My first plan was to really hit Melbourne cafes hard over the next two days.
But a dude's still gotta wake up in the morning.
FYI, the minimum amount of beans they will sell you is 100g.
So 100g of Java it is.
But I was on the phone to my mum at the time, and decided drinking the espresso while talking was preferable to hanging up, taking a photo, drinking, then calling back. So here's my photo of the empty cup:
Extra special super kudos to Toby's Estate for what happened next.
I went in to pay (which I had to hang up the phone for anyway), and one of the guys said that if I had time, and could handle* another shot, he would make me another one.
“Really?”
Yes, really. He said that last one wasn't the greatest, and it was the last of the Costa Rica, and he could make a much better one with the Java.
I called my mum back and told her about this extraordinary example of customer service and attention to excellence-of-product. She insisted that it meant they knew who I was.
But I don't think so. I think this is how the fuck Toby rolls.
Let's put it in perspective: I've had two extremes of attitude-toward-customers today. At Rathdowne Food Store this morning my bacon was way undercooked but somehow still scorched with too-hot-grill marks. I left most of it on the plate, but nobody even thought to ask, “How was everything?”
A few hours later, Toby's serve me what I thought was a bloody excellent example of espresso, and they insisted on giving me another one on the house because they knew they could do better.
Guess which of those places I'm going to go back to?
* About an hour later I figured out what they meant by "handle" when I found myself wandering around Safeway, not quite making sense of what I was seeing.
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