The barista quality at TGO is pretty inconsistent. In second year M asked for a latte with an extra shot – the barista stalked him down to his table to ask if he wanted his extra shot on the side. After this confusion, the noob barista dropped off the WORST coffee of M’s life. Not only was the coffee burnt to fuck, the milk was lukewarm. Sacrilegious bastards.
G had a dark moment with a douchey snapback clad waiter who dropped a chicken ficelle sandwich on her lap. The waiter then stood there awkwardly fretting while G was forced to re-plate her delicious ficelle (thank god it was toasted and didn’t fall everywhere). This, along with forgetting to make her coffee on another occasion, has put The Good Oil in G’s bad books, and once you’re there it is hard to claw your way back out.
G didn’t hate her soy cappuccino, even though she isn’t a fan of Allpress beans (why so bitter?). The food is definitely better than the coffee. They make an effort to have an interesting soup of the day, and the baby cakes are delightful. The tables in the main room are so small and tightly packed together you almost feel like you are speed dating. It is impossible to get some space in this cramped area. M and G had the uncomfortable experience of sitting so close they were practically on a blind date with the people next door. Not recommended for the heifers out there.
The Good Oil is the sort of place you take your mum when she comes to visit. The entire place is a venus flytrap for trendy mums – they flock in and adorn the interior brick wall with their zebra print frocks and loud reading glasses.
Located on George Street, TGO is a less studenty café, so expect to be glared at if you loudly boast about your latest red card where your flatmate shat himself. The Good Oil has so much potential, but they eff up coffee on the reg. So stick to the food menu and pray that you won’t have your sammy served on your lap.
Location: opposite Quest on George Street
3/5 Coffee Cups