If ever I had to remember to not judge a book by its cover, it would be when I went here for breakfast. It was cold, I'd walked straight past the joint I was meant to be eating at twice (it was closed, by the way), and I was really desperate for a coffee.
The window to this shop had a large sign that told my coeliac friend and I that we'd have lots of options, and that was good enough. Far better than asking and hoping at anywhere else along the street. Foooood. Foooooood! I wasn't going to be fussy at this point, which usually ends up with me deciding that a cookie is a brilliant substitute for a proper meal (or two).
Tacky signs, plastic tables, and a menu stuffed full of so many puns you wonder whether they contacted the Dad Joke society to help them make it. We were the only ones there, too, so we were getting quite apprehensive about the whole affair.
I should learn to not be so judgmental. The coffee, served to us by a delightfully friendly man who seemed genuinely excited to be at work, was some of the best I have ever had. This is a big call, because my coffee order of choice is the long macchiato (double espresso, stain of milk), and these are notoriously easy to make borderline undrinkable. The food was great, but boy, that coffee.
I have to learn to not be such a snob. read more