The original bills at 433 Liverpool Street,Darlinghurst.Wolter PeetersAside from the camera crews perched on the street corner in Darlinghurst on Wednesday morning,breakfast at bills felt like any other day.
A queue snaked along the street and a friendly face greeted you with “thank you for waiting”.
Loud conversations and laughter could be heard as mimosas were drunk,eggs eaten and bright light poured through the big windows.
But this was no ordinary morning.
Australia had woken to the tragic news thatBill Granger died peacefully surrounded by family on Christmas morning.
He was a pioneer of breakfast around the world – pioneeringavocado on toast,popularising communal dining and cooking scrambled eggs in a way that defied the laws of physics.
Celebrity deaths make headlines,tributes flow in and days later,the moment passes.
But for the die-hard bills fans (of which I am one) Granger’s death has sparked a moment of genuine sadness and reflection.
I was born in Darlinghurst in 1993,the same year Granger opened his first cafe on that now famous corner at 22 years old.
It was a different place back then.
A green ban in the 1970s pushed for high density,low-rise construction and provisions to ensure low and middle income families could live there.
A haven for factory workers,corrupt cops,artists,sex workers,the queer community,the suburb was defined by its eccentricity,diversity,drama and sense of belonging.
Bill Granger dropped out of art school before opening bills in Darlinghurst in 1993.After dropping out of arts school,Granger turned his hand to hospitality – opening the breakfast joint when the council refused to grant him a permit for nighttime trade.
At four years old,I started school at Darlinghurst Public,the yellow and red brick primary school right across the road.
Some of my earliest memories are filing into bills with my mother and sister before the 9am bell,marvelling at the eggs and scraping the chocolate off my mother’s skim cappuccino,extra hot.
In my early 20s,I lived in a share house on Womerah Avenue and worked at the Darlo Bar,two blocks up the hill from the cafe.
In between university classes and night shifts,I would treat myself to bills for breakfast each week,covering the tab with tips from the night before.
Silken scrambled eggs from bills.Mikkel VangWhile it’s the silken eggs that gets me coming back,it is the feeling of being in the room that keeps you there.
Weekdays are best to dine at bills,with no queues and tables filled with people who have cracked the code to live outside the 9 to 5 hustle.
The large table in the centre is stacked with fresh flowers,newspapers and magazines from around the world. It is a place where you can sit,read,think and bask in the luxury of solitude.
The famed communal table at bills.Wolter PeetersDarlinghurst has now gentrified and something about expensive eggs and morning cocktails makes more sense than ever.
But for those who have grown up with the cafe,we know it’s much more than food. The cafe will forever remain an integral part of the suburb’s identity,a place for reflection,discussion and connection.
I now live in Melbourne and each time I return to my home city,a pilgrimage to bills is at the top of the list.
This morning,my old primary school had a sign that read:“Don’t be sad because it’s over,smile because it happened.” And that’s how many die-hard bills fans will be feeling today.
Vale Granger. And let there be riots if anyone messes withhis egg recipe.