On a Sunday morning, I drove to a new corner store that had recently opened in a western suburb in Perth. The store had caused a lot of hype, enough to have come up in conversation at least eight times that week and been generously profiled in the top city guides. “Oh. My. Gosh. You haven’t visited the store, yet?” people said to me after I had just told them I hadn't.

On the way, I picked up a friend who had visited the store every day since its opening and whose soul would apparently not rest until I sampled the cinnamon scrolls and bacon baguette. After getting into the car, she said: “You are going to die when you try one of these baguettes.”

“Can’t wait,” I said.

I tried to roll down the jammed windows of my green ‘98 Corolla, nicknamed the Jungle Wagon. Additionally to having stubborn, manual windows, the Jungle Wagon had a broken speedometer, a door that spontaneously swung open, and a seat that didn’t lock into place, meaning with every breaking and quick acceleration (quick for a ‘98 Corolla, of course) I would slide back and forth like an underwhelming bucking bull ride. Also, the car made a concerning clanking noise during sharp turns. At least the cassette player worked, though only partly. The tape, which came with the car and included 45 minutes of spiritual chanting, wouldn’t eject. So spiritual chanting it was.

Though I would have liked a working speedometer, I was charmed by the car's unadorned simplicity. I don’t particularly buy into the surfeit of add-ons found in most modern cars, like seat warmers and the horde of sensors that flash and beep at you for not wearing a seatbelt.

After parking the car, we walked to the back of the line which snaked down a pathway on the street.

The corner store repped a retro fit-out and like the Jungle Wagon was stripped of modern features. An old oven was used for the water glass table, for example.

I only planned on getting a scroll but by the time I reached the counter, I was starving and ordered a bacon baguette, too.

“Do you want any add ons?” the server said.

“No, thank you,” I said. “As it comes.”

—

I worked in a cafe that was a hub for people who briskly walked along the promenade every morning wearing Lululemon and Nikes and generally liked to add extras to coffees.

When I first started working at the cafe, we only stocked standard extras like sugar, chocolate, marshmallows, chai powder, and so forth.

But after Fairfax published several articles, which wellness bloggers then re-published, on why adding low-toxin fats to coffee helps with weight loss and prolonging the caffeine buzz, we began having to cater for more obscure add-ons: butter and coconut oil and, later, various brands of natural sweeteners, alternative sugar and certain spices.

A particular customer, for example, used to order an almond latte with turmeric and a specific brand of natural sweetener, which I thought was creative.

The most imaginative coffee I've heard of, though, was a friend's homebrew, which involved blending (with a blender) a strong pot of coffee with butter, coconut oil, medicinal mushrooms, an extract from a cannabis plant and a pinch of cinnamon.

I was at a dinner party when he was explaining how to make the Woodstock-style concoction.

"The health benefits are amazing," he said and proceeded to tell us the science behind every ingredient.

I could only hear snippets, though, because I was pre-occupied at the other end of the table talking to another friend—about lubricants.

Before dinner, she had photographed a lingerie event which also showcased, among other erotic products, marshmallow-flavoured, sugar-free lube.

Flavouring aside, I said I didn’t understand why sugar was needed in the first place because sex lubricant didn't belong in your mouth and therefore didn't need to taste good.

"Funny you say that," she said. "The girls (the brand ambassadors at the event) were saying they liked to put a dash of it in their coffees every morning, instead of sugar. Apparently, it’s way better for you,” she said.

I can’t remember what I said next, only that I blurted a few expletives in the name of disbelief. After watching a few health and coffee fads come and go, I wouldn’t be surprised if cafes, due to popular demand, began to offer marshmallow-flavoured, sugar-free lube as a coffee extra.

I believe treats should remain as treats. As a child, mum used to make cakes with little to no sugar, adding healthy alternatives instead like she thought she could fool me into thinking that my birthday cake was, in fact, a cake like the other children's and not a bland cocoa loaf. I didn't even need to have a taste to know the cake's true savoury identity. The decorated toppings—usually a banana and activated almonds in the form of a smiley face—were enough.

Trying to turn an indulgence into a nourishing staple is like trying to domesticate a tiger. I say, don’t bother taming the beast. If you want a pet feline, buy a cat. Or, in the drink category, have a juice, not an almond latte with lube.

—

At the corner store, the server called my name, signalling the bacon baguette was now ready.

I collected the paper bags on the counter and sat down outside and unravelled the packaging that surrounded what ended up being a baguette with a few rations of bacon. Nothing else.

When I ordered the food, I thought I was asking for an item that was called the bacon baguette, like the cheeseburger at McDonald's, not literally the ingredients.

I didn’t mind, though. Actually, I respected the store for eliminating every add-on, like avocado or tomato, that gets in the way of the star components.

I took a bite. And another.

“So,” my friend said, gazing at me eating. “What do you think?”

“Best I’ve ever had,” I said. And truly meant it, too.

“Told you,” she said.

I picked the bread crumbs off my shorts and then, peering up, watched a gentleman wearing thongs and boardshorts come out of the store also holding a bacon baguette.

He walked to a dog that was tied to the bike racks. “Good boy,” he said, untying the frayed rope that was the leash.

Sitting on patchy buffalo grass next to the Jungle Wagon and outside the corner store, I continued to watch the man as he pulled out the bacon for his dog and proceeded to walk into the distance, eating what was left of the baguette.