I absolutely adore the atmosphere of those über-hip cafés in the city. You know, the kind where there’s promotional posters for local music events and arts programs on the wall, laid-back music emanating from hidden speakers, a totally funky colour scheme and the daily specials scrawled oh-so-stylishly on wall-mounted blackboards. The kind where the goateed owner would make small talk about the day with you as he fixes you an iced coffee with lashings of whipped cream.

And the food there is such a guilty pleasure! You’d be hard-pressed to find a tasteless double chocolate fudge brownie or a boring blueberry muffin in one of those places (do I even have to mention why my waistline is rapidly widening?). The whole feel is so different from one of those impersonal fast food chains like McDonald’s manned by minimum waged, disaffected youths or one of them new-fangled juice bars ‘round these areas. Sure sometimes they do that thing where they take down your name and call it out when they’ve got your order, but it’s just not the same.

Today I discovered this great little place by the train station with the smell of Belgian waffles and coffee beans wafting irresistibly out of the open store door. The cheerful French owner greeted me with a “bonjour, mademoiselle” and proceeded to ask me three times about my order (an iced ‘chocolat’). Which was kind of funny. He then asked me about my day, and it was quite a nice change from “Quarter Pounder with fries, hold the cheese” yelled to some harried guy working frantically at the back. My cold drink was ready in the time it took me to look at all the posters on the wall and casual scribblings on the mirror running across one side. He handed me my order with a smile and a good-natured “merci” and bade me farewell. It’s these kind of places that restore my faith that the world hasn’t been altogether taken over by mass-produced food franchises.

Next time, I think I’ll greet him with a few ‘s’il vous plait’s and ‘au revoir’s of my own.

0Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home