"When in doubt? Brunch.”
-Me (and pretty much everyone I know)
So it's back to Melbourne once again for me as I mark the end of my trip as a solo traveller and the beginning of a new phase of my trip with my partner in crime: Hayley “The Avocado Emogi Campaigner” Maher. It’s funny, as we began our travels together we found ourselves becoming increasingly conscious of how people may think we were actually together together. Fellow travellers would often say things like “So how did you guys meet?” and “You’re so cute together!”, and whilst we both agreed that yes, our combined quirky attire and get-up-and-go attitudes does indeed make for a very cute combination, we still felt the need to confirm that ours was a strictly platonic love story. It got to the point where we probably started going a bit overboard when introducing ourselves to new people...
For example:
"Hey I’m Hayley and this is Geraldine, we met in Melbourne three years ago and have been FRIENDS ever since. Our FRIENDSHIP is one of mutual, non-sexual respect and appreciation. Isn’t that right, Geraldine, ole buddy-old-pal?!”
*followed by playful (but strong enough to cause minor bruising) punch-punch to the shoulder*
I will admit though, that we did end up using this assumption of people thinking we were a couple to our own advantage from time to time. As the weeks went by (and the availability of mirrors became few and far between) we found ourselves in very dangerous territory; rationalising that the lack of attention we were receiving from the opposite sex was due to our perceived lesbian “taken” status. Yep, that old chestnut. Clearly this was a direct aversion to the reality which was unwashed hair, distasteful clothes (note: practicality trumps all concern for fashion faux-pas whilst travelling) and the often waterfall-esque level of sweat streaming down our face & bodies on a daily basis. In hind-sight I believe we would have a lot more exciting stories to tell had we addressed any of the above considerations and accepted this to be the true reason why we were not being perceived as "the shiniest tools in the toolbox”, so to speak...
.
By the way, it goes without saying that I’d have no qualms with people thinking I was gay if I actually was. But it's the same as someone labelling me as "Official Pooper-Scooper of Dublin" - it's neither accurate, nor conducive to my dream of one day acquiring a husband (or even better: a real life "Instagram Husband"!!)
Melbourne
So when we reminisce on all the good times we’ve had on this trip so far, it’s easy to recall each experience (ranging from amazing to horrendous) and the names of wild, wonderful and weirder-than-weird people we met along the way in Bali, Vietnam and Cambodia. However, when we try to do the same with Melbourne, we kind of come up with blanks. Maybe it was because the majority of the time we were in some varying state of food coma, or trying to come to terms with our newly conceived food baby… Who knows?! But basically when we think of Melbourne all that comes up in our mind is, not the names of people and the wild experiences had with new friends; it's the names of cafes, restaurants and gelaterias, and the instagram snaps of our plates. And that’s pretty much it.
Looking back on our time, we probably should have made more of an effort to go out and actually get ourselves some authentic, human-to-human experiences, but to be honest that’s not why we came to Melbourne. You see, Hayley and I came to Melbourne with one sole intention: to eat ourselves into a brunch-hazed oblivion. And, I’m pleased to say, we smashed that target with all the gusto and bravado of a Crossfit trainer on “leg day"! Because, you see, Melbourne constituted as the “Eat” part of our “Eat, Cray, Love" journey (a twist on Elizabeth Gilbert’s original story. I'll elaborate on the "Cray" part later), so really we were just following the brief.
However, things soon kind of got out of control, So much so, that the extent at which we researched, discussed, re-researched and re-discussed where we would venture for our next meal in Melbourne now brings about a certain level of embarrassment and shame in me. When I think of all the good we could have achieved if we had directed the same level of passion, dedication and commitment to something actually worthwhile and beneficial to society… Like removing all the hideous Crocs imposed upon defenceless young children throughout the world. Now there's a cause worth fighting for!
But instead, we ate. And to a Croc-filled hell we are forever doomed.
Something to note about Melbourne is that it is the unofficial home of smashed avocado, and boy do they take this dish seriously. But *news just in*: apparently smashed avo just doesn't cut the vegan cashew cheese anymore...
"No??!” I hear you cry from your avo-spattered brunch seat in a eclectically-decorated hipster eatery
“No.” I say, washing my hands of your *so last year* brunch choice.
You see, the Melbournians have developed the craft of avocado-mutilation to such a degree that their menus are now offering “gently smushed" avocado, “lightly crushed" avocado, “coarsely chopped", “playfully pummelled" and “positively pulverised" avocado… And the reason why? BECAUSE “SMASHED" IS SO LAST YEAR, PEOPLE!!! GET WITH THE PROGRAMME, FOR FOODPORN SAKE.
What’s more, the same now goes for ice cream too. It seems a delicate scoop made by a humble cow satiates noone in Melbourne, at least not when you can have NITROGEN ICECREAM instead!!!…
Correct: Nitrogen. Icecream.
And it was only after some thoughtful reflection on our Melbournian séjour that it dawned on me: this is what society needs! In the midst of all the recent social unrest, environmental disarray and general terror going on throughout the world, wouldn't it be such a relief to know that we can go down to our local friendly gelateria and pay $12 for a cup of icecream made from odourless gas?!
Dear N2 Gelatria,
I hope that the sarcasm in my tone has translated across the screen, BECAUSE I MIGHT HAVE UPLOADED A PICTURE OF YOUR PRODUCT TO INSTAGRAM FOR THE NOVELTY FACTOR, BUT THE REALITY IS THAT YOUR CRUMMY, OVER-PRICED ICECREAM SUCKS. AND YOUR STAFF LOOKED ME UP AND DOWN WHEN I ENTERED YOUR STORE AND MADE ME FEEL LIKE BABY FROM Dirty Dancing WHEN SHE CARRIED THE WATERMELONS.
I didn't want to do this in public, but I've had a lot of time to think, and I believe your extortionate pricing and surly employees left me with no other choice.
Sincerest regards,
Madame G-Train
I hope that the sarcasm in my tone has translated across the screen, BECAUSE I MIGHT HAVE UPLOADED A PICTURE OF YOUR PRODUCT TO INSTAGRAM FOR THE NOVELTY FACTOR, BUT THE REALITY IS THAT YOUR CRUMMY, OVER-PRICED ICECREAM SUCKS. AND YOUR STAFF LOOKED ME UP AND DOWN WHEN I ENTERED YOUR STORE AND MADE ME FEEL LIKE BABY FROM Dirty Dancing WHEN SHE CARRIED THE WATERMELONS.
I didn't want to do this in public, but I've had a lot of time to think, and I believe your extortionate pricing and surly employees left me with no other choice.
Sincerest regards,
Madame G-Train
I'm sorry. Things got a little out of hand back there.
Essentially what I'm trying to say is that there is a serious case of “anything you can do, I can do better” going on in Melbourne. And so, just like the Smashed Avocado Invasion of 2013, I feel obliged to warn people that this upcycled trend could similarly strike our humble, 99-soft-serve-cone loving island at any time....
IRELAND, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.