Bungalow 4171 is a reasonably recent addition to the southside's meagre list of decent cafes. It's telling that it's a few minutes drive away from Oxford Street. Far enough to insulate it. There's something about that strip that... Oh, that's right. It sucks.
Apart from a couple of stand out venues, like the Oxford Street Bakery, home of the Portuguese custard tart we discussed a while back, and Mugged or The Deli for a coffee or quick bite, it's dire. So dire I wonder why so many people drive all the way over to drink and dine here. Especially if they go past Bungalow 4171 along the way.
Hit the brakes, stop to a screeching halt and back the fuck up, people. Especially if you're in the way of needing breakfast. This quiet little shack is one of best suburban secrets in Brisneyland. They do pretty much everything in house, including the sweet treats (below).
The huge tectonic slabs of golden buscuity goodness you can see there are actually scones, althought they remind me of old fashioned tea cakes. They're fresh baked each day in the back room kitchen and thump down in front of you with enough of a thud to know you're not going to need anything but a bevvy to knock them down. The coffee is always expertly done, and arrives with a little Hershey Kiss, just to make you feel that little bit guiltier about blowing your calorie count.
The breakfast menu ranges a lot wider than up market, remimagined egg-n-pig, but the up market, remimagined egg-n-pig is pretty fucking good. It's called the Bungalow one pot breakfast and reminds me of something you might get in First Class when you fly. (It's why I didnt include it in my review for Qantas. Might incite a riot down in cattle class.)
I believe I've already shared my philosophy about breakfast sausages. They are the standard by which you judge a cafe, and these are magnificent; slightly fiery chorizo chipolatas. Warm enough to wake up the taste buds, but not so spicey as to overwhelm the rest of the dish. There's a little pot of thick relish hiding between the cherry tomatoes and the milk jug in that photo, again made in-house. It really lifts the egg and bacon while the spinach lets you imagine you've done something good for yourself.
I'm kind of curious about how they pull all these elements together at once, because they'd cook at different rates. I'd place a small bet on the snags being part way done before their added to the mix, for instance. Possibly the bacon too, because it comes with a nicely crisped rind, while the eggs remained soft and even a little runny in the centre.
It was a hefty feed which left no room for one of those monster muffins. I suppose I'll have to go back.