For those of you who thought I was going to give you a nice little local to pop along to this week, I'm afraid you're out of luck.
Although my almost two hour morning commute does require a big glug of coffee at the end of it, I'm normally straight from train to tube to tube to work without much time for exploring. Let alone indulging myself in the wonders of a local cafe.
Today's post has come out of necessity and right of place, from my archives. Logged into the far reaches of my memory from all but a month ago. I'm like the coffee version of Giles Coren scribbling notes from a bygone lunch date. Except, I'm not important enough to scribble. So I just take mental pictures. I'm also not important enough for an expense account, so the bank of mum and dad picked up the tab.
Picture it if you will. A brisk morning, coats wrapped generously around hand-numbed tourists. It's quiet in this small town. The houses are yet to wake up. Their corrugated iron keeping their inhabitants warm and the winds from Port away. Colour dots the street amid shabby buildings and creative graffiti. Cozy restaurants are still dark inside, with chairs napping on tables. Polar bear heads, trolls and birds watch from glass fronted gift shops and expensively dress mannequins tempt you with warm jumpers.
We're in Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland and the city of the unexpected. It's the day we leave and we've decided to head to town for a spot of coffee and breakfast before heading off to the airport. As with most wannabe-know-it-all travelers these days I've spent a good portion of everyday scrolling through the reviews on TripAdvisor to find the best...or in Iceland's case...the cheapest places around. It's a challenge, granted. In a country with only 300,000 residents nationwide, I guess it's reasonable to up the prices per head. But still, £20 for a bowl of pasta? Better be laced with bloody gold.
We headed this morning to Tiu Dropar, a hot spot according to TripAdvisor. Good ratings and a rather quaint interior. We'd walked past it's basement windows several times, each time peaking in to see wooden tables and rustic-wallpapered walls. It looked like a time trap. Like your friend's Grandma's dining room. You enter and immediately feel giant in this cardboard box-sized cafe. Black and white pictures hang askew on walls, lamps hang and fill up tables and old-fashioned teapots line wooden shelves.
We took a seat and were greeted by a nice lady who took our order. Two bacon and maple syrup waffles, two regular coffees and one cappuccino. (Having indulged on fish and chips the night before, coffee was all I could muster at 10am).
It all arrived (the coffees first) in quaint little cups and on glass plates. Being used to soup bowls worth of coffee, this dollhouse sized cup of java brought a slight look of disappointment to my face. Ho-Hum, maybe a small cup is enough. Mum and I both tipped in a splash of hot milk and me a spoon of sugar. The coffee was okay. It had just a hint of bitterness though that didn't thrill me. A bit like drinking a watered down espresso. Alright, but not as soothing and mellow as I was hoping for fresh out the cold. Of course, I could have ordered a mocha and had done with it, so I'm partly to blame.
Dad liked his cappuccino, which came in a minutely bigger cup and the general verdict of bacon and waffles was good. ("Just needs crispier bacon" said Mum).
It's a little hard to rate the coffee out of ten, because I only got about 3 mouthfuls of it before it was gone. I did hear rumours of free refills, but wasn't in the question-asking mood. Definitely worth checking though, if you need more than a shot to warm you up.
Overall not a bad way to spend the morning. Instead of being the feet walking past the window, we were watching them, with the occasional head popping down to look in.
Go for the decor, a decent breakfast and a baby coffee. Stay...if they have free refills.
Wednesday, 8 October 2014
Wednesday, 13 August 2014
I'm back!
Wowser. It's been a long time folks. Just when you thought Caffeinated Ed was long gone, lost in the depths of internet Narnia it rises again or rather steps out the cupboard slightly dusty and disorientated.
Despite the Wanderlust, sadly I am not back in the wonder that is Edinburgh. Even sadder still, it's August and the height of the Edinburgh festival. After a year working in Orlando, feeling so starved of culture, you'd think I'd be crawling on my hands and knees to get there, batting things out the way as I go. But, as I have no current form of income (aka a job) that is literally what I would have to do. Crawl. Eating berries to survive.
But, fear not people! I have London on my doorstep and everywhere in between. For those of you that don't know, I suspect there are about three of you, London is Mecca for coffee drinkers. Someone's got to keep those bankers banking; those joggers jogging and those Hipsters hipping? And that is part of it's glory. With a ridiculous and I mean ridiculous amount of people in one very eclectic city there obviously needs to be an equally large percent of equally eclectic places for people to get their coffee fix.
Remember, these are Londoners. Over-worked, underpaid, sardine like people. They get ripped off everywhere they turn, from the extortionate rent they're paying to the slightly warm pints they're being served. If they are going to be ripped off for a cup of coffee, it better at least be a decent one. Which is why I am confident in my Londoners and their ability to build one or two hundred better than average coffee houses.
Just like last time, I am of course not talking about big chains. Starbucks can go buck itself. I'm talking about the independents, the artisans and the underdogs. I don't really care (sorry) what side of the mountain the coffee beans were picked from. Nor do I care what the "ideal" temperature and heating method of coffee is. Just make me a decent cup/mug/glass, preferably with a smile on your face and nice chair for me to sit in and Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt I'm going to be a fan.
For those of you that read this blog last time, you'll know I'm not exactly a Hoity-Toity sort of girl. I don't like Hoit-Toit. What you're going to get is some little coffee stories written by a coffee drinker about coffee makers and the coffee they make. How does that sound?
And if that wasn't enough for you. Gosh such excitement. For my non-London dwellers I'm also going to be venturing to greener pastures. I'll be the Giles Coren of coffee houses. That means friends across the country and beyond be prepared to drink a few coffees (or you can have tea. I'll respect your Britishness) and get featured kindly in my reviews.
So stay tuned folks, Caffeinated Ed is back and this time it's king-sized.
Despite the Wanderlust, sadly I am not back in the wonder that is Edinburgh. Even sadder still, it's August and the height of the Edinburgh festival. After a year working in Orlando, feeling so starved of culture, you'd think I'd be crawling on my hands and knees to get there, batting things out the way as I go. But, as I have no current form of income (aka a job) that is literally what I would have to do. Crawl. Eating berries to survive.
But, fear not people! I have London on my doorstep and everywhere in between. For those of you that don't know, I suspect there are about three of you, London is Mecca for coffee drinkers. Someone's got to keep those bankers banking; those joggers jogging and those Hipsters hipping? And that is part of it's glory. With a ridiculous and I mean ridiculous amount of people in one very eclectic city there obviously needs to be an equally large percent of equally eclectic places for people to get their coffee fix.
Remember, these are Londoners. Over-worked, underpaid, sardine like people. They get ripped off everywhere they turn, from the extortionate rent they're paying to the slightly warm pints they're being served. If they are going to be ripped off for a cup of coffee, it better at least be a decent one. Which is why I am confident in my Londoners and their ability to build one or two hundred better than average coffee houses.
Just like last time, I am of course not talking about big chains. Starbucks can go buck itself. I'm talking about the independents, the artisans and the underdogs. I don't really care (sorry) what side of the mountain the coffee beans were picked from. Nor do I care what the "ideal" temperature and heating method of coffee is. Just make me a decent cup/mug/glass, preferably with a smile on your face and nice chair for me to sit in and Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt I'm going to be a fan.
For those of you that read this blog last time, you'll know I'm not exactly a Hoity-Toity sort of girl. I don't like Hoit-Toit. What you're going to get is some little coffee stories written by a coffee drinker about coffee makers and the coffee they make. How does that sound?
And if that wasn't enough for you. Gosh such excitement. For my non-London dwellers I'm also going to be venturing to greener pastures. I'll be the Giles Coren of coffee houses. That means friends across the country and beyond be prepared to drink a few coffees (or you can have tea. I'll respect your Britishness) and get featured kindly in my reviews.
So stay tuned folks, Caffeinated Ed is back and this time it's king-sized.
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
Goodbye laddy!
"And now, the end is here
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain..."
Okay so it would be easy to write this entire blog through the words of Frank Sinatra, but I get the feeling this would be a slight cop out. Plus I would have to refer to myself as a man on several occasions, which at the age of twenty-five I'm pretty convinced I'm not.
The time has come though...I had to say goodbye to the wonderful Edinburgh and with it it's beautiful buildings, all-encompassing festival and ever generous coffee shops. (Generous in the sense that they put up with me.)
There have naturally been many gloriously independent coffee shops that have been left off my list, purposefully or accidentally, and this should in no way be considered a conclusive list. Black Medicine, for example, that came surrounded with recommendations, but was simply too busy, closed or didn't take my fancy at the time. Peter's Yard another with the masses of people enjoying their coffee in the sunshine as recommendation in itself. Captain Taylor's coffee, Fredericks, Wellington's, Eteaket and many more. Yes I feel I have let you down somewhat, but then working 48 hours a week and squeezing in 43 shows during the four week festival lessens my guilt somewhat.
So what have I learnt from my time in Edinburgh? Well many things to be honest, but most of them mushy and self-gratifying so I won't divulge. But what have I learnt from their coffee shops? That they have some fantastic independent business men and women securing their living in the city.
It's apparent of course across London that chains have ousted many of the independents. And its common to see a Starbucks within 200 metres of another, particularly in tourist spots and/or near stations. This chain revolution isn't limited though to the big cities. Even in my small home town with a population of about 11,000 a Costa has found its way onto our High Street. As shops closed and companies went bust that big maroon sign with bold white writing went up. A big fish in a little pond. You may have noticed I'm a fan of the little man. The under dog. Maybe being 5"4 I think I've got something to prove, who knows.
Don't get me me wrong, I'm not blind to the fact that Edinburgh also has its big names. During my explorations I counted three Starbucks, a few Costas and a Cafe Nero. I know they exist, but they are less in your face. You are not forced into one during a coffee emergency. (Yes there are such things as coffee emergencies. I experienced one this morning at Euston Station after an unexpected early start.) Your choices in Edinburgh are varied, which in my mind is beneficial. You are suddenly a person, rather than a number or sales figure.
Listen, I'm getting all sentimental here. Dangerous territory. Those of you reading this who know me as well are well aware of my ability to rant, so I will stop before I start ending my sentences in angry rhetorical questions like "Isn't it?!" or "Why? Just why?"
Edinburgh virgins I urge you to visit this great city and what's more take advantage of the mass of independent shops and sights available. If you're feeling particularly brave leave your phone in the hotel room, put on a backpack and explore the city in peace. It will be worth it!
"I've loved, I've laughed and cried
I've had my fill, my share of losing (money)"
Don't worry I'm not actually going to end the blog with more Sinatra lyrics. In a way I'm not ending it at all. I've kind of got into this whole blogging malarky and as a whole am a bit obsessed with writing. I truly appreciate you all reading this, which is why I'm passing the baton on to you. I'm looking for an idea for a new blog. More specifically I'm looking for your ideas. If you've enjoyed reading my blog and would like me to write about something specific let me know. It may be an idea for one post or maybe for a whole blog. Perhaps you want me to report back on a knitting class, whatever, but I'm interested in your thoughts.
To get in touch email me at lyviablogs@gmail.com! You suggest it (within reason) I'll write about it!
For now...signing off. Roger that. Over and out.
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain..."
Okay so it would be easy to write this entire blog through the words of Frank Sinatra, but I get the feeling this would be a slight cop out. Plus I would have to refer to myself as a man on several occasions, which at the age of twenty-five I'm pretty convinced I'm not.
The time has come though...I had to say goodbye to the wonderful Edinburgh and with it it's beautiful buildings, all-encompassing festival and ever generous coffee shops. (Generous in the sense that they put up with me.)
There have naturally been many gloriously independent coffee shops that have been left off my list, purposefully or accidentally, and this should in no way be considered a conclusive list. Black Medicine, for example, that came surrounded with recommendations, but was simply too busy, closed or didn't take my fancy at the time. Peter's Yard another with the masses of people enjoying their coffee in the sunshine as recommendation in itself. Captain Taylor's coffee, Fredericks, Wellington's, Eteaket and many more. Yes I feel I have let you down somewhat, but then working 48 hours a week and squeezing in 43 shows during the four week festival lessens my guilt somewhat.
So what have I learnt from my time in Edinburgh? Well many things to be honest, but most of them mushy and self-gratifying so I won't divulge. But what have I learnt from their coffee shops? That they have some fantastic independent business men and women securing their living in the city.
It's apparent of course across London that chains have ousted many of the independents. And its common to see a Starbucks within 200 metres of another, particularly in tourist spots and/or near stations. This chain revolution isn't limited though to the big cities. Even in my small home town with a population of about 11,000 a Costa has found its way onto our High Street. As shops closed and companies went bust that big maroon sign with bold white writing went up. A big fish in a little pond. You may have noticed I'm a fan of the little man. The under dog. Maybe being 5"4 I think I've got something to prove, who knows.
Don't get me me wrong, I'm not blind to the fact that Edinburgh also has its big names. During my explorations I counted three Starbucks, a few Costas and a Cafe Nero. I know they exist, but they are less in your face. You are not forced into one during a coffee emergency. (Yes there are such things as coffee emergencies. I experienced one this morning at Euston Station after an unexpected early start.) Your choices in Edinburgh are varied, which in my mind is beneficial. You are suddenly a person, rather than a number or sales figure.
Listen, I'm getting all sentimental here. Dangerous territory. Those of you reading this who know me as well are well aware of my ability to rant, so I will stop before I start ending my sentences in angry rhetorical questions like "Isn't it?!" or "Why? Just why?"
Edinburgh virgins I urge you to visit this great city and what's more take advantage of the mass of independent shops and sights available. If you're feeling particularly brave leave your phone in the hotel room, put on a backpack and explore the city in peace. It will be worth it!
"I've loved, I've laughed and cried
I've had my fill, my share of losing (money)"
Don't worry I'm not actually going to end the blog with more Sinatra lyrics. In a way I'm not ending it at all. I've kind of got into this whole blogging malarky and as a whole am a bit obsessed with writing. I truly appreciate you all reading this, which is why I'm passing the baton on to you. I'm looking for an idea for a new blog. More specifically I'm looking for your ideas. If you've enjoyed reading my blog and would like me to write about something specific let me know. It may be an idea for one post or maybe for a whole blog. Perhaps you want me to report back on a knitting class, whatever, but I'm interested in your thoughts.
To get in touch email me at lyviablogs@gmail.com! You suggest it (within reason) I'll write about it!
For now...signing off. Roger that. Over and out.
Sunday, 2 September 2012
Peppy coffee and convo.
Looking for an independent coffee shop in the New Town is like looking for a needle in a haystack. It's a bloody mission. I know this will probably be met with a backlash of counter arguments, people saying "No it's not. You're just not looking in the right places, they're just not obvious." Well of course I'm not and of course they're not, but I don't want to hunt for my coffee. I'm a vegetarian remember, that sort of instinct left me long ago. Hand me something on a plate and I will eat it off the floor, make me go find the plate and I will cross my arms, shut my mouth and shake my head like a stubborn child.
I'd been walking around the New Town for quite a while, up and across the main few streets. I tried George Street, Rose Street, Princes Street, walked in parallel lines up Frederick Street and down Hanover Street and around St Andrews Square. Nothing. My desire for coffee was increasing as was the ache in my feet. I was basically at the stage of giving up and heading back to the Old Town. I stopped to watch a group of South African A Capella singers advertising their Edinburgh show. This was a momentary distraction as I contemplated heading down Leith Walk away from both parts of town. I'm sure there are places to go down there, but I was running low on time and very aware that Leith Walk incorporates quite a slope. Alright on the way down, not so fun on the trek back up. Sweaty and caffeine high is not a good look for work.
As I'd already walked part way along the street I crossed the road at a lower point walking up to the main crossing. This gave me a view along Waterloo Place, a street I'd never previously looked down. (There is a very expensive wedding dress boutique on the corner, would you look further down?) I took a mini walk down and came across a strange mix of places. There was a cafe/pub, the type of place old men go to reassure themselves they're not alcoholics, slurring their words as they say "I come here for the tea." Next to this was your average off-licence, further up a business-fronted Apex Hotel and squeezed in the middle a barely distinguishable coffee shop called Pep and Fodder. I sighed audibly out of relief and walked in.
The shop itself is nice, but slightly confused. It doesn't quite know if it wants to be quirky and independent or generic and minimal. I'll forgive it though, having spoken to the man behind the counter it's only been open for three weeks (more like six weeks at the time of writing).
There are light wooden tables that line the wall, off-white walls dotted with large pieces of art and a shiny new coffee machine half concealed behind the counter. The man greets me with a warm hello and asks what I'll be having. I tell him "Skinny latte really really hot and no froth please." "So that's like a flat white basically?" he replies. What is it with these people and their flat whites? Unlike the woman from Union of Genius, however, there is no hint of accusation in his voice. It's a simple enquiry. We enter familiar conversation about the difference between flat whites and lattes. "I thought flat whites couldn't be served extra hot though because of the way the milk is heated?" I say. "No, they can be as hot as you want them, they just don't have the top on them like most lattes do." Well that's me told and to be honest I'm happy to accept. Having been told twice and much more charmingly the second time I'm willing to admit I like a flat white. (I still won't order it though, such a stubborn cow).
The man, obviously keen to impress in such a new shop, pours my coffee into a tiny takeaway cup. It looks good. I take a sip. His eyebrows raise in anticipation. I tilt my head and squint my eyes. "It could still be hotter." I say. "Wow" he replies "You do like it hot. No worries." And without me even asking he has started to make a new one. He pours the new one into another cup keen to avoid any froth and gently pushes it towards me to try.
"Perfect" I say.
"You won't be able to taste your dinner" he says.
"Even more perfect" I reply "It will only be chips anyway."
I leave the shop and sip my coffee. It is gorgeous, smooth and creamy. The one problem and I suppose it's quite a big one paradoxically is that the cup is tiny. It's the size of a double espresso cup and for £2.60 I do feel slightly cheated. I need my coffee to last more than a short walk, which in case you're wondering is why I always ask for it extra hot in the first place. With this cup, barely noticeable in my hands, my coffee won't still be there by the time I've reached work. It's such a shame because the coffee is gorgeous and the service was great. I would definitely recommend a visit if you're stuck in the New Town with nowhere to go. I would also recommend to them that they get themselves some bigger cups while they're still new enough to make the changes.
It's easy to see how this place can be missed with a simple painted on sign. They'd be wise to invest in something a bit more obvious, but I'm sure as soon as word of mouth gets around this place will be buzzing. It definitely has great potential and with a more defined style and bigger cups I'll certainly be a mouth to spread the Pep and Fodder word.
P.S Again please ignore the person in this photo. It's still not me, but if that's his car I'll 'ave it.
Frothy Fun Fact of the Day: Not sure about Pep, but Fodder is agricultural foodstuff used specifically to feed domestic livestock, including cattle. So that's what cous cous salad is.
I'd been walking around the New Town for quite a while, up and across the main few streets. I tried George Street, Rose Street, Princes Street, walked in parallel lines up Frederick Street and down Hanover Street and around St Andrews Square. Nothing. My desire for coffee was increasing as was the ache in my feet. I was basically at the stage of giving up and heading back to the Old Town. I stopped to watch a group of South African A Capella singers advertising their Edinburgh show. This was a momentary distraction as I contemplated heading down Leith Walk away from both parts of town. I'm sure there are places to go down there, but I was running low on time and very aware that Leith Walk incorporates quite a slope. Alright on the way down, not so fun on the trek back up. Sweaty and caffeine high is not a good look for work.
As I'd already walked part way along the street I crossed the road at a lower point walking up to the main crossing. This gave me a view along Waterloo Place, a street I'd never previously looked down. (There is a very expensive wedding dress boutique on the corner, would you look further down?) I took a mini walk down and came across a strange mix of places. There was a cafe/pub, the type of place old men go to reassure themselves they're not alcoholics, slurring their words as they say "I come here for the tea." Next to this was your average off-licence, further up a business-fronted Apex Hotel and squeezed in the middle a barely distinguishable coffee shop called Pep and Fodder. I sighed audibly out of relief and walked in.
The shop itself is nice, but slightly confused. It doesn't quite know if it wants to be quirky and independent or generic and minimal. I'll forgive it though, having spoken to the man behind the counter it's only been open for three weeks (more like six weeks at the time of writing).
There are light wooden tables that line the wall, off-white walls dotted with large pieces of art and a shiny new coffee machine half concealed behind the counter. The man greets me with a warm hello and asks what I'll be having. I tell him "Skinny latte really really hot and no froth please." "So that's like a flat white basically?" he replies. What is it with these people and their flat whites? Unlike the woman from Union of Genius, however, there is no hint of accusation in his voice. It's a simple enquiry. We enter familiar conversation about the difference between flat whites and lattes. "I thought flat whites couldn't be served extra hot though because of the way the milk is heated?" I say. "No, they can be as hot as you want them, they just don't have the top on them like most lattes do." Well that's me told and to be honest I'm happy to accept. Having been told twice and much more charmingly the second time I'm willing to admit I like a flat white. (I still won't order it though, such a stubborn cow).
The man, obviously keen to impress in such a new shop, pours my coffee into a tiny takeaway cup. It looks good. I take a sip. His eyebrows raise in anticipation. I tilt my head and squint my eyes. "It could still be hotter." I say. "Wow" he replies "You do like it hot. No worries." And without me even asking he has started to make a new one. He pours the new one into another cup keen to avoid any froth and gently pushes it towards me to try.
"Perfect" I say.
"You won't be able to taste your dinner" he says.
"Even more perfect" I reply "It will only be chips anyway."
I leave the shop and sip my coffee. It is gorgeous, smooth and creamy. The one problem and I suppose it's quite a big one paradoxically is that the cup is tiny. It's the size of a double espresso cup and for £2.60 I do feel slightly cheated. I need my coffee to last more than a short walk, which in case you're wondering is why I always ask for it extra hot in the first place. With this cup, barely noticeable in my hands, my coffee won't still be there by the time I've reached work. It's such a shame because the coffee is gorgeous and the service was great. I would definitely recommend a visit if you're stuck in the New Town with nowhere to go. I would also recommend to them that they get themselves some bigger cups while they're still new enough to make the changes.
It's easy to see how this place can be missed with a simple painted on sign. They'd be wise to invest in something a bit more obvious, but I'm sure as soon as word of mouth gets around this place will be buzzing. It definitely has great potential and with a more defined style and bigger cups I'll certainly be a mouth to spread the Pep and Fodder word.
P.S Again please ignore the person in this photo. It's still not me, but if that's his car I'll 'ave it.
Frothy Fun Fact of the Day: Not sure about Pep, but Fodder is agricultural foodstuff used specifically to feed domestic livestock, including cattle. So that's what cous cous salad is.
Saturday, 1 September 2012
Coffee and spells in this place Dwells.
I must apologise for my complete lack of blog over the last week or two. It has certainly been a busy couple of weeks. Personally I blame a visitor friend of mine who kept me well occupied from 11am to 11pm daily watching shows and some rather questionable free comedy. My usual coffee breaks turned predominantly into cider breaks (If you'd experienced some of the "comedy" we had, you'd understand) and I was unintentionally caffeine deprived for a few days. For any coffee lovers out there who are trying to cut down I highly recommend you take up more drinking, it eases you into the process. Don't try going cold turkey have a whiskey and coke to refresh the monkey on your back in a different way.
Anyway enough of my bad advice for addicts, I luckily have a few coffee shops stored up somewhere in my brain space to tell you about.
A while back I was heading into town for a late shift and decided to finally chance it, the famous Elephant House Gourmet Tea and Coffee Shop. This place I may have mentioned before is famous as, to use their words not mine, the "birthplace of Harry Potter". It was JK Rowling's coffee shop of choice as she sat writing her novels in the back room overlooking Edinburgh Castle. Well that's a nice little claim to fame there and certainly gave the Elephant House paramount exposure. They use it of course to their advantage. In the front window there is a framed watercolour of Rowling herself sitting at a table penning her future book. Underneath this it's the story of how she whiled away the hours inspired by the views of the city around her. This is the reason why during the festival the Elephant House is flocked with people. Tourists old and young and from all over the world congregate and have photos taken standing next to the picture in the window. To me it's quite bizarre to have a picture stood next to a picture, but I think I was one of the rare-breeds that missed out on the Harry Potter hype. Having never read it I can't criticise or applaud her work, but I can absolutely admire her success.
People not only stand waiting for a photo in front of the coffee shop, they also stand in queues that run outside the door waiting for a table for lunch. Again bizarre. I remember passing people in Milton Keynes shopping centre on several occasions queueing to get a table at Pizza Hut and thought "Are you serious? It's Pizza Hut!" But at least Edinburgh during the festival can get extremely busy and you might be in for a wait wherever you chose to eat at lunch.
This is the reason, however, that every time I've walked passed the Elephant House I've kept walking. Don't get me wrong it looks very inviting, but I've never had the time to stand and wait.
On this occasion I walked past and figured I must have got the timing right. Although there was still a queue, it didn't stretch as far as the door and with three people working behind the counter I took my chances. Inside is definitely charming. It has a kind of continental feel about it which comes across as both polished and rustic. The walls are peaches and oranges decorated with small pieces of art. Heavy material lampshades hang from the ceiling and dark wooden tables and chairs are scattered across the floor. The set-up for ordering I suppose is quite similar to Starbucks. You queue up at the front counter to order (lunch orders included) and then wait to be seated. Your drinks are prepared as you wait and food later served to your table. As I watched the ebb of people coming in the set-up seemed a bit chaotic, waiters dashed to the front to block people from helping themselves to a table. In all honesty if I saw a queue at the counter and a few empty tables I would probably make the same assumption that people were queueing for a takeaway service, just like I was. Still once people had got the gist and read the signs it seemed to quieten down the confusion.
As I waited I admired the food in the deli counter to my right. There were fresh quiches, half slices of pizza, vegetable and meat pies and fresh cakes and flapjack slices. Along the back of the counter on the ever popular blackboards were the lunch time offerings and prices. I'm surprised at how popular this place is yet how affordable it remains. Just like when a restaurant gets a Michelin star and ups it's prices by two-thirds, it would be easy for the Elephant House to ask for more simply to sit where J K Rowling barked her bum.
In terms of the service it is proficient and professional. The ladies behind the counter serve with speed, but precision. Less time is given to general chit-chat, but with lines normally out of the door this is probably developed through habit and only a good thing. The lady who takes my order listens carefully to my coffee instructions and offers a nod and a courteous "Sure". To my surprise she also asks if I would like one shot or two in my coffee. This is rare these days, when two shots is the standard. I'm glad to be offered the option and choose the one shot. I watch carefully as she heats the milk and then swirls it in the metal jug. I'm prepared to ask for it hotter or for more milk, but again to my surprise she serves it roasting hot and to the brim. The result is a velvety hot coffee that melts down your throat. Delicious! I genuinely walk along the street with a smile on my face. It's sad how one good cup of coffee can make such a genuine improvement to my day. This place, despite it's popularity as the "birthplace of Harry Potter" clearly has a lot more going for it. There is a really good atmosphere and although it is busy it's not cacophonous. There is a mild hum of conversation and coffee machines rather than a shrill discord present in many larger coffee shops.
Anyway enough of my bad advice for addicts, I luckily have a few coffee shops stored up somewhere in my brain space to tell you about.
A while back I was heading into town for a late shift and decided to finally chance it, the famous Elephant House Gourmet Tea and Coffee Shop. This place I may have mentioned before is famous as, to use their words not mine, the "birthplace of Harry Potter". It was JK Rowling's coffee shop of choice as she sat writing her novels in the back room overlooking Edinburgh Castle. Well that's a nice little claim to fame there and certainly gave the Elephant House paramount exposure. They use it of course to their advantage. In the front window there is a framed watercolour of Rowling herself sitting at a table penning her future book. Underneath this it's the story of how she whiled away the hours inspired by the views of the city around her. This is the reason why during the festival the Elephant House is flocked with people. Tourists old and young and from all over the world congregate and have photos taken standing next to the picture in the window. To me it's quite bizarre to have a picture stood next to a picture, but I think I was one of the rare-breeds that missed out on the Harry Potter hype. Having never read it I can't criticise or applaud her work, but I can absolutely admire her success.
People not only stand waiting for a photo in front of the coffee shop, they also stand in queues that run outside the door waiting for a table for lunch. Again bizarre. I remember passing people in Milton Keynes shopping centre on several occasions queueing to get a table at Pizza Hut and thought "Are you serious? It's Pizza Hut!" But at least Edinburgh during the festival can get extremely busy and you might be in for a wait wherever you chose to eat at lunch.
This is the reason, however, that every time I've walked passed the Elephant House I've kept walking. Don't get me wrong it looks very inviting, but I've never had the time to stand and wait.
On this occasion I walked past and figured I must have got the timing right. Although there was still a queue, it didn't stretch as far as the door and with three people working behind the counter I took my chances. Inside is definitely charming. It has a kind of continental feel about it which comes across as both polished and rustic. The walls are peaches and oranges decorated with small pieces of art. Heavy material lampshades hang from the ceiling and dark wooden tables and chairs are scattered across the floor. The set-up for ordering I suppose is quite similar to Starbucks. You queue up at the front counter to order (lunch orders included) and then wait to be seated. Your drinks are prepared as you wait and food later served to your table. As I watched the ebb of people coming in the set-up seemed a bit chaotic, waiters dashed to the front to block people from helping themselves to a table. In all honesty if I saw a queue at the counter and a few empty tables I would probably make the same assumption that people were queueing for a takeaway service, just like I was. Still once people had got the gist and read the signs it seemed to quieten down the confusion.
As I waited I admired the food in the deli counter to my right. There were fresh quiches, half slices of pizza, vegetable and meat pies and fresh cakes and flapjack slices. Along the back of the counter on the ever popular blackboards were the lunch time offerings and prices. I'm surprised at how popular this place is yet how affordable it remains. Just like when a restaurant gets a Michelin star and ups it's prices by two-thirds, it would be easy for the Elephant House to ask for more simply to sit where J K Rowling barked her bum.
In terms of the service it is proficient and professional. The ladies behind the counter serve with speed, but precision. Less time is given to general chit-chat, but with lines normally out of the door this is probably developed through habit and only a good thing. The lady who takes my order listens carefully to my coffee instructions and offers a nod and a courteous "Sure". To my surprise she also asks if I would like one shot or two in my coffee. This is rare these days, when two shots is the standard. I'm glad to be offered the option and choose the one shot. I watch carefully as she heats the milk and then swirls it in the metal jug. I'm prepared to ask for it hotter or for more milk, but again to my surprise she serves it roasting hot and to the brim. The result is a velvety hot coffee that melts down your throat. Delicious! I genuinely walk along the street with a smile on my face. It's sad how one good cup of coffee can make such a genuine improvement to my day. This place, despite it's popularity as the "birthplace of Harry Potter" clearly has a lot more going for it. There is a really good atmosphere and although it is busy it's not cacophonous. There is a mild hum of conversation and coffee machines rather than a shrill discord present in many larger coffee shops.
Although I'm not sure their coffee could, as they claim on their website, "satisfy your every need" it certainly did taste good. And I can certainly see how writers could sit for hours penning novels in the back room.
If I was to bring visitors up to Edinburgh I would chose to take them here without a doubt and for no other reason than the taste of the coffee and the shop itself. A truly delightful place.
P.S Please ignore the random person in the corner of the photo. It is not me and I would never wear those trousers.
Frothy Fun Fact of the Day: The Harry Potter books have been translated into 67 different languages and the seventh and final book in the series sold 11 millions in it's first 24 hours of release. Go on Elephant House ride that band-wagon and ride it hard.
Monday, 20 August 2012
Award winning blogger writes...
Without a doubt I am so chuffed! I went to a Back to School Disco on Saturday night and who won Silliest Student? Yours truly. I got an award and everything. All those years of being a geek at school have finally paid off and I was awarded a cardboard stick on badge emblazoned with an "S" (for Silly). I earned it though. I was busting some serious moves on the dance floor. I'm talking the running man, snorkeling, the twist, a Dirty Dancing lift thrown in here and there and a couple of twirls and dips. I was partnered with a rather attractive American man with an equal penchant for making an idiot of himself. This is helpful when your dancing for half an hour straight and trying to win a "school" dance contest. Unfortunately we were cheated out of Prom King and Queen. Cheated! I don't think the fake glasses and big side bow helped. I was definitely channelling 1980's American geek-chic. Never-the-less I was pretty damn pleased with myself and this feeling continued for the rest of the weekend. (Sad I know.)
So heading to work early afternoon on Sunday I was still in a good mood. Maybe a bit sleepy, but in a good mood. Unlike usual I'd left the house in good time and was contemplating where to have my coffee. Taking my usual route through the Meadows I bounced back and forth between options in my head. Then as if out of nowhere I thought "Hmmm I've never thought of this place!" My choice was Union of Genius, Scotland's first soup cafe. Soup cafes seem to have been something of a revelation as of late. No longer is soup confined to community centres and given out in polystyrene cups. Nor is it considered a precursor to a big meal or a dinner for emancipated vegans, it is now the main event as this cafe demonstrates. Now even though Union of Genius specialises in home-made, seasonal soups it also offers an impressive array of hot and cold drinks. As an independent Edinburgh shop with a soup philosophy that can easily applied to my morning coffee, "Happiness-inducing liquid warmth" I think it's worth a try.
The shop itself is a tiny box space. If you really wanted to you could swing a cat and it would hit three of the four walls. (Personally I'd swing a pillow.) There is a small table lined with cushioned benches neatly pushed into the bay window at the front and then a small counter at the side to add your own sugars etc. The counter at the back is dotted with soup cauldrons and behind that is the coffee machine and chalkboard with daily specials. I like it. It feels both contemporary and retro.
I order my coffee, learning from experience to ask for no froth before the milk has been heated "the wrong way". What do I get as a response this time?
"Well technically that's a flat white if you don't want any froth." Pause.
"Is it?" I reply with my head cocked slightly to the right like an inquisitive puppy. I know it's not.
"Oh okay I thought a flat white was kind of layers of foamed milk. But..."
"But...yeah. Okay latte no froth. Hot milk. I get it."
Now I may have won a 'Silliest Student Award' but the funny doesn't seem to translate to my face. Instead my face + coffee shop + specifications to coffee = "Come and 'ave a go if you think your 'ard enough!" Maybe I should be a stand up comedian, I seem to have a face to be heckled. I could wear my badge, do a dance and shout crazy demands at people. It would be a smash at the Fringe.
Anyway she made the coffee and filled the cup half way to the top.
"Sorry" I squirm again "Could I get more milk? I just like a lot of milk." Translation: Give me what I paid for and fill up the cup.
She releases a silent sigh as she opens the fridge to get milk in order to heat more. I'm left wondering, did she mistakenly not heat enough milk and rather than admit it hoped I'd except a half cup? Or do they genuinely only offer this much coffee for your £2? If it's the latter, it seems like a two inch waste of their vegware cups to me. I apologise again for being fussy. (A misdirected attempt to ensure no one thinks of me as an awkward customer.) She offers a dismissive "It's okay" as she hands me my cup. And suddenly I feel very deflated. I wouldn't mind if I actually was an awkward customer or if I was rude or aggressive, but I was none of those things. So I added my sugar and left.
The sad thing is it was probably the best cup of coffee I've had in Edinburgh so far. Slightly less hot than I prefer, but still hot enough. Extremely creamy and smooth. A strong, but mild flavour. I could have drunk another one with ease.
I find it hard to judge this place. In it's philosophy it is right up my street. It serves healthy and wholesome food, it's an independent shop that puts an emphasis on using the best local produce and seasonal food and it it is simple and well designed. I genuinely like it and would recommend it in spite of the slightly temperamental service I received. I would like to believe it was just a bad day and on any other occasion the barista would be quite amicable. For all I know she may have been at the disco and lost out on Prom Queen too, that would be a real bummer.
So heading to work early afternoon on Sunday I was still in a good mood. Maybe a bit sleepy, but in a good mood. Unlike usual I'd left the house in good time and was contemplating where to have my coffee. Taking my usual route through the Meadows I bounced back and forth between options in my head. Then as if out of nowhere I thought "Hmmm I've never thought of this place!" My choice was Union of Genius, Scotland's first soup cafe. Soup cafes seem to have been something of a revelation as of late. No longer is soup confined to community centres and given out in polystyrene cups. Nor is it considered a precursor to a big meal or a dinner for emancipated vegans, it is now the main event as this cafe demonstrates. Now even though Union of Genius specialises in home-made, seasonal soups it also offers an impressive array of hot and cold drinks. As an independent Edinburgh shop with a soup philosophy that can easily applied to my morning coffee, "Happiness-inducing liquid warmth" I think it's worth a try.
The shop itself is a tiny box space. If you really wanted to you could swing a cat and it would hit three of the four walls. (Personally I'd swing a pillow.) There is a small table lined with cushioned benches neatly pushed into the bay window at the front and then a small counter at the side to add your own sugars etc. The counter at the back is dotted with soup cauldrons and behind that is the coffee machine and chalkboard with daily specials. I like it. It feels both contemporary and retro.
I order my coffee, learning from experience to ask for no froth before the milk has been heated "the wrong way". What do I get as a response this time?
"Well technically that's a flat white if you don't want any froth." Pause.
"Is it?" I reply with my head cocked slightly to the right like an inquisitive puppy. I know it's not.
"Oh okay I thought a flat white was kind of layers of foamed milk. But..."
"But...yeah. Okay latte no froth. Hot milk. I get it."
Now I may have won a 'Silliest Student Award' but the funny doesn't seem to translate to my face. Instead my face + coffee shop + specifications to coffee = "Come and 'ave a go if you think your 'ard enough!" Maybe I should be a stand up comedian, I seem to have a face to be heckled. I could wear my badge, do a dance and shout crazy demands at people. It would be a smash at the Fringe.
Anyway she made the coffee and filled the cup half way to the top.
"Sorry" I squirm again "Could I get more milk? I just like a lot of milk." Translation: Give me what I paid for and fill up the cup.
She releases a silent sigh as she opens the fridge to get milk in order to heat more. I'm left wondering, did she mistakenly not heat enough milk and rather than admit it hoped I'd except a half cup? Or do they genuinely only offer this much coffee for your £2? If it's the latter, it seems like a two inch waste of their vegware cups to me. I apologise again for being fussy. (A misdirected attempt to ensure no one thinks of me as an awkward customer.) She offers a dismissive "It's okay" as she hands me my cup. And suddenly I feel very deflated. I wouldn't mind if I actually was an awkward customer or if I was rude or aggressive, but I was none of those things. So I added my sugar and left.
The sad thing is it was probably the best cup of coffee I've had in Edinburgh so far. Slightly less hot than I prefer, but still hot enough. Extremely creamy and smooth. A strong, but mild flavour. I could have drunk another one with ease.
I find it hard to judge this place. In it's philosophy it is right up my street. It serves healthy and wholesome food, it's an independent shop that puts an emphasis on using the best local produce and seasonal food and it it is simple and well designed. I genuinely like it and would recommend it in spite of the slightly temperamental service I received. I would like to believe it was just a bad day and on any other occasion the barista would be quite amicable. For all I know she may have been at the disco and lost out on Prom Queen too, that would be a real bummer.
For my latte/flat white/hot coffee with milk I would give Union of Genius a full 10 out of 10. For the way it was delivered to me I'd have to drop it by five points. Union of Genius that it is can work that out, it equals an average 5 out of 10.
And just for kicks...check out the badge!
Frothy Fun Fact of the Day: Sorry it had to be done, this is an "In your face" fact. The definition of a Flat White:
"A flat white is a coffee beverage originating from Australia. It is prepared by pouring microfoam (steamed milk from the bottom of a pitcher) over a singe or double shot of espresso. It is similar to the latte and the cafe au lait."
Okay there is potential at the moment for me to be wrong...
"In a flat white, the milk is steamed to 60-70 C (typically 150-170 F). Steaming the milk to a lower temperature retains the fats and proteins in the milk which retain a sweet flavour, lost when milk is steamed to scalding temperatures."
Concluded. Asking for a latte extra hot rules out any possibility of my drink being "technically" a flat white as they are served at a lower temperature (and from what I can remember only served with full fat milk). Not just a hat rack my friends.
Saturday, 18 August 2012
"Eh, what's up Doc?"
I hate myself. I'm 25 years old. I shouldn't be this anal about the way I drink my coffee. It's rubbish coffee as well. It tastes like someone has spat up ground coffee beans and scattered them on top. Okay, maybe that's a bit harsh, but I burnt my tongue. And my oesophagus. Twice. When I ask for my coffee milky with no froth the woman says "I would have heated the milk differently if you'd said earlier." I apologise and then think "No, hang on. I asked for a latte which should have approximately half a centimetre of frothed milk. I didn't ask for a cappuccino. You heated the milk wrong to start with." Of course I didn't tell her that. I'm far too British. I'm far too passive-aggressive for that.
In cartoon terms I'm a ghastly combination of Scrappy-Do's "Lemme at 'em. Lemme at 'em" and Elmer Fudd's "Be vewy vewy quiet." Like Elmer I'm small in size, short in temper, shorter in attention span, highly gullible and surprisingly a vegetarian. And just like Scrappy-Do sometimes I can be a right "feisty little dog".
My feistiness can often be a cause of embarrassment amongst my friends. I recall a particularly boisterous night of after-party drinks at a bar in Kentish Town when I had a one-on-one confrontation with the bar manager. As my friends squirmed I stood defiant in the "I'm in this business" kind of way. And what happened? We got a free chocolate brownie as an apology thank you very much.
Today though I don't feel like hunting wabbits. It's far too early. Maybe I just have a mild case of wrong-side-of-the-bed syndrome.
The coffee shop I'm in is Caffe Lucano on George IV Bridge. It's more of a cafe/restaurant offering breakfasts and lunches of the Italian variety. I've heard good things about the food, but unfortunately their coffee was not to my taste. It was very bitter without any of the velvety quality of a strong coffee.
Now just like a good old theatre review feel free to employ your own level of scepticism to my opinion. It is just one amongst a million and as the place is often very busy I would imagine it has its own charm. I might consider going for a bite to eat, although it's already quite far down on my list. But for a take-away coffee I think I'll keep looking.
In cartoon terms I'm a ghastly combination of Scrappy-Do's "Lemme at 'em. Lemme at 'em" and Elmer Fudd's "Be vewy vewy quiet." Like Elmer I'm small in size, short in temper, shorter in attention span, highly gullible and surprisingly a vegetarian. And just like Scrappy-Do sometimes I can be a right "feisty little dog".
My feistiness can often be a cause of embarrassment amongst my friends. I recall a particularly boisterous night of after-party drinks at a bar in Kentish Town when I had a one-on-one confrontation with the bar manager. As my friends squirmed I stood defiant in the "I'm in this business" kind of way. And what happened? We got a free chocolate brownie as an apology thank you very much.
Today though I don't feel like hunting wabbits. It's far too early. Maybe I just have a mild case of wrong-side-of-the-bed syndrome.
The coffee shop I'm in is Caffe Lucano on George IV Bridge. It's more of a cafe/restaurant offering breakfasts and lunches of the Italian variety. I've heard good things about the food, but unfortunately their coffee was not to my taste. It was very bitter without any of the velvety quality of a strong coffee.
Now just like a good old theatre review feel free to employ your own level of scepticism to my opinion. It is just one amongst a million and as the place is often very busy I would imagine it has its own charm. I might consider going for a bite to eat, although it's already quite far down on my list. But for a take-away coffee I think I'll keep looking.
I would recommend checking out Caffe Lucano's menu. It looks pretty good food at reasonable prices.
And it's a pretty colour.
Frothy Fun Fact of the Day: The Google search engine has been translated into many different languages, Elmer Fudd dialect included.
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