The cheese section at Ainslie IGA.
Finally there's a convincing end to the northside-southside war.
Northside = winning.
Yes, it's time to put those expansive Red Hill bungalows and Kingston waterfront apartments on the market, and try and source a tiny falling-down weatherboard ex-govvie in the inner north for an astronomical sum.
We now have cheese. Incredible, eye-popping, cholesterol-raising shelves of it – 150 varieties in fact - taking over an entire wall in the refurbished deli section of the Ainslie IGA.
I may be biased as this is my local supermarket and I am already sold on the fresh produce, organic fruit and vege, and focus on local brands.
But not since my last luxurious wander through a bona fide fromagerie in the South of France nearly ten years ago have I been so awestruck by the oozing, unctuous varieties on display.
More importantly, it brings to the northside the final requirement in the triumvirate of civilised living. Cheese.
In recent times we have cemented pole position with the other two: coffee and bread.
Sure, people in the office may debate that Silo still produces the top loaf in Canberra, but my addiction for the Autolyse bakery on Lonsdale Street is so pervasive, a week does not go by since it opened that I have not flown in the door for a quick takeaway sandwich or a longer bowl of soup with crusty bread. And the queues out the door confirm I'm not the only one with an addiction.
Silo stirato bread is, indeed a thing of beauty, but the dark chewy crust of an Autolyse loaf has no peer.
Similarly, there is no point crossing the Commonwealth Bridge to the south in search of a coffee. Northside brews have been superior for years as Civic, New Acton and Braddon have replaced Manuka and Kingston as the places to caffeinate.
For my money, Two Before Ten and its big brother A.Baker produce the most arresting coffee in the city – spectacularly strong and smooth. But I also take great delight in lingering over a Lonsdale Street Roasters latte or Autolyse macchiato – assuming I can manage to find a car park first.
Until last week, I'd been forced to leave the safe confines of the inner north in search of a good washed rind. The Fyshwick markets always provided me with a fix, as did the cheese room at Silo.
Buying a beautiful cheese, experiencing the different varieties and savouring it alone as a meal, save for fresh bread and wine, is my version of happiness.
Now I need only scamper a couple of hundred metres from home for my next hit.
It's almost too much to comprehend. And if I could ever get the whole working-from-home thing organised, I may never cross the bridge again.