No Milk (or Eggs) in the Aussie Milk Bar

The first time I noticed a Milk Bar was on the corner of Alfred Street and something-something Road. My first thought was that they sold milk-based cocktails, which wouldn’t be too far-fetched if you lived in South Yarra—the same place that serves spaghetti by the spoon, and it’s actually on the menu. It’s at Don’s, and from memory, it was $7 per spoon (if you’re wondering whether you should try it—abso-f-ing-lutely. It’s South Yarra core).

But then I also noticed there was no bar-style seating. I asked my equally immigrant husband what he thought a Milk Bar might be, and he suggested, “Maybe it’s an ice cream shop?”

It made sense, given the name.

The next day, it was 30 degrees during lockdown, and I made my way there. It was still within the luxury of the 5km travel limit, and I wanted to suss out whether it was open during the day or night—and possibly get some much-needed ice cream for some much-desired cooling down.

I don’t know why I didn’t just Google it. I guess it’s my millennial trait to sometimes delay Googling things. To relive the simpler days before the Internet. Also, I still like to be surprised. Or uninformed—you can choose either way.

To my disappointment, the Milk Bar turned out to be a coffee shop. Another new coffee shop opened during the lockdown. That’s ballsy, I thought, as I walked away with a coffee.

That’s when I saw it—the Milk Bar wasn’t the name of the store. It was called New Order, etched in gold lettering like a lawyer’s office. Very hipster, very South Barra. The coffee, though, was just okay. I preferred caffeine from Found to the one across from Bay Street.

The second time I went to a Milk Bar was during another lockdown (yeah, my life during lockdown is well-documented due to a lack of doing anything. You could ask me what I was doing on the 19th or 20th at 2:04 PM, and I’d probably say: crying).

And this wasn’t in chi chi South Yarra. By then, we had moved to WeFo.

I needed eggs for shakshuka—it was winter—and Tall Timber was no longer within walking distance.

By that time, I had Googled and learned what a Milk Bar actually is: a provision shop. It was the equivalent of the Green Shop near my home in Jakarta or my friend’s dad’s corner shop in Singapore.

So, I was expecting something like that. I even hyped it up and asked Fafa to join me for this “Australian cultural experience.”

We arrived and went inside, and—well—the Milk Bar was something.

First of all, no one was attending it, and it felt like I had stepped more than 50 years into the past. Which is probably around when the Milk Bar was flourishing. It had more of a museum vibe than a shop.

No one was there. No eggs in sight. But I insisted. I needed the eggs.

A few minutes later, a small Asian lady came out. I didn’t expect that—I had just assumed it would be run by middle-aged Aussie men, you know, like in the movies. She looked at me, a bit confused. The kind of confusion you get when someone sees an Indian couple. But we’re hardly out of place in WeFo—there are at least five Indian stores nearby.

So why?

Moving on…

I asked if she had eggs.

She just stared at me for a few seconds as if she were deciding whether I was worthy of the secret stash of eggs kept at the back of the store. Honestly, the place was big enough—she could’ve had freshly laying hens back there just for the regulars.

After what felt like an invisible clock tick-tocking away in silence, she said, “No.”

Oh. Okay. Um. “Let me buy something else to support the local business” I whispered to Fafa. But while I was browsing, she disappeared back inside.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you to Woolies” Fafa said.

That was the first and last time we went there—not because of the encounter, but because we found a closer Milk Bar near our house. It’s even gaudier, but also doesn’t sell eggs.

Fits the narrative, I guess.

Still, I go now and then—mostly when my overseas friends visit—for a bit of “cultural immersion”. Why take them all the way to the Yarra Valley when they can walk into a Milk Bar that still has the 2015 Chinese zodiac (Wood Goat) fortune snippets and an extremely faded calling card ad taped to the front window?

And I always make sure they buy something from there. I call it the entry fee.

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