🍵 Melbourne Part 4 - Too Many Beans, Not Enough Time
Read Part 1 Here ➡️ Melbourne Part 1 : The First Sip is the Deepest
Read Part 2 Here ➡️ Melbourne Part 2 : Expresso Yourself before You Wreck Yourself
Read Part 3 Here ➡️ Melbourne Part 3: Lost & Grounded in Fitzroy
We’re in the deep end now — the part of the trip where my bloodstream is 90% de-espresso and I’ve stopped pretending I have limits.
Somewhere between the hot cross bun diplomacy, the sci-fi roasteries, and the quietly perfect mural moments I couldn’t capture, I realised: this isn’t a café crawl anymore.
It’s a lifestyle.
A highly-caffeinated, air-conditioning-chasing, linen-wearing lifestyle.
Let’s keep going.
Because clearly, I won’t stop myself.
☕ Shop 10: Axil Roasters
Hot cross buns, pink machines, and my sixth Iced Long Black of the day.
Hot cross buns, pink machines, and my sixth Iced Long Black of the day.
Let’s be honest: I did not need another coffee.
By this point in the pilgrimage, I’d had five Iced Long Blacks. My bloodstream was 80% espresso. My pupils were dilated. My nervous system? Not so much regulating as jazz-handing its way through Fitzroy.
And yet — as I wandered past Axil Roasters, with its crisp air-con drifting through the open doors and minimalist interior gleaming like a caffeine oasis — I paused.
Then I pivoted.
Then I walked straight in and ordered coffee number six.
No regrets. Only commitment.
The Mood
Exhausted. Mildly jittery. Grateful to sit.
The AC hit me like a weighted blanket made of cold eucalyptus. The kind of chill that makes you question why you ever left your hotel room but also justifies the entire detour.
This was not a café stop. This was a self-prescribed recovery session.
First Impressions
Axil is sleek. Sharp. Subtle. The kind of space that says “we take design seriously,” but not in a way that yells about it.
The branding alone had layers:
A simple italic Axil
A logo that looked like a superhero emblem — an A mid-flight
And my favourite: two mugs clinking, with a rainbow (or coffee splash?) arching between them
It felt curated. Considered. Like the kind of café where even the succulents are thriving and the playlist was chosen by someone who owns multiple linen aprons and a degree in typography.
The Ritual
The baristas were lovely — cheerful in that quiet, “you’re the last customer but we still like you” kind of way.
And then I handed them a hot cross bun.
Not from their cabinet. From my bag.
Let me explain: earlier that day, I passed a jewellery store in Fitzroy that had — inexplicably — a perfect hot cross bun in the window. Shiny. Glossed. Aromatic. Like it had been basted in holiday spirit and left to glow under boutique lighting.
I walked past. I resisted.
But as I came back around, the woman inside leaned out and said, “Do you want it?”
Like it was destiny. Like the bun had chosen me.
Naturally, I said yes. And naturally, I offered it to the baristas like a peace offering from a caffeine-high pilgrim.
They accepted. The vibe was sealed.
The Sip
I found a window seat and started writing — catching up on earlier Matcha Moments while living another.
It was coffee inception. Reflecting while sipping. Sipping while reflecting.
There’s something full-circle about drinking memory number six while documenting memory number three.
The coffee came in a classic glass — no straw, but a spoon (again). What is it with Melbourne cafés and the spoon? Am I meant to stir the air? Pose with it? Channel baroque energy?
Unclear. But I accepted the ritual like it was part of the show.
The Coffee
Smooth. Balanced. No nonsense.
Despite being dangerously close to my espresso limit, it was easy on the body, easier on the soul.
I blinked, and it was gone.
Sometimes you don’t need fireworks. You just need a solid, no-notes brew that delivers.
The Machine
And then — the pink machine.
It deserves its own paragraph.
Baby pink with gold accents. A Barbie DreamHouse espresso setup. Like if Elle Woods decided to open a coffee bar after law school.
I was transfixed. I stared. I whispered, “Oh my god.”
It was camp. It was chic. It was pure joy wrapped in stainless steel and powder-coated pastel.
I’m still thinking about it.
Matcha Toast Memory
Mood: Caffeine-addled, AC-bathed, hanging on by espresso threads
Barista Energy: Kind, amused, slightly confused by my unsolicited bun offering
Cup Vibe: Simple glass, elegant spoon, no straw — Melbourne classic
Main Character Moment: Quietly typing away until closing time while soft house music and espresso machines whispered around me
Unexpected Delight: The hot cross bun origin story meets barista bonding
Café Vibe: Calm, curated, borderline editorial — a coffee table book in café form
Matcha Leaves: 4/5 🍵
Final Sip
Axil Roasters is proof that minimalism doesn’t mean soulless.
Every detail — from the logos to the lighting to the unexpectedly gorgeous machinery — felt intentional, but not intimidating.
It’s the kind of place that quietly holds you in your caffeine spiral and says, “Hey. We’ve got you.”
Would I come back? Absolutely.
Even if just to stare at that pink machine again.
Let’s sip. 🍵🥶
⟶ A new morning. A half-formed plan. Then I saw something black, bold, and calling my name.
☕ Shop 11: Code Black
A villain origin story — but make it luxe and fully caffeinated.
At this point in the trip, I didn’t need another Iced Long Black.
But I was in Brunswick. It was 7:00am. And I’d found the rarest of Melbourne unicorns: a specialty café that actually opens on time.
I was originally in the area for a Japanese breakfast — a wholesome plan, if you will — but the sight of Code Black, glowing quietly in the morning haze like a premium coffee bunker, pulled me in with the gravitational force of something sleek, mysterious, and probably high in antioxidants.
The server blinked when I arrived dead on opening time, standing there with full eye contact and caffeinated intent.
But listen — I’m from Brisbane.
Our cafés rise with the sun, close by 2:59pm, and treat punctuality like gospel.
I was simply playing my native game.
The Mood
Surprisingly upbeat — despite the midnight fire alarm the night before, the ten flights of stairs I’d jogged down in panic, and the post-Kusama brain fog still lingering in the background.
But Code Black? Code Black cleansed me.
Outside, it looked like the architectural lovechild of Darth Vader and a Tokyo design studio — three rectangular black buildings with white circular accents, standing bold and geometric against the soft pink of morning.
Inside?
All black everything.
Walls. Ceilings. Flooring. Even the toilet was dressed in matte noir. The entire place felt less like a café and more like the secret HQ of a coffee-powered supervillain.
Even their Easter blend, Top Bunny, was staged like a movie prop, dramatically backlit and perched beneath a wall of light switches like some kind of caffeinated Bat-Signal.
The Ritual
Unlike most stops on this pilgrimage, I didn’t have to ask for decaf.
Because this was my moment. My single, glorious window of daily caffeine intake.
And we were on holiday — chaos was the brief.
I looked the barista dead in the eyes and said, “Surprise me. I like it bold, full-bodied, roasty, dramatic.”
She offered me two blends, and reader — they had names:
Top Bunny — chocolate, almond, raisin, caramel
The Ex-Wife — roasted macadamia, dark chocolate, amaretto
One was fun. The other? A narrative.
I didn’t even hesitate.
“The Ex-Wife,” please. For the flavour. For the name. For the backstory I now had to invent in my head.
The Sip
I sat with my iced long black in a medium glass, straw included, and was handed something unexpected — a note card.
Not a receipt. A flavour profile.
There she was: The Ex-Wife. Name, origin, tasting notes. It was giving collectible trading card meets aromatherapy pamphlet. I loved it.
I sipped while writing up my Matcha Moment from the Yayoi Kusama exhibit the day before — yellow dots, mirrored rooms, creative confusion — now wrapped in black tile futurism and bass-heavy lo-fi.
And the coffee?
Strong. Complex. Velvet-textured.
The roasted macadamia and amaretto notes landed like closure in liquid form.
It was delicious. But also theatrical. A cup with layers and lore.
The Main Character Moment
100%.
The lighting was moody. The soundtrack thumped gently in the background. The energy was pure I’ve got secrets but also excellent taste in beans.
If someone had offered me a trench coat and an earpiece, I would’ve said yes.
But alas — breakfast awaited. And even villains must make their exits.
Matcha Toast Memory
Mood: Energised. Focused. High-gloss chaos gremlin at peace.
Barista Energy: Cool, confident, a bit amused by my enthusiasm
Cup Vibe: Medium glass, subtle branding, paired with a note card like a wine tasting flight
Main Character Moment: Writing about Kusama while sipping a brew named after an ex
Unexpected Delight: The fact that The Ex-Wife tasted like poetry and closure
Café Vibe: Blade Runner opens a roastery, but make it approachable
Matcha Leaves: 5/5 🍵
Final Sip
Code Black is not just a café — it’s a moodboard. It’s a set piece. It’s what happens when someone builds a space that feels like an espresso-drenched monologue in a sci-fi noir.
Would I come back?
Obviously. I haven’t even tried the decaf yet.
And yes, I’m naming my next alter ego after this coffee.
Let’s sip. 🍵🥶
⟶ I needed calm. I found plants. Light. And a decaf roast with emotional availability.
☕ Shop 12: ONA Roasteries
A healthy relationship (finally) — with bonus cookies and mural regret.
After a dreamy, brothy, utterly serene Japanese breakfast at I Am A Sa Yo Ru, I knew exactly what I needed next: coffee.
But not just any coffee.
Not the kind that gets brewed in bulk behind a kitchen curtain and served like a formality.
Not the “we technically have a machine” kind of coffee that tastes like hot cardboard and quiet disappointment.
I had saved myself — caffeination-wise — because I wanted to give my one real caffeine slot to someone worthy. Someone dependable. Someone who wouldn’t break my heart.
Naturally, I needed a roastery.
Also, in a moment of tragic optimism, I walked back past Bench Coffee — the one that rejected me months ago for daring to ask for decaf.
I asked again.
They rejected me again.
No decaf. No remorse. No growth.
And yes, I’d still go back if they opened before 9am. But that’s not the point.
This isn’t their story.
This is ONA’s.
The Mood
This time, I arrived prepared.
ONA has decaf. I’d checked. I’d triple-checked. They even advertise it — like they want people to know.
This wasn’t just a hopeful coffee stop. This was the promise of something rare on this trip:
A healthy coffee relationship.
No drama. No heartbreak. Just… mutual respect.
The Vibe
I don’t know why the ONA logo gives me Hawaiian energy.
Maybe it’s the curvy font. Maybe it’s the soft vowels. Maybe I’m projecting a tropical fantasy onto a roastery.
Regardless — the interior was a gentle sigh of calm.
Warm wood.
White brick walls.
Suspended greenery cascading from the ceiling like it was designed by a houseplant influencer.
It felt like a café crossed with a greenhouse crossed with a well-adjusted friend who journals and remembers your birthday.
And along the wall?
An entire bean library.
Rows of roasts. Profiles. Origins. Notes. It was organised in a way that felt spiritual — like the Dewey Decimal system had been replaced with cocoa undertones and regional terroir.
The Ritual
The barista was grounded, helpful, and refreshingly unpretentious.
She offered recommendations. Explained the decaf roast. Informed me there was a 20% sale on beans.
Tempting? Yes.
Dangerous? Also yes — my suitcase was already half-filled with Yayoi Kusama souvenirs, and I wasn’t ready to explain to customs why I’d packed twelve bags of beans and no spare underwear.
I resisted. Barely.
The Sip
I drank it while waiting for the tram.
There was no drama. No spiralling. No sudden existential realisations.
Just… peace.
Medium roast
Low acidity
Chocolatey, mellow, round
It was the coffee equivalent of a well-paced rom-com — no plot twists, just warm vibes and a satisfying resolution.
The Missed Moment
And then came the heartbreak.
Outside the café is a mural — two hands cradling a coffee cup, perfectly symmetrical, begging to be posed with.
The light was right. The composition was flawless.
I had no tripod.
No friend.
No stranger to bribe into becoming my artistic accomplice.
Just me, my cup, and a dream deferred.
Also: they had cookies.
Salted choc chip. Red velvet. All thick, glistening, and dotted with giant chocolate buttons that looked like Yayoi Kusama personally designed them.
And no, I didn’t get one.
I should’ve. I know I should’ve.
Matcha Toast Memory
Mood: Calm, clear, and brunch-satisfied
Barista Energy: Unbothered, helpful, a full-spectrum coffee empath
Cup Vibe: Sleek indoors, scenic mural outdoors, both worthy of their own highlight reel
Main Character Moment: Cancelled by my lack of a tripod
Unexpected Delight: The cookie shelf looking like an edible art exhibit
Café Vibe: Emotionally available, aesthetically grounded, one therapy session away from enlightenment
Matcha Leaves: 4.5/5 🍵
Final Sip
ONA Roasteries was a soft reset.
No chaos. No caffeine-induced euphoria. Just a solid brew, a smooth moment, and the sense that not all café stops need to be cinematic to be good.
Would I come back?
Absolutely.
With a tripod.
And a cookie budget.
Let’s sip. 🍵🥶
💬 Final Final Sip — Part 4
At this point, I wasn’t just drinking coffee — I was writing my origin story in it.
