Wild Poppy is tame but tasty.

Bite-Size Review: kitsch kwality kafe. 3 chickpeas out of 5.

Beyond the cappuccino strip, on the dodgy side of south terrace (yes, we ventured past the hospital...) hides a number of lesser-known coffee-serving delights. If you’re sick of the steadily increasing prices at Gino’s, or of the ludicrously long line at Moore & Moore, I suggest you lollop/cycle/zombie shuffle yo hungover ass to this neck of freo...

Wild Poppy is one such shop of deliciousness on the corner of South Tce and Wray Avenue. The kitsch decor is delightful (though perhaps a little contrived) and the cafe spacious. Wait-staff were attentive, amicable and knew their coffee. The Wild Poppy brekkie menu is actually pretty tame, but does it display a decent number of vego options and a seriously scrumptious selection of cakes (which I’ll have to come back to try).

But the main reason I would roam repeatedly to Wild Poppy is the super-speedy-spectacularly-psychic baristas. They must be able to read your mind and start conjuring your brew ahead of your order, because I swear the coffee always arrives before I’ve even had time to remove my sunnies and let my bloodshot eyes adjust to the harsh light of a Sunday morning.

And, not only is it fast, it’s good. My long macc was only $3.50 (a dollar less than other coffee wranglers), of decent portion, not too acrid, not too milky.
My serve of scrambled eggs & turkish bread ($10) with a side of balsamic tomatoes ($4) was also served promptly. The three slices of Turkish bread were all jazzed up with a scrape of hummus, chutney, and a babaganoush. A tasty touch that would not please all, but certainly appeased my tastebuds.

The balsamic vinegar tomatoes were the highlight of the meal. Slightly caramelised, roughened up with rosemary, these were so delicious I went home and attempted my own version the next day. Shame they were almost completely ruined by the layer of ground white pepper. To me, that powdery crime tastes like dirt, and was totally off-putting.

Note: ALL cafes should use freshly cracked black pepper. That stale powdered shit is the cardinal sin of seasoning.

My boyfriend’s serve of ‘Hot Cakes’ (what the average chump would call pancakes) was plentiful, topped with mascarpone, strawberries and loads of maple syrup. As said, nothing revolutionary, but in defence of the cliché-cakes, they were light and fluffy and did the job well.

Food, service, and the kitsch-decor all fertilised an enjoyable experience. And with business going seemingly well - even expanding to the dinner-trade on Friday and Saturday nights, this place is one tall poppy I wouldn’t want to cut down.