I’ve been on the lookout for the b-grade thrillers of Wellington’s coffee scene, a sweded version if you will. These are my findings.
The free Nescafé machine at the hospital
There is nothing I love more than to sit next to my aunt who just had a colostomy and sip on a good old fashioned instantly brewed cup of glorified pisswater. For something that resembles the contents of her catheter bag, it tastes semi-decent. I particularly like the barista’s machine-like efficiency, so much so that I ordered one of everything. There seems to be no apparent difference between the latte and the cappuccino. Conclusion: they treat their customers well. Maybe baristas should ditch frothing their milk the traditional way and go for milk powder—you can really taste the difference! The backdrop of ailing people and that signature hospital-ly smell provide for an unforgettable experience and unparalleled ambience.
Mr. Bun, Cuba St
The first thing I thought when I walked in? It smells really strongly of ham. Slightly off-putting. They also seem to be obsessed with fried chicken to the point that it creeped me out. I think that’s the secret to their success—people like crispy chicken and Mr. Bun gives the modern consumer what they want. And so, after a few sips through my sketchy flat white, it struck me that Mr. Bun is for people who know what they want. If you want a saussy roll, he’ll give you a saussy roll. If you want a semi-decent flat white, hey sure why not? A crispy wang (wing but in a southern accent) on the side? Knock yourself out because Mr. Bun will deliver!
Added bonuses: You have choice of four different deep fried chicken combos. There is also a children’s play pen to dump those little rascals in while you chow down on some southern fried chicken.
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Mucho Mucho Espresso on Manners St
I kinda can’t say much about this place apart from the fact that it was basically just a glorified bakery. I decided to get a coffee because fuck it, I’m reviewing the b-grade-o-sphere of the city’s coffee and also their name would have the average Joe believe that their shit is fresh. As a Spanish major, my sources would have me think that “Mucho Mucho Espresso” has shit tonnes of coffee but apparently not. My coffee was, to be frank, mediocre. But there is something moreish about mediocre things, like when you’re eating a bag of those foamy banana lollies and before you know it you’ve consumed the entire confection. I think that’s my experience of Mucho Mucho Espresso in a nutshell.
The Coffee Club
Though it’s not typically “low budge”, I would still class The Coffee Club as party to the faux café sphere. I get the sense that The Coffee Club was established via a doctor’s prescription type thing—3x suicidal waitresses wearied by the fallacy of the trickle-down theory, 2x shitty mural art, 1x clientèle of white, middle-aged ladies, and 1x 180mg of codeine ‘cos that’s the only way this hole could be bearable. But I ordered my flat white and stationed myself closest to the door in case of emergency; I wouldn’t want to spend the last minutes of my life in that place. Yet, dying in The Coffee Club would be somewhat paradoxical seeing as it is hell anyway. You see, despite the fact The Coffee Club is just the Mickey Ds of the caffeinated world, they seem to get away with charging regular café prices and playing a buzzy house remix of Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams”. But as long as there are crusty and tasteless white ladies out there, The Coffee Club will always exist so I give up. I’m just pissed I spent $4.10 of my hard earned weekly living costs to support their capitalist scheme.
Disclaimer: The business owner of Mucho Mucho believes that the reviewer mistakenly went to the wrong business. We apologize for any confusion this article may cause.