Belle Epoch

New isn’t always improved. Take Vegemite iSnack2.0. Or the dodgy new potato chip that’ll inevitably result from Bluebird’s Do us a flavour competition. And how about Nespresso, Nestlé’s nincompoop-proof ‘espresso delivery system’ devised to do away with the lukewarm latte. You take a snazzy, space-saving machine, and pop into it a colour-coded capsule containing one of 16 ‘grand cru’ blends of allegedly excellent quality as determined by lab-coated bean boffins. At the Food Show the other week I tried it for the first time – a decaf, as is my pathetic habit. Load, push button, whoosh, and hey presto! Well, it certainly beats an instant; in fact I’d go so far as to say it was good. And so says George Clooney, who fronts up handsomely for the Nespresso marketing campaign.

And the face of Wellington coffee? Chris Dillon, Jeff Kennedy & Geoff Marsland, currently captured on the cover of FishHead magazine having apparently just cruised back from a night at the speedway. (‘Coffee Kings’ is stretching it a bit – they look less like divide & conquer and more like MMP.) To them, and the many more of their ilk, we undoubtedly owe a debt of gratitude for turning us into connoisseurs and spawning a generation of roasters and baristas.

Case in point: Bink Bowler and Nick Clark, both around twenty years young. Met at Mojo. Dusted off the plunger, chemex, siphon, and a couple of dodgy hats. Pimped up a Faema E61, and in April opened Memphis Belle in the Oaks. Their beans are 100% fair trade, roasted by Flight in Napier. Talk about taking coals to Newcastle… The house blend is Red Baron, and it might just usurp Supreme and Emporio in my affections: velvety, chocolaty, with a mellow bitterness that lingers long on the palate. This is coffee of distinction, which is what we now demand, and explains why it’s been so busy on each of the three occasions I’ve popped in during the past week.

Just behind the counter is a cobbled-together kitchen with a fifty-buck microwave. What passes through is a select offering of cheap counter food, including muesli and wholegrain toast for breakfast, and salad sandwiches for lunch. The bought-in baking, however, is the business. Dear-old Arobake puts in an appearance, but the show is stolen by Ms Café Meow, she of the city’s finest cupcake (any advance on that, readers?). For the Belle boys she rolls out the likes of massive melting moments, buttery ginger crunch, and sublime brownies packed with cubes of fudge. There are also savoury pies of such respectable filling that not even a nuking can kill them, although if I were them I’d install a pie warmer and ditch the limp side salad. Salad schmalad.

The speedy, foolproof Nespresso machine has its place, and will probably expose the moneyed masses to the pleasures of a decent home brew. Meanwhile, we’ll be here, in our charming little cafés, with people like Nick and Bink pouring their pattern in the crema.