Cass, the Maids, and the Saints
27.10.2024 Miica Balint and photography Montana Cooper
Sydney is a place that has nothing to do with this story. It is, however, the place that I am corresponding from. So I will write what I see.
I see many faces, though what I don’t see is many eyes. As I sit on carpeted chairs—plane, train, metro—I watch as devices puppeteer their makers and the clock dictates people’s willingness to engage. I smile, and thank, and think.
I have jetted down to our seaside city to bid adieu to my grandpa-through-marriage. Always impeccably dressed—in shades of rouge, fuchsia, canary, apricot, terracotta—he was a kind tall gent with a diaphragm built for opera singing, born from a place of monarchy, hedges, and museums that hold significant International artefacts hostage, indefinitely.
I think there is a purpose to this tangent I am taking you on, one that is especially poignant for me at this moment as I compare city life to rural life. As I am reminded of how others on mass are living. I think I mull on solutions for regenerating the land and re-merging human habits with our native landscape. I think, following on from a regenerative agriculture panel that I was in the audience of last week, I was reminded how much more we could be doing in the Northern Rivers to be growing food forests. To be focusing on feeding our people, nourishing our soil, supplying our businesses, taking over un-utilised-once-dairy-farms and welcoming back native biodiversity. Earlier in the week, I raised some of these thoughts with Cass Hynes, owner of Saint Maries and Old Maids, in amongst talk of thoughtful simplicity, creative expression, and cultivating community through food and wine.
As I write, I am lucky—and challenged—to be surrounded by family at my grandmother's dining table. There is talk of Hungarian sayings on stupidity, of art, and the art of stupidity. We watch the new baby as the new baby watches all of us and we eat cake, lots of cake, darling. And though my mind wanders hallways of chatter, I will hone in on the task at hand. Cass Hynes.
Retrace a few days and its mid week on the strip in Bruns. Cass and I are sitting in one of the charming little nooks beside the footpath at Saint Maries. We catch glimpses of Monte, inspired and grinning, the afternoon light flirting with her camera.
The strip I am referring to is where the two shops—Old Maids and Saint Maries—sit, neighbouring each other. This road is the entry and exit point for Brunswick Heads, positioned two parallel streets away from the tidal river, and lines what I might deem the sweetest suburb in all of the Northern Rivers. Stilted colourful houses, jacarandas, gum trees, veneer blinds, banksias, bottlebrush, coastal shrub and sea breeze. Bruns.
The first of the two venues, Old Maids, was a product of Cass derailing an aspiration to become a doctor. She opened it at the barely-ripe age of twenty four, taking over the old milk-bar on the corner of Tweed and Fingal street. She had just moved to the region from Victoria, and though she had spent a number of years working in a cafe in Lorne that she was enamoured by, she didn’t know what she was doing. I wonder, do we ever really know?
“I was studying biomedical science, wanting to be a doctor, but I’d be at uni and all I wanted to be doing was to be by the coast, working in the cafe and meeting cool people. It was a bit of a jump, but I think it was definitely what I was meant to do. Either shop, it’s just this little idea I had, that I thought could be cool and it scared me so I just thought I’ll do it. It's a one-eighty but it does change lives, in small ways. I think little ideas can make big impacts on people’s lives.”
Two years after the opening of Old Maids, a place where now seven years on you can still score a rock-your-socks burger and cuppa, the spot next door became available. She thought her dream was to have just the one cafe and build a community around it, which she did, and which sounded far-from-simple as she lived week-to-week with a small budget. But from what I can glean she has the same addiction I have; learning.
“It wasn’t easy and I am glad it wasn’t easy. Once you create something really special, you start to dream about doing it all again. You know, so many more opportunities. Learning business is hard, I had to learn how to manage people and manage my stress. But then every day I’m learning. I feel like I come home from work everyday and I have learnt ten new things.”
Saint Marie, the patron saint of laughing and fun. Saint Maries, a place of pizza, italian delights, natural wine, vermouth, and coconut margaritas enjoyed by all. A restaurant with nooks beside the footpath that you will find yourself dreaming of spending many-a-afternoons watching the world go by.
“We always wanted it to be a place that was just fun. Nothing too pretentious, really like casual fun that just made everyone feel like they belong.”
This notion to cultivate a sense of belonging was possibly the biggest takeaway for me in our conversation. Without knowing this was her mission, it is something I have always felt when visiting either shop. Community reeks through the walls. Throughout, Cass spoke of the venues with a ‘we’, when questioned, she explained “It never feels like it's my place, it feels like it's ours.” She tributes the evolution of both shops to many beautiful people involved in the journey. Among many of mentioned names--staff, friends, partners--I can’t help but mention the one they call Prince, because it is strikingly characteristic in my brain. Price has been instrumental in expanding the creative vision for both venues.
“It’s all about the people. I love that venues can be such a platform for people to come together, and to do lots of amazing things, to be creative, to provide, and to make an impact on something or someone. It can be so simple, which both of these places are, very simple, but it’s pretty amazing that something so simple can bring people together. The community, staff, people you work with, suppliers, it’s a very similar thing to what you do in terms of collaborating with so many different industries. You’re always learning from different people and working with different people.”
Suppliers, is it possible to quantify how much of your fresh produce is local?
“Seafood and meat, yes, fresh produce is hard. We need vegetables in a really high volume and we can’t get that from some local farmers. Most of the produce is coming from Brisbane. And why is that? Is it because all of the land is owned?”
“It is such a shame you know. You go to the farmers market and everything just sells out. When people think of Byron Bay, that’s what they perceive it to be, but that’s not really authentic.”
“Will it change? I think it will. The last few years have been a really special time to be involved in wine and hospitality.”
And your relationship with wine?
“I always loved listening and learning about wine, and drinking it. My curious mind always wants to know how stuff is made, or how it can be made better, and so I did a vintage with Parley wine in the Adelaide Hills. They taught me a lot and then I visited some friends in Victoria and they helped me make some of my own wine. It is a beautiful thing to be learning.”
I have tasted her wine, the first of its kind, Disco Sanjo, before it sold out at Saint Maries, and I can see how the blend of science and hospitality in winemaking suits our lady of science and hospitality. Cass is keen to continue pursuing adventures and travel in the winemaking world, so, you will be able to take a sip of her story at Saint Maries.
“There’s so much to it and I love that so much. It’s a story in a bottle. I stomped on those grapes.”
Cass speaks with such genuinity, joy and thoughtfulness and our conversation was scored by Bossa Nova. We sipped margaritas, laughed, and shared glee about each of our endeavours. I stayed for pizza and Cass skipped off to soccer. To the person who loves people, and learning, and pubs, thank you for bringing your creative fire to our region. With new projects up her sleeve, I really look forward to seeing what evolves next.
Oba Oba Oba.
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