Rusty’s Cafe

Down the ass end of the quiet little Foster St strip sits Rusty’s, an unpretentious little café that sees the bulk of its trade during weekday lunchtimes from the various pimps and princesses who work at all the terraced ad shops and PR agencies roundabouts.
Their staples are simple Italian-​inspired and modern Australian food. It ain’t gourmet, but it’s better than average café fare. I had a crack at their prawn spaghetti and, if I’m being honest, I didn’t hold high hopes but the chef squinted at the mound, took stock of the pitcher, lined up the fast ball and creamed that bad boy right our of the park. The crowd (me) went wild. He dished me up perfectly al dente pasta, huge, plump prawns, juicy grape tomatoes and big sweet shreds of torn basil.
An added bonus? The sun-​drenched tables outside. I’m wearing my bikini next time.