The Shooter has proposed we celebrate by drinking rodent feces. I agree, not least because it is difficult for anything, up to and including imbibing mammalian excrement, to further push our already-stretched boundaries of impropriety. And so we mark out our target, and we deploy, and despite running several hours behind schedule we eventually get to taste the scat of rats.

How can animal fecal matter constitute the world’s rarest and most expensive brew of coffee? We seek some answers at Olio, a swanky-looking joint which lounges next to St Leonards’ Railway Station and serves up espresso shots of Kopi Luwak, the notorious blend made from coffee cherries “processed” by Asian Palm civets in Indonesia. The processing involves the tree-hugging mammals consuming ripe coffee cherries, which are then stripped of their fleshy coating by the animals’ digestive tracts and summarily extruded into the welcoming hands of enthusiastic plantation workers. These workers then place the beans on an altar stained with the blood of their former masters, allow them to ferment for nine thousand and one days, then ship them worldwide at a offensively excessive premium.

For a relatively low price of $9 (the Shooter reports instances of $50-cups in Queensland and overseas), patrons of Olio also receive a shotglass of premium sparkling water which does not resemble urine, a chewy biscuit, and some chocolate. A brisk waiter explains the typical order of operations associated with these addenda, then scuttles off as though chased by an invisible army of bloodthirsty and democratically-empowered plantation workers:

1. Down the shot of sparkling water to cleanse your palate. Do not consume lemon zest.
2. Drink a little of the rat excrement. Swill it around in your mouth, let it lathe the insides of your cheeks. Repeat until no excrement remains.
3. Ingest the biscuit, then the chocolate. Or, as the Shooter prefers, both at once.
4. Assume a British public-school accent and swagger about, secure in the knowledge that you have high-octane rat dung sloshing around in your intestines.

And what of the excrement itself? Preliminary sniffs reveal a woody, earthy aroma; the main taste-appraisal notes a tanginess to the coffee which spits and prickles the tastebuds like a blob of liquid electricity. The Shooter and I swirl the excrement around and savour the lithe richness of the brew, one devoid of the crass bitterness associated with lesser espresso concoctions and cyanide pills. It may be the after-effects of the skirt, but I swear there is even a slight fruitiness to be tasted in the dregs of the cup. The biscuit is chewy and sweetens out the mouth with gingerbread, while the chocolate is soft, crunchy with what I believe to be almond pieces or shards of nut-flavoured shurikens. My only gripe is that this sweet petit fours leaves you wanting another shotglass of not-urine water to rinse your mouth once more.

We rise and vanish, revitalised, energised. Normally more than suspicious of gastronomic fads, we are nonetheless most impressed by the verve and strength of this rear-end blend. To speak plainly: never has a coffee hit us like that on our first taste. This is something special, comparable to dynamite. And as we swagger off, a little older and a little slower, it occurs to me that these small luxuries, shared with irreplacable personnel, may well be the highlights of my life in this new, unexpectedly bloody profession.

Happy Birthday, Shooter.

—

Olio

Location: The Forum, Shop 1, 201-205 Pacific Hwy, St Leonards 2065

Taste-type: Café/Fecal

Price: Kopi Luwak Espresso Shot (w/ Petit Fours) $9

How to get there: Train to St Leonards’ Station, then turn right just past the gates and look next to the pond.

Contact: 02-94398988

Location: 20 Campbell St, Haymarket NSW 2000

Taste-type: Thai

Price: Kai Dtun $7, Crying Tiger $12, Emerald Duck $15, Gaeng Panang Nuea $14, Green Mango Salad $18, Suep Nohr Mai $12, Pad Thai $12, Iced Bread $6

How to get there: Train, bus or tram to Central or Haymarket, then a quick walk. Chinatown parking can be found if you have the skills.

Contact: 02-92111808

Lennycakes is on the lookout for lady-boys. This is not because of any compunctions towards such specimens of humanity – as he is at pains to remind us over pre-dinner drinks – but because the Chat Thai experience is touted as being “great, fresh and authentic” and anything authentically Thai (or so his logic goes) must include lady-boys. Some of us hold that Lennycakes is taking this premise of authenticity a little too literally, but we are nonetheless expecting of a good night. Chat Thai’s reputation is somewhat legendary in Food Blogger circles and we are anticipating excellence.

While the only circumspect balls Lennycakes finds are those deep-fried and on the chefs’ counter, our experience of authentic Thai culture is about to get a rude awakening. When presented with a sizable queue out the front of the restaurant, we take a number and adjourn for drinks, thinking to come back in half an hour. Upon our return, my teammates and I are pleased to note that our number is on the verge of being called, and we congratulate ourselves on our time-management prowess. Unfortunately, just like any man picking up a lady-boy, we have toasted our success somewhat prematurely.

As time stretches on and our party is passed over again and again for entry, we begin to heat up without the need for any spicy Thai fare in our bellies. When we query the waitresses over this apparent oversight, we receive a response as authentic as Thai governmental practice: full of plastic smiles but completely lacking in competence. We are told again, and again, that the “Big Table” necessary to sit six people is unavailable and we must – despite the waitstaff at times sending seven or more customers in at once – simply stew and wait our turn. We are also made privy to the realisation that the restaurant is “extremely busy”, as though a rebuke for our impudence. Lennycakes becomes so incensed with this treatment that he moves to single-handedly slay the entire waitstaff, but I stop him with a quiet word or two.

When the People of Riling Smiles finally deign to let us into their kingdom, we are not given the promised Big Table but instead receive a cramped round-table as what seems a sort of conciliation prize. One guest wisely suggests the restaurant reinvest its obviously-burgeoning profits in extra tables and less uppety waitstaff rather than ornamental lights and overpriced streaks of paint on canvas. Having already experienced the authentic taste of Thai people-management, I take the extra precaution of checking for escape routes in case of a sudden and inexplicable riot.

When the food finally arrives, nearly two hours after we first took a number, we are somewhat impressed but not appeased nearly enough to make up for the poor door-service. The Kai Dtun simmers with a squishy, velvety texture, and is wolfed down by our team once we experience its eggy creaminess spiked through with grains of ground chicken. Despite being Number 2 on the menu, its taste is quite unlike that of a Number 2.

The Pad Thai is also above-average, fried nicely and topped with generous slabs of chicken and bean sprouts. However, it fails to amaze our tastebuds to the extent we might hope for from such a famous establishment. The staff put the customary peanut-sprinklings on the side of the dish when we inform them of allergy-issues, a fact I must commend them upon.

The meal at Chat Thai goes downhill after that. Most disappointing is the Green Mango Salad w/ Soft-Shell Crab (pictured), a hodgepodge platter of crab and various uncooked vegetables that resembles an appetizer more than a full meal unto itself. The crab’s batter, too floury for my taste, has slathered itself over and muted the juices of the crab. while the chili-ginger sauce incinerates any semblance of palatable subtlety with its fiery excess of ginger. The beef of the Crying Tiger gums up the teeth with its overcooked chewiness, while the Gaeng Panang Nuea is acceptable but somewhat dull in taste. We take to the Suep Nohr Mai like masochists to spiky chains, each of us ingesting a mouthful of violently incendiary salad and testing our ninja resolve to the limits.

The fame of Chat Thai’s desserts is widespread, superlative and, as we have ominously predicted after our experience so far, terribly undeserving. If sugar was a wild animal, then the famous Iced Bread would be its fecal matter. Drowned in rose syrup and placed on somewhat stale and sour bread, the flagstaff mound of ice in this dessert is barely edible, and the two ninjas who dare try it find themselves unable to suffer more than a few bites. There is no lesser indictment of the Iced Bread than the fact that we leave two plates of it barely eaten on our tables.

According to the preface of the restaurant’s menu, “Chat Thai” can mean two things: the literal “Thai Nation” in Thai, or the more buoyant and convivial “Talking about Thai” in the Western colloquial. There is, as many will know, another somewhat less complimentary meaning of “Chat” in the vernacular, one we believe is wholly more appropriate to describing the establishment. Even my stomach concurs with my team’s opinion, voicing its displeasure by evacuating its contents the next morning in multiple sittings (a concept apparently unfamilar to Thai restaurant reservations). Customer service and common courtesy are small matters, but they are increasingly rare in the restaurant environment and, in this case, are not even excused by excellent fare. The team is of one mind: Chat Thai must indeed Thai harder.

While I doubt the ability of my words to dent the voluptious reputation of Chat Thai, I feel it is my duty to at least make a stand. Such is the blessing and curse of being a food blogger: to be at liberty to speak freely, yet to at once know that one’s free speech is unlikely to be heeded. Yet a good ninja fights with all weapons he or she can muster, and words are often one – if not the most respected – of them.