Shirred

This week’s shirred eggs come with Tuesday’s cavolo nero.

Brunch in Parkside from seven until two. Eggs every way, plates built on what the growers bring on Tuesday, and everything cooked when you order it.

What came in on Tuesday

The growers pull up at the back door on Tuesday morning. Whatever’s in the crates goes on the kitchen table, and the specials change by lunch.

Tuesday’s produce from above on the kitchen table, a crate of each: radishes, broad beans, beetroot, kipfler potatoes, blood oranges, cavolo nero and rainbow silverbeet.

, shaved thin over labneh with dill. , double-podded, on toast with whipped feta and mint. , roasted, with dukkah and a soft-boiled egg. , crushed and crisped for the hash. on the ricotta hotcakes, with honey. , wilted with garlic into the shirred eggs. , folded through the omelette.

When a crate’s empty, the dish comes off the specials.

Drawn for this page from a typical Tuesday. The wall inside has this week’s.

Walk in. Open from seven. Shut at two. Closed Mondays.

Brunch, from ten

Shirred eggs Baked in a buttered dish with cream, spring onion and cavolo nero. Toast for dipping.
Two poached on sourdough Greens, shaved radish, feta, lemon and pepper.
Broad beans on toast Aquadulce beans, whipped feta, mint and a poached egg.
The potato hash Crushed, crisped kipflers, cavolo nero, two fried eggs, green chilli sauce.
Beetroot and a soft egg Roasted Chioggia beetroot, labneh, dukkah, a six-minute egg.
Ricotta hotcakes Tarocco blood orange, honey and pistachio.

Ask us what’s good today. Specials go up on the wall when the crates come in.

Six ways with an egg

Poached into barely moving water, out while the yolk still runs. Fried in butter, crisp at the edges. Soft scrambled, low and slow, folded off the heat. Boiled six minutes, with toast to dip. Folded round whatever’s green. And shirred: baked in a buttered dish with cream until the whites just set. It’s an old way with eggs, and the one we’re named for.

Eggs from a farm up in the Hills, bread from a bakery round the corner, milk and cream from the Fleurieu.

The eggs come down twice a week, fresh enough that a poached one holds together and the yolk sits up high. The bread’s baked overnight and cut thick for toast.

A barista’s hands pouring steamed milk into a cup of espresso on the marble counter.

Coffee

From the moment we open.

House blend: Made for milk, pulled all morning.
Single origin: On the second grinder, and it changes when the bag runs out. At the moment, a washed one from Colombia.
From our oven: Croissants, almond croissants, a custard tart with nutmeg, cardamom buns, and a danish with whatever fruit came on Tuesday.
To take away: Cups with lids, if you’re walking over to the Park Lands.

Pour one.

Hold on the cup to pour the milk. Move as you pour and the foam follows you: fill it from the middle, then draw quickly through it towards you for a heart.

The window seat: a long marble ledge under the old shopfront window with stools tucked under it, baked eggs, toast and a coffee on it, and a leafy Parkside street in the morning sun beyond the glass.

Take the window seat.

Walk in any time before two. For two or four there’s nothing to book: find a seat, order at the counter, and we’ll bring it over. Dogs are welcome at the footpath tables, and there’s a water bowl by the door.

Bringing six or more?

Tell us which morning and we’ll push tables together by the window.

Up to twenty of you fit along the glass. Weekday mornings are the quiet ones.