Coffeetography

I virtually always carry a camera with me; two, if you count the one in the phone. Very often, I also carry a desire for a coffee. Not that I'm a caffeine addict: at home, I drink decaf - it's simpler, as Heather doesn't do caffeine if she can avoid it, so we only have to have one jar in the cupboard, and that decaf is as satisfying as a legit cafe brew.

When we were in Ipswich some time ago, we were gasping for a cuppa, and couldn't seem to find anywhere that looked like they served a decent brew; when we finally found somewhere, it was pretty disappointing, so we effectively wrote off Ipswich as a coffee-free zone. Since then however, we have found a few places worth a second visit.

One such is Nourish Real Food Cafe, in Brisbane St. It's fairly new, light, airy, and the tables aren't crammed in together. The food is adventurous and the coffee perfectly good. The building was renovated about 18 months ago, and they have gone for the bare brisks look, contrasted by a faux laneway to one side, presumably going to other premises.

My camera eye can be drawn by all sorts of things, but the play of light and shade is usually pretty tempting. Once, at a gallery, I was as fascinated by the shadows cast by a series of exhibits mounted on a row of small shelves as I was with the art itself. There was no artist statement attaching to the shelves. Here, it was the clean lines and subtle shadows on a textured white wall that stopped me in my tracks.

Inside the cafe, it was the walls that fascinated me. Nothing new or terribly unusual about bare brick walls in a modern establishment, but it was the pattern that seemed unusual. Heather knows a thing or two about bricklaying bonds (who'd have thought?), but this didn't seem like a bond that would have made it through building control. What would I know? The apprentice's first attempt?

The last few posts have touched on my inability to abandon film photography, but these were taken with the digital camera that I usually carry. I suspect that in the next five years it may expire; it's unlikely to last another ten. However, I have just bought a bulk load of black & white film, and shall soon run it through some cameras still going strong after 40 years or more. After film camera values plummeted in the last decade, they are becoming valuable again as a new generation of photographers discovers the appeal of traditional non-digital methods.

I shall also be exploring the world of developing the film in coffee and vitamin C—a combination known as Caffenol—which sounds nuts but is chemically quite plausible and has a growing number of advocates and practitioners. And why not do something different, if it works? Watch this space.

In search of caffeine

When we lived in Edinburgh, one of our favourite pastimes was to go for a drive through East Lothian. We'd just pick a road and head down it; with plenty to choose from, we'd have a different journey each time. East Lothian is a coastal county, bounded to the north by that well-known Scottish linguistic joke, the Firth of Forth. It is a green place, containing both coal-mining towns and pastoral land—and even the odd site of historical importance (a hoard of Roman silver was found on Traprain Law in 1919).

 Ripening Harvest, East Lothian

Having moved to the New South Wales north coast 16 years ago, we found the opportunities for similar explorations a little more limited, although we did have a few favourite roads through the Coffs coast hinterland. Four years ago, the move to Brisbane's southern suburbs reduced the opportunities even further, although we have taken the occasional meandering route home through some of the older suburbs, to enjoy a glimpse of the city's older residential architecture.

More recently, we have been nursing a notion that moving inland to a large country town might be a good idea. Although there is no mandatory retirement age in the Brisbane City Council, I start drawing my UK Civil Service pension in less than five years, with the old age pension 5-10 years beyond that (depending upon how far those particular goalposts are moved by government policy).With that notion in mind, we finally took a trip to Toowoomba, having said many times that we should.

My introduction to Australia (apart from the few days in Sydney after arrival), was two years spent in the small country town of Coonabarabran, the local centre for staff working at the UK Schmidt Telescope, to which I had been assigned for a while. Coming from the cultural sophistication—not to mention the ancient roots—of a city of 300,000 people, I felt as if I'd arrived in the Wild West. The strange shop awnings, some unsealed roads, and huge cars that you could play 5-a-side football upon, were a world away from the Georgian architecture and horizon-to-horizon asphalt of Scotland's capital. However, I took to it pretty quickly: the change was refreshing, and I grew to like living among just 3,000 people, in a simpler, more honest way of life. In a way, this place seemed to have a lot in common with the in-your-face bluntness of Glasgow, than the behind-closed-doors cliqueish attitudes of Edinburgh. And, because Heather had grown up in such places, whenever we travelled thereafter, we would compare places to Coona', which seemed like the 'real Australia'.

It is partly with that feeling in mind that we feel drawn to smaller town life, although I would also welcome a move to the drier side of the Great Dividing Range, where tools don't go rusty and camera lenses (among other things) don't do mouldy, like they do in a humid coastal environment.

The Warrumbungle Mountains, on the Great Dividing Range

In between our first planning to see Toowoomba, and our actually going there, Heather had gained a friend just an hour further west. The visit was therefore to kill the proverbial two birds. We could have done with another day or two, but it had to be something of a flying visit—which just means we have an excuse to do it again later on.

So, what's important in our choice of town? I've said for some time that I could pretty much live anywhere, that home can be where I hang my hat. Coming to Brisbane has been enjoyable, although that might not have been the case had we not managed to find a home in the suburb that we settled upon. Here, there is easy access into and out of Brisbane, on relatively uncongested roads, and the public transport is good; my journey to work is a fairly trivial run of less than 20 minutes, and the suburb itself is good. Retiring to a country town though, there will be no drive to work, and the way out of town will be pretty straightforward anyway.

We have few vices, but one that we do have is the pleasure of seeking out a cafe that makes a good coffee. There is plenty of average coffee around, but I can make that at home, if I'm being sloppy. Joining the Brisbane Coffee Lovers Meetup group introduced us to a few places, and we have found more ourselves. So, we would hope that anywhere else that we settle has at least one place we can repair to, for a well-made cup. After a terribly long drive from home (OK, about 90 minutes), we therefore stepped into the first likely place that we saw, to slake our coffee-flavoured thirst. Sadly, it was quite average. Not bad, but not great. After that, we went walkabout, to see what the town centre had to offer, stopping to buy some things for lunch on the way, which we later scoffed in the botanic gardens. Good, there is at least one excellent deli in town.

Nature, ignoring unnatural boundaries

Nature, being natural

The day soon went, as we meandered about both on foot and by car. We had agreed to be at our friends' place for 6, so leaving around 5 was the plan, but we had need of another coffee, after a hard day swanning around†. We spotted a place that looked like it was trying to be a Melbourne lane cafe, and after a quick butchers inside, decided that it seemed authentic enough. Sadly, the coffee wasn't to my palate, so another one was crossed off the mental list.

Urban retro-chic

After our night in Dalby (where the sky was dark and the stars bright), generally chewing the fat evening and morn, we headed back east around midday. This late on Anzac day, the ceremonial parades had finished, and we found Toowoomba to be mostly closed. After another walk around town, we had a delicious lunch at the Biriyani Hut, followed by ice cream and sorbet at the corner cafe, followed by … wait for it … a gorgeous coffee. We'd found it at last, and know where to go next time. The iced delicacies were very good as well, so no complaints there at all. Mission accomplished.

The drive home took us back across flat pastoral land, with cotton, sorghum and who-knows-what-else? Coupled with a blue sky scattered with meteorological cotton-wool above the agricultural kind, a few photos were called for. I dare say I'll be back for more.

Cotton-wool clouds after the harvest

† Do swans 'people around', when they're on a long lead?

A serene cacophony

Behind me, a fridge door repeatedly opens and closes, punctuating the clink of crockery and utensils. Quiet chatter and bustle.The urgent sound of milk being forced into action for a capuccino. And again. In the background (it's all background), the chatter and gossip of birdlife, the interlocutors hidden among shadowed paperbarks. They conspire occasionally to drown out the culinary commotion, then retreat into quiescence.

Midmorning traffic, intermittently trying to lay a post-industrial veneer over the placid scene, but not being entirely successful. The lagoon in front of me is receiving attention from a young man; he is corralling weeds on the surface with floats and net. Steadily, with unhurried pace, he skims the weed-strewn surface, until the unwanted flora is contained in a small enclosure one one bank. Carefully, intently, he draws it in to leave a clear surface once more. Finishes the task with rake and barrow.

A midmorning Virgin, headed south, momentarily disturbs the peace. It passes quickly, leaving its avian role models in charge once again.


The water surface, calm just moments ago, is now a frenzy of interwoven ripples, as myriad insects go about their routine. Busily, they skim and skate in an invisible free-form choreography betrayed only by the undulating boundary between open air and aquatic obscurity. The human chatter has now built to a modest hubbub, as the tables, once empty and quiet, fill with twos and threes seeking a morning break. Two toddlers, restless; mum stands watch - her attention divided between dancing insects and her diminutive dynamos - cajoling, controlling. The arrival of carrot cake and coffee seems to calm the little ones. Baby chocaccinos work their magic, and mum can relax. For now.

Long black

I came to coffee relatively late in life, having been mainly a quaffer of tea. An occasional cup of N**cafe was had - and even enjoyed - for a few years, then I met my life partner (SWMBO - she who must be obeyed), and was introduced to the real thing. I was also introduced to quality (Twinings) tea - for which I am grateful.

In those days, tea was brewed strong, and, like coffee, was taken with plenty of milk. Having discovered an intolerance to milk a few years ago, tea then became weak and black (OK, mid-brown), and coffee disappeared from the menu. I had once tried black coffee when there was nothing else available, and found it to be a foul substance. Lack of sugar didn't help.

Before I abandoned mlik, I developed an affection for a weekend cappucino or mocha. I had to be in the mood for it though; I was unlikely to have it in the morning, and it had to be reasonably good coffee. The main attraction was sharing a quiet cuppa in pleasant surroundings with SWMBO, which remains with me still.

Having done without the roasted bean for a few years, I decided to try it black again, and found that if I took it weak, it was palatable. I'm gradually coming to tolerate a stronger cup, but it does depend on who makes it. I'm no connoisseur, by any stretch of the imagination, but I am fussy about having a good brew. I swapped notes recently with a client, and found we shared a preference for the same coffee-houses. One in particular (named Cocoa, as it happens), makes coffee that I can take full strength - which makes me wonder: does everyone else find it weak, or is it just that an excellent brew doesn't need to be weak? I do ask for a wee jug of hot water, just to make the cup go further, but it's not necessary. It seems to have a more rounded flavour, as if it's coffee with a dash of chocolate in it, or something. The only downside to this particular establishment is that the serves are smaller than elsewhere, but I forgive them, as long as they keep up the quality.