My cafe is the best in the city. Coffee has nothing to do with it

February 25, 2026 — 5:00am

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There are cafes that make good coffee, and then there are cafes that make good days. The difference is rarely the beans. (Sorry, beans.)

We love to argue about grind size, obscure blends and pour-overs, but too rarely talk about the thing that actually determines whether a cafe matters. The people behind the counter.

Some cafe staff don’t just hand you a drink. They notice you. They remember your order. They clock when you’re flat, offer a wisecrack and make you laugh. They don’t fix your life, but they soften the edges. They make a humble room feel as rich as Aladdin’s cave.

There’s a particular kind of cafe staffer who understands timing. They know when to chat and when to just smile and let you vibe to a rogue ABBA song on their playlist. They sense the regular who’s there for caffeine, and the one who’s there because being seen for 30 seconds is the difference between coping or emailing something unhinged to their boss.

In these cafes the workers remember the detail you mentioned once – a skim iced matcha with no lid on the cup so you can eat the ice – without judgment. Some of these good humans are also freaks who eat the ice too. They ask how the thing you had the other day went. They notice you spill water on your crotch – again – and hand you a napkin before you realise you need one. They don’t make a show, they just care, practically. No single-origin bean ever warmly noticed a haircut.

There are other cafes where the coffee may be excellent, but you somehow feel worse for ordering it. You walk in unsure whether to order or apologise. The menu feels like a test, the sigh behind the counter is part of the service, and you briefly wonder what you did to deserve that kind of treatment. Sometimes, I still go to those places – for the bench seat, the anonymity, and the illusion of being taken seriously by a $12 yuzu-infused iced long black. But I never linger.

Given the cost of living in Australia’s capital cities, my barista’s kindness is about the only thing I can still afford. A real blessing, especially when the fact they’re good-looking is a bonus I didn’t budget for.

Somewhere, we started mistaking coffee culture for cafe culture. We learned the language of origin stories and extraction times, but forgot that cafes don’t need to be temples of perfection. They should be places you can land. You can serve a flawless pour-over in a room that feels colder than a landlord’s email. You can also serve an average coffee from a machine that sounds older than the escalators at Parliament Station – and still send someone back into the world lighter than when they arrived.

The term “community spirit” is often thrown about like it’s a branding exercise – chalkboard fonts, hanging plants and biscuits for your dog. But real community often shows up quietly, at 9.42am, when someone slides a matcha across a counter and says your name like it matters.

I’m a cafe worker. There’s one question customers ask that shows a lack of respect

Liam Heitmann-Ryce-LeMercierFreelance writer

A good cafe offers continuity. The counter is the same height. The machine makes the same sound. And the staff give you warmth and witty banter, because you’re more than a customer – you’re a recurring character.

That steadiness is grounding. It’s human. And let’s be clear: this ain’t emotional labour we should exploit or romanticise. Cafe staff aren’t therapists or the Dalai Lama. They’re skilled workers in a demanding, underpaid industry – where Biscoff lattes take more time and effort than what they’re worth. What they offer is generosity, not obligation. Not something you get from a 7-Eleven coffee machine.

Some people may say, “It’s just a cafe, mate.” But those people have never had a stranger-turned-friend become a quiet anchor in their day. They’ve never walked out lighter than they walked in, with the same problems, but much more capacity to face the day.

The truth is, we’re starved for low-key kindness. For interactions that don’t demand us to be switched on. Friendly cafe staff foster the magic of a space that’s not home, not work, but something in between. A place where there are no questions asked when chest-level perspiration smudges the loyalty card stashed in your sports bra.

Every time I order coffee, it’s name roulette. Sadie, Baby, Hayden. I’ve had them all

Katy HallAge deputy state topic editor

Age deputy state topic editor

The Neighbours theme talks about finding the perfect blend. If you’re lucky enough to have a cafe like that – tip well and say thank you.

Alison Fonseca is a Melbourne journalist, comedian, actor and filmmaker.

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