Kindness of Strangers

Cute name, cute spot, cute space, cute waiter. I ring up to find out if the eight-year-old can get eggs at lunchtime on a Sunday and the answer is yes. Do I need to book? The answer is no, shouldn't be a problem. So, when we arrive and find the tables are very occupied, it's a very impressive maitre d' (whose name I later learn is Bret Divola) who says: "I noticed we were filling up and reserved you a table anyway."

We end up with a choice, having arrived at the changeover time when brunch becomes lunch. The courtyard with the wooden panels scrawled in gold writing looks sweet. But the window table with a view of a glowing Japanese maple and a public garden wins our vote.

Great service in Sydney cafes is something of an oxymoron. Divola manages to get our coffee orders quickly, understand that the small person needs her eggs soon and compliment her choice of reading material (Garfield) while keeping an eye on his other customers.

Strangers with Candy is that kind of place - hospitable, professional and with a sense of humour. A lot like its quirky name. You might already know (unlike me) that it comes not from the stranger-danger warning but from a short-lived American comedy series with a cult following.

I suspect the cafe has a bit of a following itself. It feels like an old-fashioned country store that has landed in the uber-urbanity of Redfern. Character peeks through the original architraves, the less than perfect paint job and the mural of vine leaves outside.

A railway-style banquette in burgundy sets the tone inside. Lanterns dot the shelves filled with old cookbooks and jars of jam and relish made in the kitchen.

We lounge against a pink, shag-pile cushion, sipping a passionfruit smoothie that seems to have misplaced its honey sweetener, a good coffee and an apple juice that has had a squeeze of fresh lime happily added on our request.

Artistic-looking young folk finish off their muesli and hot breakfasts. A groomed, middle-aged couple read newspapers and drink coffee. A family with two children under five heads into the courtyard. City hikers stop for slices of cake or to fuel up on caffeine and refill their water bottles. Lunch time brings a party of five including a grandmother on a walking frame bearing a bottle for a birthday celebration.

Lunch arrives without us having to wait long, which is good because small person has already asked: "When is our food coming?"

Poached eggs wobble on fluffy white bread with bacon and avocado. The scrambled-egg pile is next to tomato and bacon and rosemary-spiked mushrooms. There is a dish of figs and prosciutto with a blue goat's cheese dressing, followed by a broth with wontons.

A good egg is a thing of joy and these sing. The poached numbers have creamy whites, softly set and not rubbery, with flowing yolks that drench the thick toast. The bacon is cooked to crisp and juicy perfection in fresh, clean oil. The tomatoes look like they've been to the hairdresser: their skin is crimped and crisped.

Soft, not-too-salty prosciutto winds itself around ripe figs, a happy pairing that doesn't really need the goat's cheese dressing (interesting as it is with its notes of verjuice and lime). The prawn wontons are resilient without being sticky or doughy. They bustle in a bowl of peppery, zingy stock, rich with flavours from the shiitake and wood ear fungus. There is a just-picked freshness about everything. My only gripe is that $3.50 is too much for a quarter of an avocado, no matter how perfect it is.

The small person stretches out, too full to tackle a moist and bittersweet orange and almond cake. She springs up when she spots a dog outside, his owners keeping him company while having coffee and pizzette. Cute.