About Kaldo's

Kaldo's is mine. I answer the phone number on this site, and I'm the one out the back covered in fitout dust.

The Kaltora thing: I invented a country so I could invent a cuisine. It started as a story, and the story turned out to have decent rules for running a café. Feed people first. Keep a spare place set. Don't close the kitchen while someone's still hungry. I've kept those.

If you're local, come round the back and say hello while we set up. If something on this site reads wrong, tell me on the Facebook page. I read it.

Kaltora, as we wrote it, is a nation of ports and markets. Its biggest city is a harbour where strangers walk off boats and get handed something warm before anyone asks their name.

Fremantle already works like that. The harbour, the Markets since 1897, the Cappuccino Strip, and a habit of feeding whoever turns up. It was the obvious place to put the café.

On the paperwork we're a café. We also call Kaldo's the first embassy of Kaltora, because it amuses us and because the rules are real even if the country isn't. The border officer is Lyra Kaelor. She has never refused anyone entry.

Kaltora's a story. These are the parts of it we actually run the café by.

Love is hungry. Amora es etsin, the Kaltoran slogan. Feeding people is how you look after them. In practice it means we'd rather feed you than turn you away.

One extra place at the table. Every Kaltoran table is set with a place for whoever hasn't arrived yet. Come in alone and you were expected.

Speed is a courtesy. The slow cooking behind the street food is done ahead of time, so you shouldn't be waiting long. You're hungry. That's the reason.

Chess on the counter. It's the Kaltoran national pastime and there's a board on every café counter in the country, permanently mid-game. Ours will be too. Sit down, make a move, and whoever's next carries on.

One more, because it makes us laugh: in Kaltora, if you bump a chair, you apologise to it.