you wander down to the cafe right by the very last stop on the 96 tramline. there is only one table left, on the footpath, separated from the saturday arvo hoonsters by nothing more than a flap of plastic sheeting. the table may be almost disastrously wobbly, and that guy with the hotted up engine snarling up nicholson street threatens to send the salt and pepper shakers vibrating onto the floor… and then the tea service arrives, and it’s all good.

here at milkwood, the pot of house-blended chai comes with all the trimmings: a strainer to catch the tea leaves and spices, and a little pot of pale runny honey. there is enough tea in the pot for three large gold-rimmed cupfuls. which gives you something to fill your mouth with as you wait (and wait) for your food to show up. but when it does…

well! i was quite unprepared for the mountain of mushrooms on my plate. they were plump and succulent, blushing with the faintest kiss of lemon thyme. the crunchy toast was buttered and then generously slathered in ricotta. it all made for a big plate of rude good health.

the kid, having embraced the wonder of googie eggs, ordered poached eggs on toast with a side of avocado, which came drizzled in lemon oil and whole peppercorns its own little dish. niiice! the eggs were pretty much perfect — pristine white globules that we broke open to release their molten golden yolks. the kid was polite enough to share.

mmm…

we sat and watched the trams roll in and out; we would not be moving for a while. but when we did finally make it to the counter to pay, i discovered a display cabinet filled with house-made treats. lamingtons, for example, covered in big chips of coconut… fat rounds of wholesome cakes, cut into generous slices… a tidy pile of very homely monte carlos, quite unlike the uniform incarnations out of an arnott’s packet. there was no room in my belly, but i bought one anyway.

later in the afternoon, i tossed it to the kid and her dad, and let them fight it out amongst themselves. (i did get a large enough crumb to let you know that the biscuits were cakey, and the jam seedy and tart. if i’d had a cup of tea handy, i might have kept the cookie for myself.)

i don’t know why it’s taken us this long to get to milkwood. ok, well, i do know: we’ve been past every saturday in the last couple of months, but we’re always coming from chinese class and jumping on the tram to the city, or the beach, or the museum or wherever. now we know better. there is no reason why we should not linger, and the lamington behind glass (the tea and mushrooms, the eggs, the love heart cinnamon toast, the grilled ham off the bone…) is clearly reason why we should.