Bikes: I like the thought of them, the look of them and the idea of saying “oh yeah nah I ride my bike to work”, but the fact of the matter is, they frighten me. I’m no good at them.
But I took myself to Little Mule and sat among them – so shiny and pastel and pretty – I began to ponder what would happen to my life if I bought one. Surely it would be instantly awesomeofied. I decided I wanted the teal one. Real bad. I began imagining what coloured helmet would really make it pop and what kind of fun things I could put in a basket attached to the front (are you allowed to attach baskets to serious-kid bikes or is that strictly fixie? I don’t know these things, but Little Mule makes me want to learn.)
The super friendly waitress brought me back to reality when she started telling me about the chicken and chorizo casserole she’d made for the day’s specials, of which she was particularly proud. I wigged out of ordering a bicycle and went for a tuna melt with jalapenos and scamorza instead and saved myself $1450. My ridiculously delicious melt was only $8.50, which I felt was a pretty sweet deal.
Let’s cycle-analogise here: Little Mule’s short breaky menu ($5 – $12.50) is like the handlebars, steering things in a good direction with avo on toast ($7.50), or a slice of freshly baked banana bread ($4); the melts, toasted sandwiches and baguettes form the tasty, tasty frame ($7.50 – $8.50); and I guess it makes sense that the retail section of sweet rides would be the wheels of the operation – they’re what pedals Little Muleâ€™s coolness. Last but not least, Little Mule’s coffee is the cafés little bell, what people might hear of before they get there cos it’s solidly bellicious, tacked on to the seriously impressive chassis that is the Little Mule Co. Ring a ling.