30days30years

Kinfolk

There are two brothers in Australia called Tim and Peter Costello. Peter was the Federal Treasurer for many years and Tim is well known for his work as the CEO of aid organisation World Vision Australia. I often think how proud their parents must be; one successfully steered our nation’s economy and the other works tireless to improve the lives of those less fortunate.

Last year Tim’s son Elliot, along with two of his mates, opened a cafe called Kinfolk on little Bourke St in Melbourne, which is a non-profit cafe. When you buy a coffee there you are given a coffee bean on your saucer. When you go up to pay you can then place the bean into one of several jars on the counter which are linked to different charities. After covering costs all profits from the cafe go to the charities based on the proportion of coffee beans they get in their jar. Nice, hey.

I was thinking about Kinfolk today as I sat eating lunch with a group of Italians who are staying at my hotel. I had never met them before and only one spoke broken English but they welcomed me into their fold as if I was one of their own.

Abel, the owner of Hotel St Roch, the low budget digs I have been staying at, was invited to join them and asked if I could come along too. Abel has taken me under his wing a bit since I arrived. I think he feels sorry for me travelling alone. His wifi connection for guests is a little fickle so he allows me to use his computer at reception and in exchange I watch the counter for him for a few minutes if he needs to duck out and get anything.

A French Canadian maths teacher, Abel runs the hotel from a far but comes and works during his summer holidays. He is constantly offering me food after seeing me eat peas and carrots from a tin (I am already on rations to make my funds last!) On Friday he went out for dinner and came back with McDonald’s for me – a filet o fish meal. “My favourite, how did u know?” I ask? “I could just tell he said.” I think it might have been something to do with it being Friday and me being Catholic. What’d ya think?

As I tap away on my computer he brings me glasses of the local pyrenees wine along with plates of cheese, or sometime an ice cream. I have to draw the line when he brings me creme brûlée though- my figure can’t afford it!

He is also generous to others. It rained heavily here all day today so I barely ventured out except to have dinner with Matilda and Mildred. When I came back I found a man on the ground outside the hotel. He looked like he was having some kind of fit but he couldn’t understand when I asked him if he was ok. I wasn’t sure of he was disabled or homeless or had just taken a fall. He was soaked because of the rain so I ran and got Abel and we helped him inside where Abel made him a coffee and sorted him out.

I hardly needed the pizza I had with Matilda and Mildred though because of the lunch I shared with the Italians. I all but licked the bowl of my giant spaghetti carbonara they served up (Beats peas and carrots let me tell u!)

All roughly in their mid-forties the Italians were a barrel of laughs, poking fun at each other and chatting loudly as only Italians can. A small man named Franco seemed to be their team mascot. I don’t know what his deal was but every time Abel or I attempted to fill his glass with wine the rest of them lunged across the table to stop us and then roared with laughter.

With a belly full of pasta I was ready for an afternoon nap and was just about to excuse myself when the second course came out- I’d forgotten how Italians eat. So I was forced to find room for a mass of meat and salad too, which was all rather delicious. How do the Italians do it? Very little dressing but so much flavour?

Then came the bread and after that biscotti and coffee. I don’t drink coffee but knew better than to tell an Italian that and so politely refused. The whole table stops. “But it’s Italian!” Ok so I’m a coffee drinker now it seems 😉