Morpethroad

It was a Tuesday, and on Tuesday Tic liked to sleep in. He awoke and found Pon already up. He could hear her rummaging in the kitchen fussing over her breakfast. She liked her breakfast early. She’d argued with him, more than once, that an early breakfast allowed her to get in each day all she needed to do.  

She reappeared back in bed; a bowl of muesli in hand, a cup of tea on the bedside table.

As she chipped away at her breakfast she apologised for waking him but in reality, he didn’t mind, as he liked cuddling up to her as she munched away.

Pon suggested they go to the Choc Shop Café for coffee later in the morning. It was one of their favourite breakfast/coffee cafes.

The Choc Shop Café was located on Old Abbots Way along the road to Wirramunga. It was a busy road and in earlier times had been a major commercial link to the Port at Botany Bay.

It had started life as a Chocolate Factory and when the factory closed down the main building, a sprawling barn type construction was sold to Joe Capaldi and Son who converted the factory floor space into a café. They called it Ye Old Chocolate Factory Café and Restaurant. It didn’t take long before their customers suggested the name of the café was a bit pretentious and after many suggestions adopted the name, The Choc Shop Café.

The Café was set in a beautiful location. Shielded from the busy road by magnificent Moreton Bay Figs. Around the Café, Joe’s wife Maria, had cultivated a collection of every Australian plant and scrub she could get her hands on.

A wide veranda skirted the perimeter of the Cafe, and Pon was always keen to grab a table there and look over Maria’s garden, which had turned into a riot of colour throughout the various seasons of the year.

Securing their table they placed their order and while waiting, chatted about how well the garden looked. In recent times the land had been subdivided and there was now a tennis court and a pool attached to a small resort situated next to the Café’s boundary.

The scrambled eggs served at the Choc Shop Café were always worth waiting for.

The eggs had personality and panache. The eggs were folded in such a way that they seemed to swirl around the plate, while sitting majestically on a generous serving of toasted sourdough.

The texture was divine, the taste exquisite, a veritable feast.

Once Tic divided the breakfast between them it was a delightful plung into scrambled egg heaven.

They completed their breakfast by enjoying coffee that complimented their breakfast.

They would linger over the coffee, in no rush to leave, savouring each sip and discussing their forthcoming grocery shop.

The Choc Shop Café = 10/10. A Café they looked forward to revisiting.

Pon settled herself into the metal seat alongside Tic and took up the menu before putting it down as she had decided what they were having.

They liked the Café Mort Street, it was homely, the staff polite and was run by the Kim family. Today was special for Pon and Tic, had set themselves the task of assessing the best scrambled eggs in town. As they liked the Café Mort Street, it was the ideal place to start.

Scrambled eggs were a stable. Everyone sold them, cooked them, and like most things in life they varied from café to café.

They were greeted warmly by one of the three waitresses they knew as Small Kim, Tall Kim and Stout Kim. Their English language skills were sufficient enough to enable each of them to find the end of the menu.

The café was run efficiently by the very busy Mrs Kim and her husband Park. Mrs. Kim kept an eagle eye on the café, the customers, and in particular her staff.

Stout Kim was often the subject of her ire as she tended to lounge around rather than pay close attention to clearing and cleaning vacated tables.

As was their practice Pon did the ordering. Tic was happy to allow Pon that task as she always got their coffee and breakfast order right. In the past Tic, his aged mind desperately trying the remember Pon’s preference for a large, skinny flat white and his own as a large half-strength skinny flat white had somehow managed to muddle it up resulting in Pon patting him on the arm and saying: “ Don’t worry pet, you’ll get it right next time.”

So the ordering was left to Pon, Scrambled Eggs on Sourdough, to share, with two plates, and extra butter.

The question as to why they shared was simply answered by understanding they felt satisfied with the half they consumed and so it became their practice to share their breakfast.

At Café Mort Street, the toast would be cut in half and the eggs, which always came in a small ramekin, as illustrated above, would also be evenly divided.

The eggs were always tasty and there was often a hint of salt, depending on which chef cooked them that day. Pon and Tic didn’t like too much salt and she had often warned Tic about his previous misguided practice of sprinkling his scrambled eggs with extra salt and black sauce.

Their breakfast would be finished off with their coffee, which was always of a high quality.

They rated the Mort Street Café highly and looked forward to their next café and scrambled eggs to see how they measured up.

The Café Mort Street they decided was a 9/10. The standard had been set.

Hi Jim, I was intrigued by your post as I too have been giving consideration to what happens to me when I die.

My daughter has “power of attorney” which will allow her to decide what is to become of me if I cannot make any sensible decisions on my own. Such as the notion of frolicking naked in a field of daffodils.

But I decided that the cost of a funeral is as high here as anywhere. So I came across a company who will take charge of my body when I die and, after I am cremated, will return my ashes to my kids.

I don’t want any church service; I gave up on church adherence some time ago. In my life, my kids are the most important people to me. I have suggested to them that once they have my ashes, they can organise a celebration of my life down in the shed in my backyard. One of the reasons for doing this is that my children all have mortgages and young families. I don’t want them burdened with paying for a funeral for me. I pay an amount of money each month to the funeral company, and hopefully, I live long enough to finish the payments before the big day arrives.

As for a eulogy, I think my kids can make that up, or not. I have a close relationship with each of them, I know they will miss me as I do a lot for each of them. They are all aware of my will and seem happy with my wishes to look after their brother, who has a disability.

I was amused by your making up a music list and playing it at your funeral. Having spent most of my life with children telling me how poor my musical taste it I’d consider such a task as tortuous for them. I’ll let them organise such entertainment.

I’d like to think my kids will remember me as a father who stood up for them, who was there for them when another was not.

I’m not planning on dying soon, I have a car and a funeral to pay off. The time is drawing close, for all of us. All my kids know my wishes, grief is personal, no matter how prepared it hits us once our loved one passes away.

Good post Jim, best wishes for the new year.