Opinion
I live in Brunswick East and drink flat whites. Now I’m engaged in a sordid affair
Bianca O'Neill
ContributorMost people in Melbourne probably consider changing your coffee order about as honourable as changing your footy colours because your team are bringing up the rear in the standings this year.
We pride ourselves in our standard order – the less words exchanged with the barista the better, apparently – and we tend to think our choice of the bitter stuff sends a signal about who we are as a person.
A person’s coffee order says a lot about where in Melbourne they live. Credit: iStock
If you’re a latte drinker you probably drive a Subaru and own a spaniel. If you’re a mocha drinker, it’s time to admit you don’t actually like coffee and go back home to Sydney. And if you’re a magic drinker, you probably just need to see a therapist.
After The Age released a map of Melbourne this week, highlighting our very own arabica-inspired Red Rooster line, it appears I’m disappointingly predictable.
Although the latte is still king of the coffees, the data found that there was a fight to be had on second preferences. You see, a distinct demographic line – or rather, a curve – has been established in our fair city, depending on whether you order a cap or a flatty.
If you like a sprinkle of the sweet stuff, your cap says you’re a member of the suburban persuasion, making up an outer ring of Melbourne ’cino champions (the cappuccino curve, if you will). But if you drink a flat white, you probably live in the inner city, consider yourself a coffee connoisseur, and despise the idea of people calling a $7 cup of hot milk spiked with turmeric a latte. If so, let’s be sure to tip a glass of bubbly at each other at whatever art or theatre show is opening this weekend, yeah?
Yes, I live in Brunswick East. And yes, I drink a flat white. Or at least, I did until a few weeks ago. As a resident of the only suburb in Melbourne where the flat white reigns number one over the latte, my coffee order change feels like radical act of rebellion. It’s a rejection of my Very Brunswick existence. It’s a shining beacon of my individuality! (Or my love of chocolate, you decide.)
A few weeks ago, I ordered a cappuccino. And once I tasted the sweet, sweet powdery froth on top of my no-sugar cuppa, there was no turning back. It reminded me of being a kid, when my mum would let me scoop her froth off the top of her cap. It flew in the face of my post-40 attempts to reduce my sugar intake. Is this my midlife crisis, Melbourne-style? (And if it is, at least it will cost me less than a Porsche or a bout of Botox.)
All that’s left to decide is whether this new habit means I now need to abscond to the suburbs. I’m not going to lie, ever since I whispered the word “cappuccino” to my Brunswick barista on that fated day, I’ve been dreaming of buying a house with an actual garage, rather than engaging in a nightly race to see who can park the closest to their house without a permit.
I’ve wafted into fantasies about owning a place where its best feature isn’t a leaky ceiling that creates a damp spot in the shape of the mother Mary because it was “fixed” by an enterprising former owner that fancied themselves an electrician as well as a handyman. (My oven, which trips the entire household’s wiring if it requires more than an hour’s cooking time, says otherwise.) I’ve even fantasized about an abode that has so much outdoor space I don’t have to hang my just-washed underpants in the kitchen.
Perhaps the suburbs wouldn’t be so bad after all? Or… maybe my love affair was a fleeting dalliance, and it’s time to apologise to my flat wife. I mean, white.
Bianca O’Neill is a freelance writer based in Melbourne.