It must be time for a coffee

I know it is off topic, but a couple of things prompted a diversionary, nostalgia trip. I thank Brownie , for the visit and comments. Especially the gentle reminder that the gang warfare in beautiful Melbourne is not; “youngish brawlers, but gangland, ie gangster warfare…” Lonely deaths in most liveable cities
Then in one of my favourite newspapers, the Melbourne Age, I read another piece jogging the sensual memories of that city - We've got a whole latte love...

Melbourne has been described as the ‘coffee capital” of the world, which might seem extreme to anyone who has never wandered the city’s Greek precinct. The aromas of this area are, from my memory at least, high octane caffeine.
The senses are assaulted by the wafting aromas and displays of sumptuous pastries. The whole sensory experience, on my past visits, was topped off by the chattering of the youthfully arrogant, strutting ‘wogboys’ who inhabit this European toehold on the South Pacific.
Okay, we might be waxing lyrical here, but living in Western Canada, for all of its delights, is life devoid of that Mediterranean influence.
I dream of good coffee, and using the best beans I can gather, and a second rate steam coffee maker, concoct a pale imitation of an espresso.
It still beats the local version of coffee hands down, an insipid brew dripped through the grounds and stored for use in hot flasks. Attempts to buy an espresso are good for the funny bone, but not the senses.
In a land where take out is king the diminutive serving is generally presented in a styrene cup. The embarrassment which accompanies the serving is not with the cup, but the seemingly paltry contents. Size is everything, and an espresso is hardly jumbo, super large.
The closest I have had to a decent coffee was served by a young bloke just back from a backpacking tour of Australia. On the coffee issue alone he was seriously considering permanent return downunder.
My pre-BC stomping ground was in Sydney’s Newtown, another location known for it’s exotic atmosphere and good coffee. (Even as Melbournians are chortling in the background, Newtown is a popular destination for them.)
One coffee shop or at least a waitress therein, specialized in the most exquisite variation on the standard espresso. The few drops in the bottom of the demitasse resembled, I guess, a ristretto- the short pour; that is high on coffee oils and short on water.
Said waitress had dubbed her concoction the ‘hummingbird’, an apt description given the after effects.
The Age article tickled me for another reason. According to the survey it cites, the espresso is the chosen tip of the ‘young man’, no doubt those ‘wogboys’ of Melbourne. But it has been many years since I could claim to be a young man, perhaps just young at heart.
For all its shortcomings, my steam coffee maker is calling. Ciao