eye on melbourne

On Saturday, after riding around the Carlton-FItzroy area for hours on end to attend a total of five average (read: awful) house inspections, the posse and I decided to head to Depot De Pain on Rathdowne St for a lazy breakfast.

Now, Alex had recently read a glowing review of this place in Epicure, so we were all looking forward to it. I would love to be able to tell you all about the food, but unfortunately I cannot. Why, you ask?

Because my food never arrived. Like, seriously. It wasn’t late. It just straight up never arrived.

To add salt to the wound (or rather, the seasoning to my non-existent breakfast), when we asked a waiter if it was coming, he responded with, “Are you in a rush?” Yeah, man. I’m wanted in surgery. Or, you know. I’m just fucking hungry. Whatever. 

So after waiting what must have been close to an hour for a croque madame - which is effectively a fucking toasted sandwich, which I am capable of making in five minutes after ten beers - we decided to fix up the bill and leave. Did they offer us so much as a free coffee or even a sincere apology? I’ll let you guess the answer to that one.

According to Thom and Alex, who did get their food, it was pretty damn good. But given the frankly piss-poor attitude of the staff, I don’t think that’s enough to warrant another visit. Not when there’s far friendlier, equally delicious cafes in the same precinct. 

To conclude: I give Depot de Pain two arrogantly French thumbs-down. Au revoir, idiots.