I sat in this beloved Fitzroy restaurant all day to understand its 40-year legacy
Marios, the pioneer of day-to-night dining in Melbourne, has stood steadfast as its neighbourhood has become less bohemian, more boujee. What can a day spent at this dining icon tell us about Brunswick Street in 2026?
A man walks through the door of a cafe and takes his usual seat to read the paper. It’s a scene repeated around Melbourne thousands of times each day. But this one is playing out at 5pm on a Wednesday. Where else but Marios, the famously open-all-day Fitzroy cafe?
When the eatery opened in April 1986, trading non-stop from morning till night was revolutionary. It then became more common and is now rare again. But Marios has stuck with it, day in day out. Its owners have never done anything for reasons of fashion.
“We didn’t set out to do something that was groundbreaking. We just set out to do something that we would like,” says co-founder Mario De Pasquale, who retired in 2021.
He and his business partner Mario Maccarone (still there daily) moved in the arts and music scenes of 1980s Fitzroy.
“Fitzroy was the headquarters for alternative culture and alternative lifestyles,” Maccarone says.
They remember Brunswick Street as full of empty shopfronts: people lived upstairs, and bands used the space downstairs to rehearse. De Pasquale and Maccarone knew what the neighbourhood needed and were willing to be the ones to do it, even if it meant breaking a few rules. Breakfast served at any hour, a bar for solo diners, no booze, food till 1am, affordable prices. Until it got a liquor licence in 1990, Marios even closed on Saturday nights.
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Sign upTo see Fitzroy’s rhythms, colour and textures, a day spent in Marios offers a front-row seat. So, on the restaurant’s 40th anniversary, I did just that, occupying a table from 8am to 8pm. (In fact, I bounced between a few.)
I wanted to observe how the venue shifts in tempo during the day, the ways the street changes around it, which customers come in at what time, how they use the place.
8am: A two-speed city
One Wednesday in mid-April, I arrive just after 8am, when the cafe opens, and Maccarone shows me the table he had earmarked for me. Except a couple of regulars have already nabbed it.
Marios is one of the few places on Brunswick Street open this early. While the two Marios remember a boom in breakfast spots from the mid-1990s to the early 2000s, they have in many ways come full circle, standing apart with their all-day breakfast (served these days until 5pm).
“It took McDonald’s 20 years to cotton on after we did it,” laughs De Pasquale. In fact, it took nearly 30 years.
Outside, all activity on the street is oriented south, towards the city. Cars zoom past, trying to beat a tram. Cyclists fly along. Locals walk with purpose towards their day carting gym bags, takeaway coffee, a box of pastries.
But at Marios, customers are savouring the morning. Some wear black berets, black leather jackets and black jeans. Others are splashed with bright prints in the style of Gorman. They order without looking at the menu and its myriad configurations of eggs and sides. Glasses of water are dropped in front of people within 30 seconds, coffees arrive within minutes.
The retired De Pasquale has called in for coffee. Spotting one of the Marios, diners stop to shake a hand or squeeze an arm. One brings De Pasquale some cheese he’s made.
“The waiters aren’t waiters, they’re people who look after you,” says Michelle Louis, a regular customer of 30-plus years who’s having breakfast to celebrate her birthday.
“You come here when you’re feeling nervous. You come here when you want to celebrate. You come here when you’re worried.”
Noon: Fitzroy’s living room
By 11am it’s quite empty, apart from a few older people having coffee. Where are the artists of old Fitzroy coming for their breakfast?
As lunchtime rolls around, groups squeeze around the double-clothed tables with a conspiratorial air. Bowls of minestrone and baskets of bread are carried over. Staff seem more relaxed, although they look just as sharp in their waistcoats (men) and ties (men and women). Does the jazz over the speakers get a little louder?
Someone seated in the window sips a glass of beer. De Pasquale tells me that these stools – designed for solo diners – were radical in 1986. Women would come in alone for dinner and feel comfortable. After Marios became licensed, nurses finishing night shift at St Vincent’s Hospital knew they could get a knock-off drink any time.
Around 1pm, I spot a few people who look like musicians: men with magnificent mullets, another guy with bleached and quiffed hair. Breakfast and coffees are still pumped out, alongside lunch dishes. The cakes in the cabinet (still baked in-house) gradually diminish.
‘You come here when you’re feeling nervous. You come here when you want to celebrate. You come here when you’re worried.’Regular customer Michelle Louis
4pm: Long careers and long memories
Staff working the dinner shift arrive from 4pm. One has been a waiter at Marios for 36 years, another 32. A few (very) late lunchers dot the venue. Lots of people come in and get takeaway coffee – finding a cafe open at this time is nearly impossible.
But it’s mainly anticipation that fills the space. The staff are like players waiting for a game to begin, radiating nervous energy. What sort of night will it be? At a walk-ins-only restaurant, you don’t know.
The older customer mentioned earlier says nothing when he appears at 5pm, but a young waiter turns around to bark his coffee order at the barista then reaches over the bar to grab a water glass and fill it. It’s carried over just as the man settles onto a window stool with the newspaper.
“It’s a pretty streamlined set of steps to serve people,” says Charles Lunn, a Marios waiter of 19 years. “Everyone’s on the same page. When you get the right people together doing that, it … creates time.”
That extra time goes into jokes and conversation with the people they serve.
“There are people who come twice a day, and people who come twice a year and they’re all regulars – certainly in their own mind and even to us. We recognise them,” says Maccarone.
Perhaps it’s less about tallying up your visits and more a feeling, a connection to some part of the place, its attitude, its outlook.
After living in Kenya for 11 years, a couple came back to Marios for their first meal in Melbourne because it was the last place they ate before they left. The same three waiters served them both times.
When asked why they stay, employees respond matter-of-factly: “They look after their staff,” says Geoff Rooke, a waiter on the morning shift. That includes paying super and decent hourly rates but also, “they try to help out with our work-life balance. It’s a caring environment.”
8pm: Queues and chianti
Soon enough, the room is full and staff are whipping out order pads and whisking away plates, cracking jokes here, all business over there. The aroma of garlic bread replaces the coffee that’s filled the air most of the day. Voices get louder, people laugh more, order wine, share what happened that day.
Plenty stop to gaze at the latest exhibition covering the walls: Maccarone has commandeered them for the venue’s 40th anniversary and displayed photos of staff, current and former. Diners scan the wall, smiling, spot their favourites and ask whoever’s working that night what it’s all about. With such a simple gesture, everyone’s invited into the big birthday bash. What could be more Marios?
Through the window, on Brunswick Street, there’s more strolling and less rushing. A small queue begins to form at the door.
Both the Marios say this is more of a night-time street now. And of course they’re right, because they’ve always been here, every day.
The restaurant’s rhythm matches the changing identity of Fitzroy from bohemian to professional. But this little bastion of free-spiritedness lives on, its heart beating, life coursing through, the red neon “Marios” sign glowing a little brighter as the night deepens.