Max Brenner

I am not a female, ergo I do not live and breathe and die for chocolate. I would not unthinkingly impale myself upon a sugary spire for one sweet lick of that hot melted calorie cream, like so many of my friends, family and ex-​partners.
Okay, enough gender stereotyping. I only have an occasional sweet tooth, but when it flares up there’s only one place I go. The Bald Man’s on Oxford St. Even the interior looks chocolate, all dark wood and warm spaces.
The waffles are weally good (terrible, sorry), and I can never go past a coconut-​infused hot chocolate served in a Hug Mug. Best seats in the house aren’t actually in the house — they’re the wooden stools on the pavement.
Best time to come is late at night. The chocolate tastes better late at night. Why? Because science.

Max Brenner is a bad man. Actually let me rephrase that because a) I haven’t met him and I’m sure he is a nice man and b) it’s because his café is so tempting that makes him bad.
It’s almost impossible to come here just for a coffee. Actually I’ve gone with the intention of having a coffee but am yet to have one as I always get sucked in by my new found sweet tooth to have something sweeter. The Choctail/​Frappé is always my first choice although there’s sundaes, waffles, crepes, chocolate pizza’s and cakes it’s really not wonder I’ve never had a coffee here. You’re a bad man Max! (You legend!)