2026 · Acrylic on canvas in floating timber frame.
28×32 in” (711 × 813cm)

The places you assume are temporary

Every day, around the same time, I’d see him through the glass making his way towards the shop.

Sometimes he’d meet friends for a tart or two. Sometimes he’d come alone, grab a newspaper he had absolutely no intention of reading and perch himself at the window. A prop, really. An excuse to sit for a while, have a coffee and a yarn.

He’d order a “laddae” even though the baristas were usually halfway through making it before he’d even sat down.

It used to make me laugh because one of the waitresses was Dutch, and the first time she heard his order she looked completely confused.

“A latte,” I explained.

“Ohhhhh,” she said.

And then, together:

“A LADDAE.”

I used to work here.

Alimentari was my first job when I moved to Melbourne. I didn’t really know anyone and figured working in a busy café was probably a good way to fix that.

Turns out, it was.

I loved my time there. It was busy and loud and full of people. The kind of place where you very quickly learn everyone’s coffee order, who wants to chat and who absolutely does not, and exactly how many plates you can carry before you’re taking the piss.

I also reckon I clocked about 10,000 steps a shift just going up and down those bloody stairs.

Upstairs. Downstairs. Upstairs because you forgot something. Downstairs because someone needed something. Back upstairs because apparently you enjoy suffering.

Hospitality Pilates.

But there was a real joy to it.

The regulars. The staff. The conversations over the counter. The little rituals that happened every day without anyone really thinking much about them. And obviously, the food.

If you’ve never been to Alimentari, it’s one of those proper Melbourne institutions that somehow still feels like your local. The cabinets are always dangerously good, the coffee is excellent, the salads make you feel like you’ve made a responsible life choice, and sitting outside under those striped awnings with something delicious is still one of my favourite ways to waste an hour.

There’s something funny about the places you assume are temporary.

You clock on, clock off, complain about the rush, learn the regulars and their orders. At the time it’s just work. Just another shift. Then enough time passes and all that ordinary stuff becomes significant.

I think that’s probably why I keep painting places.

Last week I was sitting at Alimentari with a cappuccino, looking at the striped awnings, the old building and the tables spilling onto the footpath, and thought:

I want to paint this.

So I did.

Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe I’m trying to preserve places before they change. Or maybe I just like the idea that somewhere I once spent thousands of hours running up and down stairs carrying plates can eventually become something I sit quietly in front of and paint.

My first job in Melbourne was at Alimentari.

Now my job is apparently painting Alimentari.

Funny how that works.