14/10/06 Coffee

It is such an obvious subject, and one I get tedious over, but I am still finding aspects of coffee to marvel at. Once, when I was in the first flush of love for coffee, I made a chart so that each time I had coffee in new cafe I would award it marks on strength, froth texture, size, niceness of china and so forth. That could sound too pedantic for words, but I knew the best place for the best coffee to suit each mood - ok, I can't quite remember the merits, either. Today though, I am intrigued by its effects.

A small cappuccino in Solei café. Froth that resembled a Mr Whippy ice cream and slightly insipid underneath; however, a coffee that lacks the tastebuds is less likely to anger the stomach, which is no bad thing. It really shouldn't make a difference, but can’t help mentioning that I liked the cup and saucer too - chunky, small and white. I swear it tastes better from nice china! And at £1.10 to drink in, with those lovely people serving, the café was definitely a good find.

As I drank the coffee I was reading the Guardian’s ‘Food directory’ and became increasingly animated over the butchers, veg box schemes and markets to be found in London. I feel so spoilt being in London; there is so much variety, so many beautiful stores and fulsome markets and all a short tube or bus stop away. With a monthly travel card I don’t even have to pay extra to get there. Compare that with living in a ‘normal’ town or village where you have to face traffic and parking or several busses… it ends up a weekend-only venture.

Ah, I am rambling: back to the point. The coffee was waking up my tastebuds and my mind in equal measures. I began to make plans to visit the markets, perhaps when I meet up with my foodie friend one weekend, and we could find the best pork pie, or lemon tart. I wanted to explore West London’s fooderies - in fact, I wanted to look beyond the food shops into the world beyond… and off I went on a well-worn daydream about travelling and food.

By now, the coffee had awakened my appetite too so I took away some chickpea and spinach with couscous to eat on my sofa, where the sun was still lingering. As I left the shop it was no longer a place I might stop to have coffee sometime: it was a house of sublime aromas, flavours waiting to be discovered. I already have my next visit there planned - salami, pesto and mozarella toasted ciabatta. How good does that sound? I can smell it already.

My head still buzzing, I walked home and noticed shops and people I hadn’t seen in the last 4 months of living here: two teenage girls, late-night smoke voices, excited for having just rented a flat, ordering breakfast: an elderly black woman in white trainers, no socks, a pastal floral skirt and bright purple fleece, with a black beret, out shopping. An angular, aloof woman, slender in black trackie daks and top, looking disdainfully around her until she turned into the hairdressers (a shop with the charismatic name 'Hard as Nails'). From my morning stupour, the coffee had changed my mood, given me ideas and plans and, literally, made the sun shine.

My drug of choice: most definitely coffee.