Coffetish
If I could I would add Monmouth to my porn collection (if I owned one that is). Now, there's nout I take more seriously than a good brew from the bunna tree. Like truffle hunting, the prize, if properly sourced and made well (like the Japanese tea ceremony) is pure unadulterated bliss.
From the alchemy of water and moo juice at just the right temperature to the right level of crema and (Colombian) roast it's a mysterious art like that described by Winnie Churchill in a 1941 broadcast to describe Russia,-'a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma',-with a complex ritual and architecture, however I digress.
I'll go miles out of my way to get it, do almost anything (within reason) for a shot or two or three. It's like an opiate, once you've sipped at the alter of the brown elixir you're stuffed (and wired, blissfully and legally).
If I had a quid for every micro foam moustache I see-whilst worshipping at said altar, centre stage in the Borough market shop-accompanied by that cheesy Meg Ryan after-shag smile (you all know what I'm talking about), I, like Midas would be rich indeed, nay richer!
The intoxicating aroma (your olfactory senses will be blown off the chart) of freshly ground coffee, as you roll by the place is like a schmack in the kisser-complimented by the eclectic buzz of the market, cheeky geezers to knobs and pleasers-is like that mesmerising bakery smell, they seduce you with by pumping it to the door of the huge retail food stores (to remain nameless as they bear no relevance to this ode to perfection-crema, crema, how I love thee...).
You know how it goes, I mean, one minute your engrossed in shouting at the sprogs or arguing over the similarity of Tofu to Lux, the next like Rudyard's Mowgli in "Jungle Book" you're licking the sugar off your chops at the bakery counter and praying that the gods of orange peel don't visit in the night.
The atmosphere, rubenesque setting, and honesty of the place is so infectious you could almost lick it. I could imagine Keats, or Byron straddling a stool in the corner trying to pen a sonnet to the place.
As a bolt hole from the noise and bustle of life-e-everything, crackberry users, your boss, flippin twitterers, that crushing deadline or being left a post-it by your lover saying "it's all off"-Monmouth is peerless (trust me I've tried them all).
If all businesses in blighty were run with such aplomb, obsessive attention to detail and passion for the end product-be it beans, grounds or a steaming hot flat white, coupled with a moist freshly made pan au raisin, Mmmm-I think we as a nation would be far better-off. Small is the new big to quote a friend, these guys have courageously resisted the lure of the coffee oligarchs.
From the bunna plant and its Ethiopian roots to the growers, to those boys and girls at Monmouth who make it happen I solute you, each and every one. It's praiseworthy work indeed!, no in fact it is pure social service.
Whatever your tribe, go enjoy-you know you want to and you'll be glad you did.
--Caffeinehound read more