Wonderful, wonderful smells in a single, homely-lit cafe - a little palace of cocoa beans, and the only thing white is on the cake stand. And there's the coffee.
I never really got the fuss about those kinds of beans that are compressed and then heated by kettle water. The only preservatives are stashed along with the little tea cups. Tea - now that's a real wonder.
Lethargic rather than a stimulant, tea is a treasure to hold by the little finger at a little party in Wonderland; a gift to enjoy by sitting back on a creased, terracotta sofa.
A cafe is a place to chatter about the good times with friends, and a sanctuary to forget the world in. Like a temple with a service for succulent nibbles. A temple best visited in winter.
For nothing can destroy a good cup of tea. Smells, sounds and sights may one day be forgotten, but tastes cannot change under a rule.
The cafe's pictures, that are hung up on the walls, visualise a perfect, foreign place, for a universal cuppa.
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