Clipper Cafe

By mid-afternoon (after a morning crushing glass for Spike and a visit to my GP for me ... I have a new dressing on my calf, received a flu injection and have been referred to a sperm consultant of all the specialisms one might conceive of ... pun intended, which is very sad of me) we were both mildly peckish. So, following a detour to Dulwich Hill to purchase pointy bits, discs and oil for an industrial sewing machine, we set off in search of a late lunch. How late a lunch is four o'clock? It's a very late lunch.

That's how we made it (at last) to the Clipper Cafe on Glebe Point Road, near Broadway. It's new. Spike had read a decent review in a foodie's blog. My jury was out on the place based on nothing more substantial than my ability to be a stubborn, cantankerous old goat. I was wrong. Spike was right.

It's a pleasant, friendly little place; quiet by the time we arrived but I guess it's popular and busy most mornings and at weekends. The Chai I was served with jumped straight to the top of my mental list. It's pungent, richly aromatic with a spicy taste of cardamon and cloves and cinamon. Yummeee. Spike's coffe looked good. The later hot chocolate was, however, pretty average. I had an open sandwich with very smoky smoked salmon, rich pesto and a pepper / wasabi mango relish that set my lips and tongue dancing. Spike's mezze plate contained succulent eggplant and a mouth-watering cheese. All things considered, the word fabby comes to mind in a thoroughly inadequate, 1960's fashion.

Nice people, good food, excellent Chai; what more could you ask for?

That's a rhetorical question by the way. Clipper Cafe. Go eat!
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