Best Croissants, Really?

I can’t remember the date when I fist visited this cute coffee kiosk on Grey Street. I don’t even know if it was on Grey Street and to be honest I can’t even find out if the place still exists but I promise you, if it is still standing and you’re somewhere, anywhere near by and you fancy a coffee and a good chat, this is the place for you.

How I wish I could get more information for you*. There was a time when I would keep these gems to myself. The only thing I love more than a coffee is a peaceful coffee and I had a totally unreasonable thought that if I wrote about a coffee shop then all of my followers would rush there and if I was lucky enough to be docked again in the city the chance of my peaceful coffee would diminish with every read. The fact that I think anyone would listen to my opinion then seek out said coffee shop is stupid enough. One also has to take into consideration that the amount of people reading these blogs is currently standing at ZERO!**

I remember years ago when I was first writing about coffee I was asked how someone could tell when they are somewhere new where the great coffee was. I compiled a list, I do love a list. I am not posting that list now as it could come in handy for another blog in this series but I will give you two bulletin points to offer you some idea on how to narrow down that great coffee search.

  1. The letters TBSRCKSA and U appear nowhere in the shop’s name.
  2. It often wont even be a shop. 

A kiosk, a mini van, a telephone box or even a bicycle are just some of the  establishments where I have purchased a very good coffee. These places have nothing else to offer you other than great coffee. To entice you back they have to rely on their bean, their roast, their personality. There are no comfy seats, there isn’t Wi-Fi and if it’s a toilet you’re after then you are completely out of luck. It’s simply coffee. I would say my success rate from these types of places is in the very high 90’s.

On one occasion I find myself in Brisbane waiting for another ship. I am lucky. I just left one right here and the next one arrives in just a couple of days. No flights, which means no delays and even better no airline coffee. Along with several other Guest Entertainers I find myself in a bespoke hotel at the south end of the city. It’s a trendy area and the coffee shop choice is vast.

As usual the entertainers gather and plan a day together and coffee is on the agenda. But “somewhere comfy to sit,” and “I need to download some films,” and “I missed breakfast,” are just a few of the comments that leave me wondering what excuse I could muster that 1) gets me out of this coffee hell and 2) doesn’t make me look rude. Then I realise, it’s me; I am Paul Adams, I am always being told I am too honest and I am known for my love for coffee so as we exit the lobby and this kiosk comes into my eye line offering nothing aside from the hallowed bean I simply bid my farewells and all but skip across Grey Street.

I am number two in line and in front the lady asks the barista if he does croissants.

“I have the best croissants in the world!” He proudly boasts.

I say nothing.

It’s my turn to be served.

“What did I say wrong?” He asks me and confused I ask what he is talking about.

“That look you gave me when I told the lady my croissants were the best!”

Busted. I said nothing but my expression gave me away and I spent a couple of minutes explaining that he couldn’t possibly have the best croissants in the world. At best he could say, maybe, best in Australia. Even boasting, his French delicacies are the tops in Queensland seems hopeful.  Surely the pastry chefs of France lay claim to the greatest croissants.

I started every morning in Brisbane with a Flat White (and probably a skip too) from my favourite new coffee kiosk so a year later when I found myself docked once again in Brisbane I know where I am heading for coffee. Except the journey is no longer a skip across a street. It’s 8.2 kilometres from the Brisbane Cruise terminal to this kiosk. It involves two longish walks, a ferry ride and all the way I am passing by dozens of other coffee shops. However I am fiercely loyal once you have me as a customer so I continue my trek.

As I approach The Tree House I see a line that goes around the block of people waiting to order coffee. Still out of sight of the barista I hear a customer ask if he does muffins.

“I have the best muffins on the South Bank!”

Delighted, I position myself fully in his view, he sees me and exclaims,

“I’ve been saying that since you disappeared a year ago!”

 A huge smile, one heck of a Flat White and a whole bunch of skipping.

* Facebook, I dislike a lot of what it stands for but it just showed me a post from this very coffe shop so I can confirm it was on Grey Street. It was called the Tree House and ‘was’ does in fact mean it no longer EXISTS!

** Yep. Still zero.

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