife-beater.

I realised that I wasn't going to get coffee. Could I just slink out, or would that just cause more problems? What if they were, in fact, making it, and so slinking out would end up in them chasing me with a cleaver? Pelli's is (or was) full of journalists so I'd be sure of ending up on the front of The Age and the Hun the next day.

He said very exapnsively to us all "does anyone need to order", so I bravely half-raised my hand and said "I'm waiting on a latte". I swear there was an intake of breath, a half-suppressed sigh. Then he said to the sad-looking guy at he front "gentleman here is waiting on a latte", in a way that suggested it was both very bold and very cowardly of me to be just sitting there waiting for one without doing much about it. A latte arrived almost immediately (suspiciously quickly, I thought even as he put it down in front of me) and it was ghastly. Too strong, watery, acrid. As I drank it I couldn't help wondering if it was a special one they keep aside for troublemakers.

I'm probably reading too much into this, but Melbourne does this to me.

As an aside, check out this menu. It's a place that's run by an acquaintance of mine, a place that's almost impossible to find. Especially the bit towards the end, the things they won't do.