Going out for brunch is back at this soothing Vietnamese cafe near Queen Victoria Market

Cafe$$$$

Cafes hold a strong grip on Australians. “Latte sippers” became a political sledge in the ’90s, then there was the smashed avo debate of 2016 when buying brunch was labelled a reckless move if you wanted to buy a house. Cafe culture, “latte belt”, third spaces and matcha girlies have fallen in and out of the vernacular.

There’s no equivalent when it comes to restaurants. We’re truly, madly attached to our cafes.

Not that we’re the only ones. In Korea, Vietnam, Scandinavia and beyond, cafes and specialty drinks are daily – or late-night – rituals. But recently in Melbourne, bakeries have been winning the morning wars. Some are even saying that going out for brunch is dead. Cham, a three-month-old cafe opposite the Queen Victoria Market, is putting paid to that.

Opened by couple Tony Nguyen and Christa Chan-Nguyen – both trained chefs, although here she runs front-of-house – Cham is a Venn diagram of nerdiness and warmth, precision and enjoyment, Vietnam and Australia.

The space is kitted out with chunky timber chairs and stainless-steel tables fabricated in Ho Chi Minh City, futuristic acrylic lamps by Vietnamese maker Bang, and ceramics from the country’s north and south, which each have their own pottery traditions.

The menu is also a fine balance, showing off Nguyen’s fine-dining background at key Melbourne restaurants Aru, Supernormal and Firebird through the lens of all-day dishes that he feels nostalgic for.

For the uninitiated, banh mi chao – “bread with pan” – might be thought of as a big breakfast. Eggs, pork loaf, pâté, some sort of meat, and pickled vegetables occupy a skillet bubbling with tomato sauce. At Cham, the chicken liver pâté gently melts into the bright, tangy sauce, adding body and depth. You’ll pierce an egg yolk and let that ripple through, too.

An enormous crusty baguette is there for ripping and dipping, plus some whipped Laughing Cow cheese to spread on the golden bread. Slivers of pork loaf (house-made, like everything else in the pan) are alive with pepper.

Pork meatballs are the star, though: crazy tender thanks to being steamed, they taste like the kind of home cooking adult children would pine for. Go the whole nine yards – cheese, pâté, sauce, meat – for a one-bite hit of hedonism or mix and match your way through this breakfast adventure park as I did.

These are generous dishes. I’m not saying clear your schedule and take a nap – there’s balance to most items – but bring an appetite.

At lunch, broken rice, that Vietnamese specialty, is laced with chicken fat and comes with a ridiculous amount of sliced confit duck fanned out like an accordion.

There is pho but it’s not beef. Nguyen chose instead to make a chicken broth, which takes around 13 hours and is so lovely and rich, it’s nearly viscous.

I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve experienced some of the best service in Melbourne at Cham. My dad was asked if he’d prefer chopsticks or a fork and spoon for his pho. Multiple staff members − calm, unhurried, graceful − explained how to eat each dish for maximum enjoyment. QR codes are the primary way to order but they’ll happily bring you a hard copy menu and take your order at the counter. It all adds to the nourishing feeling you get from many dishes.

The space is also extremely soothing, all white-washed brick walls, high ceilings and well-spaced tables. Above the bar hang pieces of hand-cut fabric, each a different length and in shades of blue. When they ripple gently on the breeze, it looks like waves rolling past.

Drinks range from an unimpeachable iced jasmine matcha to a surprisingly delicious layering of iced jasmine tea and pineapple foam. Vietnamese coffee is made with beans from a specialty roaster in Vietnam, Every Half.

I say this as a going-out-for-breakfast sceptic, but is brunch back? When people proudly showcase dishes their families have eaten for generations, and they do it in a setting that so many of us feel a connection to, the answer is a hard yes from me.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.

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