Zetlands

Back in the day we’d saunter out to Green Square Plaza like it was our civic centre — a handful of us with tote bags and an air of smug urbanity because the Green Square Markets were back on, every fourth Saturday, doing the artisan-produce shuffle. We’d drift past the six‑storey futuristic Green Square Library, peer into the underground reading garden and pretend we’d actually read anything that week.

Mornings looked like a culinary hop‑scotch. As Broadsheet noted, Taste of Canton used to pull weekend queues at 76 Epsom Road for cheung fun, siu mai and congee; if you wanted doughy comfort, Lucio Pizzeria was the other name whispered like it was a secret (Lucio De Falco’s Zetland outpost was serving Neapolitan pizzas and buffalo cheese). On pop‑up days King of Pickles and Spices would roll up to Delisia Panino & Espresso at Unit 6/501 Botany Road and we’d crowd around scoop‑yourself olives like it was a communal rite.

By afternoon we’d be exploring East Village — Time Out once likened it to Chelsea Market — then trying to book a table at East Phoenix above East Village for yum cha, or remembering when Cicco Zetland (the former Cafe Vité) swung between cafe‑by‑day and trattoria‑by‑night. The Tote Building would stare down at Tote Park, all heritage bones and community noticeboards where local events quietly happened.

If you needed to cool off, the Gunyama Park Aquatic And Recreation Centre at 17 Zetland Ave was the big new splash for the precinct; Mary O’Brien Reserve’s water play kept the small people entertained while we pretended we were exercising.

Petty drama? Our biggest quarrel used to be naming things. Remember when people suggested “New Zetland” and “Zetland By The Sea” for the new bayside suburb? Pedestrian TV had a field day — we did too.

Who would hate living here: anyone allergic to queues, markets, or the faint whiff of developer enthusiasm. Who would love it: plant people (The Plant Society had a Zetland listing), small‑family units chasing play parks, and food obsessives who treat East Village like their private pantry.

We’ll keep calling it Zetland — slightly polished, slightly earnest, and quietly proud of being the little urban pocket that could.