This place really works hard to capture the authentic, traditional ancient Celtic coffee shop experience. From the moment I heard the snippy, accusatory voice of our barista, I knew my girlfriend and I were in for a treat. With nary a "please" or "thank you" (for this is most customary to true Celts, because Braveheart never said "please"), the bean laochra (gaelic:warrior woman) set to work on our arduous order of two coffees (one hot, one iced) and a warmed-up peach and basil scone. Twenty minutes later, with thankfully no other customers impeding her mission, she emerged from the back room with our lofty banquet.
In the meantime, we had been fighting a terse battle on the moors of internet connectivity. It seems that, given the sacred nature of Celtic coffee, it is important that visitors approach the world wide web by first petitioning for a password from one of the waitstaff. After producing a scroll and a time-sensitive (one-hour), mostly gaelic random sequence of numbers and letters, the waitstaff will publicly ask you to "open your browser" and condescend you in front of the patrons, even as you kindly inform them that, like most adults who have ever touched a personal computer, you are aware of such troubleshooting issues as "knowing how to operate a computer". The patron will then kindly ask them to restart their router, which results in the barista clomping to your table to fondle your personal belongings. Finally, after much exasperation at not being able to even access their log-in screen, the waitstaff will attempt a third party website unbeknownst to any patron. When this attempt fails, more waitstaff appear to perform the "dance of least helpfulness" while your scone, coffee, and patience wain. Customary of this tradition, the patron is expected to respond with the Celtic "prance of defeat" in which he sighs heavily, crumples the useless password papers, and mumbles, "It's fine. Just...please."
Jubilant with Celtic non-culpability to access internet at a cafe/coffeeshop, the baristas scamper off in time for the ever popular "tuning of the piano by a sweaty guy for an hour while you try and work", a tradition born, according to most anthropologists, from druid human sacrifices of the Orkney region circa the 4th Century. With the subtly and tact of a Conriocht, (that is to say, werewolf) impersonating Gilbert Gottfried. As the plinking of off notes and warped tones slowly drives you mad (this, of course, being a customary nod to John Carpenter's cinematic and Celt-themed HALLOWEEN 3: SEASON OF THE WITCH's Silver Shamrock/face melting druid dance hit "Silver Shamrock), you will pack your belongings and leave. Turning the doorknob on the heavy wooden door, you find it won't allow you to escape from this infernal green hades, no matter how much force you exert or frantic you pull.
"You have to turn the handle UP." The barista says in her sarcastic brogue, before returning the the hours-long task of making a latte. The authenticity of the Celtic experience had escaped me- the obvious moorish reversal of even the most basic of tasks, such as pulling down on a door handle to open the latching mechanism. This place had thought of everything.
If you are looking for an amazing experience in caffinated absurdity with a fun Celtic twist, this place is your Stonehenge.
As a quick aside, the scones were pretty tasty. read more