Orange Bean

We start our Belconnen eggstravaganza (sorry not sorry) at Orange Bean, a café on the corner of Benjamin and Chan streets. This establishment is fairly popular with public servants, particularly those who work at nearby Immigration (or whatever the fuck it’s called this week) and ACMA. It normally looks busier than this, but we were early.

I’m told Orange Bean does good coffee, but I’m not sure how good coffee can be determined from bad when most people drink it drowned in hot milk, but whatever. Kim (my partner, who munched away adjacently on an egg and bacon roll) reckons OB does a good hot chocolate, but that’s not my forte.

Orange Bean has been closed over the last couple of weeks, reopening today. I am pretty sure I ordered the first eggs of 2018. I’ve had better and I’ve had worse, but they used to be much better than today’s effort. Maybe the kitchen still had some (metaphorical) cobwebs.

The extra piece of toast was superfluous, as it sometimes can be. The egg-laden toast, arriving as a Goodies-esque fan of cards, proved difficult to cut; a failed incision at one juncture sending fragments of parsleyed egg north-east from my plate, and there was no butter for the toast. The eggs themselves were a just little on the dry side, almost but not quite resembling the feel of an omelette. The tea accompaniment (not pictured) was fairly weak, coming as it did from a largeish pot populated by a single teabag. Cafes get serious brownie points from me when they do loose-leaf tea. Call me a wanker, you won’t be the last.

This little jaunt around Belconnen will be eggsellent fun, if it doesn’t kill me by cholesterol.