Is the Pope Benedict?

My brother argues that Eggs Benedict is the true measure of a breakfast venue's supremacy. The colour and texture of the Hollandaise must be just so, the muffin crisp, the eggs (of course) pleasantly runny. I didn't hold to my brother's religious observance of EB at every venue, but I was definitely ready to put it to the test.

On the Sunday just past, my proposed brekky with the boys had dissolved into brekky with the Boy, my two-and-a-half year old champion kid, Noah. I say champion, but last weekend he was more like a champion boxer, with all the attitude and bravado to go along with it. We butted heads repeatedly (in between his loud declarations that 'I love you daddy') and I was NOT feeling like Dad of the year.

So what I really wanted was a place where somehow, somehow, I could occupy his attention whilst eating and enjoying my meal. We'd meandered up High Street, and was considering heading across to Brunswick St, when I was reminded of Mosskito - you know, the one near the art deco Maccas. Or near the Scarlet Lady, you depraved fiends.

Mosskito (205-211 Queens Pde, North Fitzroy) is situated in an imposing-looking building, but my experiences here over the years have been hit and miss, well, more miss than hit. Coffee, service, food and price have all copped a mental schelacking from me at one point or another.

This time, however, was so vastly different as to leave me at the end of the meal wondering if I'd come to the same place. The service was spot on, jovial, boisterous and very accommodating, and the guy that served me clearly the lynch-pin of the team's apparent lift in customer service.

Eating the eggs benedict after expecting so little was almsot a holy experience, and while there criticisms (not seasoned enough and the sauce maybe just a little thin), it was good enough to have me licking the plate. Nothing better than teaching your son bad manners!

The coffee was good but a little small (my cappucino not much bigger than Noah's babycino) and price wise it was perfect.

At the end it was the service that shone through, and the utter acceptance of a terror doing sprint laps around the tables almost enough for me to wish that I could afford to tip.

Noah really enjoyed his toast too :)



Verdict? 7.5/10, not orgasmic but better than the standard fare.

Next week? I'll be at Meredith Music Festival, so it's the breakfast of the music-weary and hungover!