I need a coffee after parting with €23 for tea at a market by Lough Derg (I know I'm a sucker but the Earl Grey was streaked with pretty blue pieces and the lady spooned heaps of the stuff into a wine glass and had me smell it. How could I resist?)
I love this café - there are books everywhere (you can buy a second-hand book for just 50c), jars of pesto and other culinary delights line the shelves, and a gas stove lights up the corner. The clientele looks well-to-do and speaks in posh accents. The children are well-behaved and healthy (they willingly munch on dry rice cakes!) Every man that walks in the door is carrying a hefty bundle of The Sunday Times.
I approach the counter. Two tall, well-dressed, attractive men are working. One of them makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. He speeds around the tiny area behind the till, almost falling over a step, then kicking the fridge in frustration. I apologetically give my order. His pleasant (cute) co-worker makes up for him though.
I plonk myself in an armchair by the stove. The orange and poppyseed cake is light and moist. The latté is more froth than caffeine so I get an espresso to get the required hit and to give myself more time to work through my package of The Sunday Times.
A man sits across from me, humming audibly and striking up conversations with anybody who makes eye contact. He picks up another man's copy of The Sunday Times. The guy protests so I offer him the main section of my newspaper as I peruse the supplements. Luckily, his date arrives at that moment. He throws my paper on to an empty chair and they ooh and aah over the books and the pizza they're sharing.
I rescue my paper and settle back to enjoy my Sunday treat - coffee, cake, Culture magazine and a cool café. read more