Mart 130
| Where | 107A Canterbury Road, Middle Park—View map |
Contact | 03 9690 8831 |
Website | — |
Open | Daily 7.30am-5pm |
Payment | Cash |
Diet | Check with venue |
Seating | Inside and outside |
Kids | Welcome |
Pets | Welcome |
Smart Array
Jan van Schaik 27 June 2008
There's something just so "English" about eating while looking out over tennis courts and groomed sports grounds. The way the morning sun bounces off those tennis whites and articulates those succulent sculpted calves and forearms. You know I could just hurdle this bench seat and scale that fence and hurl my inhibitions to the wind and ..........oh I do say, I digress - and I haven't even started yet.
Thing is I'm not really sure where to start because I'm sitting at a tram stop eating breakfast and where does one start with a thing like that. I'd like to say it was weird or surreal, but I'll leave that little turn to some other writer far bigger than me. Perhaps I'll start like this:
I've been rattling along the 96 tram route for some years now, dating back to when the trams where operated by the Met. I always liked that name and its overtones to a New York museum. I was miffed when it all got privatised, the conductors usurped and the logos updated from charmingly clunky 70's chic to contemporary corporate. Adding insult to injury the new logo was printed on the tram window facing outwards, seemingly sending the message that this new order was not for the delivery of public transport, but merely for the appearance of it. Daydreaming in transit I do often appease this ill-ease with the knowledge that, when read backwards, 'Yarra Trams' reads as 'Smart Array'. This inverted description I reserve for a public transport system that actually works and I muse how wonderful the world would be if everything was backwards.
Now before you accuse me of serial digressions remember that the name of the fine establishment about which I now find myself writing is 'tram' backwards. Tram though, is the last thing that is backwards about it.
Its more than a block from where I live so I'm cranky with hunger by the time I arrive but the veracity of the staff alone is enough to feed off. I'm thankful for this as the food's a little while coming because the place is busier than.....than.....searching for an analogy....oh what the hell: busier than a rush hour tram. I'm pleased to announce that Mart is not quite as ham fisted with its theming as I am so there are no pull chord or conductors outfits and the there are no punch cards for orders taken.
Poached eggs with bacon tomatoes, the biggest field mushroom I've EVER seen, too many coffees delivered with high speed aplomb and plenty of greenery reverie over the lush kingdom of the Albert Park and the sprightly young things bouncing all over its sporting facilities and I think I might be ready to repair to the 96 carriage, James and don't spare the horses. I generally don't like paying for anything but dubbing Mart worthy of my coin I dig for my gilded money clip as I cajole my entourage towards the counter (just me and my bag really).
As I find it and raise myself to my full height and rustle my regalia to the attention of one of these humming bird waiters I see that I'm being watched by an eight armed waiter. She's looking at me like she knows me and forgetting my purpose I bid her hello which extracts a chirping response: "poached eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushroom and three coffees: $23.50 please"