★★★★★ Bratwurst
Most people reading this are probably already aware of the bratwursts at Queen Vic Market, but if this can reach a single sausage-less soul, it will have been worth it. In the Dairy Produce Hall, the Bratwurst Shop always has a line, is always staffed by harried-looking teens, and always delivers the goods. Our preferred order is the chorizo with sauerkraut, fried onions, hot English mustard, and tomato sauce, all stuffed into a fluffy white bun. The wurst is crispy on the outside, almost tough. We get the same satisfaction from biting through the skin, which punctures with a slight pop, as twee icon Amélie gets from cracking the top of her crème brûlée. Picture your editors with bangs, transported, twirling off down the smallgoods aisle. Guten appetit!
★★★★ Micro-libraries
If you were to start your own micro-library, would you catalogue a book about Sufism under “Mysticism” or “Islam”? This was the question that the goth-chic librarians at an unnamed, volunteer-run library in Fitzroy were pondering when we paid them a visit last weekend. The recently-opened library is housed in a capacious corrugated iron shed down an alley off Westgarth Street. Their collection is not vast—it leans heavily towards history, philosophy, mysticism, and esoterica—but as with most twenty-first century libraries, the books constitute only a fraction of the experience. When we arrived, one librarian was playing haunting jazz riffs on an electric organ, while others went around offering fresh fruit from lavish platters. “Mostly, we want this to be a place for curious people to come together to read, think, and talk,” one librarian said, biting into a slice of watermelon. Rebranding libraries as salon-like haunts for erudite bohemians seems to be a thing, especially since the cozzie livs made drinking in bars too expensive. Seventh, an artist-run gallery in Richmond, recently announced plans for a Community Library and Reading Room. And then there is Rainbow’s Library, a fiction-oriented micro-library in a tiny, ramshackle room off a side street in Brunswick. After leaving Fitzroy, we rode over to Rainbow’s, only to find the place turned almost upside down. “Reorganising?” we asked. Rainbow, the eponymous librarian, sighed. “I’m just putting the books in alphabetical order and then we’ll figure something more specific from there.” Then, Rainbow lit up what looked like a cigarillo, and we chatted about Michel Houellebecq for twenty minutes. In the nameless Fitzroy library, membership costs $50. At Rainbow’s, membership is not required. “You just choose your book and then we take a picture,” Rainbow said, showing me an Instagram page featuring happy readers holding up their chosen books. “Public accountability?” we suggested. “Trust system,” Rainbow replied. With friends like these, who needs the Dewey-decimal system?
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Paris End to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.