Is there a more fetching architectural feature than a bull-nosed veranda? it’s wholly inviting how it curves down to the approaching guest and beckons you inside for a cuppa and a Monte Carlo (goodness, what a biscuit). Does the sloping iron suggest submissiveness? Or on this early afternoon, a very attractively priced sausage roll? The Willunga Bakery veranda is at once confident but also modest and I wonder if this is reflective of Australia’s idealised self-image. After being overseas, a bull-nosed veranda can welcome you home with a hug just like the song Flame Trees and then being cussed at spectacularly in a nasal twang by a dear friend.
At $3.90 I was stunned and wondered bleakly if I wasn’t still in Sco-Mo’s Australia. A quick slap to my own face and I was returned to 2025. How was the sausage roll? Pretty good. Decent size and flaky pastry. The taste was initially uncertain but finished with a pleasant zing. And which Wednesday isn’t improved by a pleasant zing? Like a member of the Barmy Army attacking a late-night kebab, I woofed it down pronto. I then remarked to myself, not unlike an English cricket tourist that my sausage roll was, ‘dead good.’ I stood proudly, allowing the flakes to fall onto the ground. Small marsupials would enjoy these tonight.
Sitting on a bench out the front of the bakery is a visual feast. The handsome pub’s across the road, promising cold Pale Ale, and clots of tourists wobble up and down the hilly street. Like a diminutive Smithsonian Institute, there’s a random but artistic assortment of objects on the bakery footpath, festooned across the walls, and dangling from the iron ceiling. I found it diverting, just like a Test match crowd after tea when the full theatrics unfold. I would never wish to use one but there’s deep aesthetic comfort in an old (are there new ones?) typewriter. Do these and Betamax video players weep together in lonely old church halls and console each other?
I love a community notice board. These are often rich texts laden with intrigue and narrative clout. Willunga’s bakery adheres to this. When was the last time you saw a sheep pose for a photo with such grace and composure? For a recently lost livestock the unflinching way it’s staring down the camera seems uncharacteristically calm and accepting of its bleating circumstances. A Current Affair could do worse than to interview this lamb. Found: Lost Dorper Lamb could be an animated Wes Anderson film, 70’s agrarian concept album or minor Roald Dahl short story. Our sheep contact and agricultural hero, ‘Margret’ has a curious name. This rare variant of ‘Margaret’ sounds Welsh and is therefore entirely appropriate for one collecting and saving stray sheep like a Fleurieu shepherdess.
In 500 words (or fewer) discuss how this image is emblematic of a small town, nostalgic Australia. Ken Done should put this on a tea-towel. Blue and white fly strips fluttering in the warm breeze. A daggy Open sign that’s rusty and worn. A bright yellow chair that’s cheerful and retro, promising no nonsense, 1950’s values inside. It’s charming and unpretentious. Stick Bill Hunter on it. If this doesn’t already exist, the photo could feature in a calendar called, ‘No Bullshit Bakeries of the Bush.’
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