The man who ate Lincoln Rd went for morning tea the other day at one of the dingiest pockets on the street. It's close to the motorway exit, and it's neither a fully formed stripmall nor a block of neighbourhood shops; it's just a motley assortment of businesses on a skirt of concrete. No trees, nothing ornamental. There's a bakery and a cheesecake franchise, also a money lender and a porn cave. All the basic greeds.
But it gets all-day sun. I often pass by and notice a woman sitting at a table outside the Peaches & Cream adult shop, and West City Bakery has three tables on the pavement. There's usually someone scoffing a pie in the sunshine and I always wish I were that person. Reader, I lived the dream.
Instead of pies, though, I ordered a doughnut and something very spongey and very jammy. It wasn't labelled in the window display. The Cambodian baker saw me looking at it. He said, "I only made today. First time! I not write name for it yet." I said, "What are you going to call it?" He said, "Butterfly cake."
It had wings. It flew onto my plate, along with an extraordinary sugar doughnut; the baker had shaped it into a kind of twist. They were the two prettiest treats I've eaten anywhere on Lincoln Rd. I was a most happy fella as I took my seat in the sun and slowly scoffed the sweets.
