Isn’t it just the way that I don’t visit these cool Prahran places until I’ve moved? So typical.
After a serious morning of exercise, we decided to give Hobba a go for breakfast. I was around 6(?) months or so ago when they first started up and I felt like it was going to be one of those hip industrial fit-outs with a cool barista and far too much attitude with the coffee. What I got was actually a pleasant surprise.
Of course, with a place this good, you’re going to have to wait. If you’re not prepared to wait, you’re going to have a bad time. For three of us, our wait was only 15 mintues, which is completely do-able with a few shops around. I mean, it’s Sunday morning after all. Though apparently walking off during this time, even though you’ve put your name down, means you’re not coming back. Burn. We had to wait another 5 minutes. C’est la vie.
Okay, I admit it, I approached Morris Jones with a bit of scepticism. I can’t count the number of times I’ve forked out for something somewhat less than average (The Smith, I’m looking at you). I didn’t want something fad-ish and trying to do the whole ‘restaurant AND bar’ thing doesn’t really cut it. Do one and do it well is generally the motto. But… I actually think this is different.
The food at Morris Jones is worth your money. Then you can always stay for the cocktails.
Wednesday night is the night if you’ve decided you want a full-blown taste of Poland: Polish blintzes, dumplings, vodka flowing and live music. As soon as you step foot inside this restaurant you’re in another world: dark and moody (like a good rye bread) and brimming with the smells of freshly cooked comfort food, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d just stepped out of a snowy Krakow streetscape and into the bowels of a warm, cozy den where the food is served by your Babushka…
This is one of my favourite restaurants in Melbourne. It’s not a cheap night out (especially when you have a voracious appetite for all things Eastern European, most notably the vodka) but you can reasonably expect to walk out of here absolutely stuffed to the gunnels. And that’s precisely what your Babushka wants. (I know fattening me up is one of the key goals of mine).