greasy brunch at the greasy spoon

I don't know if I've done a shout out to everyone who has come onto my radar again since I started whining about being single on the internet. The emails, comments and re-establishing of contact has been both humbling and hilarious. I've also been in touch with new people, and done a lot more saying of yes to opportunities that simply would not have existed before.

One such opportunity presented itself, and so I had brunch with my smug-married sister's wedding photographer Dion. Dion is also friends with my teacher-from-school-turned-friend Esther, and he also organised the SurfAid SuperSession a couple of years ago with my friends Laura and Rachel. Nowadays he dedicates part of his time growing the popularity of his Amazing Travelling Photobooth - and believe me, having both witnessed and been a part of the photo booth debauchery which ensued at said-sister's wedding, it is amazing. When not making memories, he professes to be Wellington's connoisseur on homemade hash-browns in cafes. He's offended when cafes dare serve hash-browns of the non homemade variety, and when we ran into each other at a concert recently he suggested we do some brunch reviews ("together we can change this city!"). So on Sunday, after a quick trip to the vege market, we checked out The Greasy Spoon in Newtown (on Adelaide Rd).

It's an interesting exercise in food economics, that's for sure. Being only about 3 months old, you order and pay at the counter, and the table numbers that you're given don't obstruct the person sitting across from you (also important in Dion's opinion). It's essentially a pie cart, which does breakfasts and lunches, and serves two dollar coffees. That's right kiddies, two dollars. It's emporio coffee, roasted here in Wellington, and was perfectly drinkable. Dion posed the question, is it then that other places are just ripping us off? These guys are definitely saving on staff costs and rent, but still - that's half the price of what you get most places these days. It's limited slightly by being outdoors and thus susceptible to the temperamental weather, but it's cute and cheap and worth a visit.

The Greasy Spoon does not do hash browns, so those reviews will have to begin another day. Dion instead ate fried eggs on toast ($5) with a sausage ($2), chips ($2) and baked beans ($1). Even though I firmly believe either yours truly or Floriditas do the best eggs in town, I opted for eggs benedict with ham ($8) with a side of mushrooms and tomato ($1 each). We talked enthusiastically about a mutual love of Wilco while I wished I'd ordered the burger. A measly $5 will get you a cheeseburger featuring a homemade halal pattie, and for $2 extra your plate can be graced with chips. My eggs bene interestingly came with salad greens (alfalfa sprouts anyone?!), and I'm pretty sure the hollandaise was out of a packet, but to be fair I've had worse. I've most certainly had better, but the Greasy Spoon isn't pretending to be anything it's not. And that's why I think it's pretty sweet. On a hangover, the last thing you want is to be paying $18 for fishcakes, or gravalax, or haloumi or french toast, only to have to walk away half way through your meal and try and be quiet in the bathroom.  

We discussed the moral dilemmas of urban hipsters, and about how sometimes it appears that what we think about something seems to matter to others, more than what we actually do about it. This lead on to the realisation that sometimes what we feel gets in the way of what we know is right. Call it an epiphany, or a light bulb moment, but after reading Frankie, and having drunk advice thrust on me Saturday night, I definitely 'had a moment' over my eggy pile of hollandaisey salad. I even took a photo!

Give it a go if you're being thrifty, or in Newtown, or savagely hungover and in need of fresh air and grease. In the meantime, the stats say you want more self-deprecating humour and  tales of me embarrassing myself at parties, in front of potential suitors. And recipes of course! Who am I to argue with that? Dion asked if he could set me up on dates, to which I most humbly obliged (it was more like me hyperactively going "yeah! totally!").

Choices, existential crises due to impending homelessness, decisions; it's all happening. And even though I can't stop listening to this song by Paulo Nutini, or this song by the Magnetic Fields, and despite the fact I'm ridiculously excited about Sufjan Stevens playing in Wellington in February, I'll instead leave you with the whimsical words of Devendra Banhart - we've known, we've known, we've had a choice, we chose rejoice.