Alexa J.
Google
The Great Flat White Quest!
After hitting 120 cafés in Australia—a feat of cardiovascular endurance that should technically qualify me for an Olympic medal—I returned to the United States after a year aboard . I quickly discovered that "American Coffee" is often just a polite term for "brown water that has been sitting in a pot since the Eisenhower administration." I pleaded with my parents. I wept. I explained that an Australian flat white is to a regular cup of joe what a Ferrari is to a riding lawnmower.
My mates back in Oz informed me that Bluestone Lane was lurking right around the corner from my family home in Tyson’s. I immediately loaded my parents into the car for an emergency intervention.
I arrived with expectations higher than the hair on a 1980s prom queen. In Australia, you can get a world-class coffee from a guy standing on a literal street corner with a portable steam wand. In America, finding a proper flat white usually requires a map, a compass, and a blood sacrifice.
We went for the heavy hitters: a small flat white with an extra shot (my "usual"), a Flagstaff blend long black for my dad—who is a coffee connoisseur, which is a fancy way of saying he can tell the difference between "beans" and "dirt"—and a large mocha for my mom. I also ordered the Prosciutto and Burrata sandwich, while Mom went for the Pesto Chicken.
I must tip my hat to the Bluestone Lane menu designers. They’ve managed to create an Australian-inspired masterpiece while still speaking "American" to the locals. I was, I admit, slightly wounded to see the word "burrito" instead of "wrap," but I decided to be the bigger person and not start an international incident.
However, they won my heart forever because they have Magics on the menu. If a café knows what a Magic is, they aren't just making coffee; they are practicing high-level sorcery, pun intended.
The food was brilliant, but the coffee was the real star—the kind of star that gets a standing ovation and three encores. I took a sip of everyone’s drink, purely for "quality control" purposes and definitely not because I’m a caffeine thief. The barista deserves a Nobel Prize for achieving beautiful latte art even using skim milk, a substance that usually has the structural integrity of a cloud. The long black was brewed to perfection, and the mocha had that "American sweetness" which is perfect for my mom, whose sweet tooth is basically a structural component of her jaw.
The whole experience was top-notch, made even better by our waitress, Karolina, who was so outrageously sweet I’m surprised she doesn’t cause cavities just by standing there. We even snagged a piece of banana bread on the way out, because in the world of professional café-hopping, you never leave a soldier behind.
Thank you, Bluestone Lane, for bringing the taste of Australia to my hometown and saving me from a life of lukewarm American drip coffee. You are the real MVPs.
I’m sure they will see me taking pictures of my morning Blue Stone Land coffees on my Instagram @alexajanoschka