They be some hustlers baby!

Today I feel slightly cheated. I was in a bit of a rush and thought what a perfect opportunity to try out one of the central coffee destinations. After all these will be some of the most frequented during the festival, the streets as they are now lined with hoards of good-timers. A few doors down from our offices is a petite if not slightly generic place aptly named “Coffee House”. Well that’s just what you need when you want a coffee, a “Coffee House”. Not a flat, not a cramped apartment or bungalow, a whole house!

So in I went into a tunnel of wood-panelled MDF and cream painted walls. The shop’s dark red logo printed around the fridges and stamped on sandwiches. I was greeted by a jolly lady who had moments before been jollily giving a frantic German woman directions up the Royal Mile. The kind of crazed tourist so consumed by her fear of going astray that she literally walks behind the counter to share the barista’s view of the map.

I accessed my options. Of course I knew what I was going to order, but it’s always nice to see what’s on offer. I ordered and had a pleasant conversation with the server. I always like it when they’re not busy and can afford a chat. No more than small talk though other they might become distracted.

I looked around at the pictures and artwork when I noticed something. In tiny letters interwoven in the circular logo was the word “Garfunkel’s”. Garfunkel’s. I was in a Garfunkel’s house, as in Garfunkel’s the restaurant chain with locations across the UK. The sneaky little devils. They hustled me into their tiny shop located three doors down from their restaurant on Royal Mile. Just like those buggars at Coca Cola who take up the majority of the bottled drinks industry without you even knowing it. There you are sipping your fresh, chilled water basking in the sunshine when you see that all too familiar logo reflected in beams through the watery side of the bottle. They got you good. Equally pre-coffee I was aware I’d been had. Technically I shouldn’t be reviewing them. Pah! I should spit in their doorway and herald them “Traitors!” But I won’t. I will let them off purely because they have such great staff and I want to tell you about them. You hear that Mr Garfunkel? To quote the words of Yul Brenner from the great Cool Runnings, “This doesn’t mean that I like you.” (Attach Jamaican accent as required).

Having worked in the restaurant/bar/theatre/customer services industry for many years I know there is often very little thanks involved. In fact you will spend 90% of your working day apologizing for things that aren’t your fault. This is a genuine fact invented by me. Nevertheless it’s the reason I always like to overly thank people who are genuinely great at their jobs, no matter what industry they work in.

Once I’d got my coffee I noticed it was a little light to the touch, so reaching for my sugar I politely asked for more milk. As the lady approached with the cold milk jug, I said “Oh no, hot milk please.” This is when the phenomenon happened. She passed me the hot milk and said “Sure, help yourself.” I stuttered for a moment. This is unheard of. Of course they are not supposed to do this in case you burn yourself and sue, but all too often I have thought “Just let me do it myself! I know how!” So I grabbed a tiny plastic spoon, held it at the top of the jug to stop the froth and poured it gleefully into my cup. Lovely!

With an extra spring in my step I thanked both ladies, wished them a great day and walked into the soggy Scottish High Street. The coffee tasted great. Probably not for the true coffee drinker though. Its caffeine kick was more of an accidental step on the toe, very mild and smooth. It reminded me of a Starbucks before they followed the great London trend of making a double shot latte their standard.

Now I couldn’t find a picture of the actual Coffee House, only the restaurant itself which boldly states that’s it’s a Garfunkel’s establishment, so you’ll have to trust me that this one gives no inkling.

Instead I found this delightful framed poster which is one of many that lines the walls of the interior. For some reason it took me a long time to figure out what it meant. Rather than thinking what you’re supposed to think of baked beans or broad beans I couldn’t get the image of Mr Bean out of my head. I simply thought “Well those aren’t really comparable are they?” But now I get it.

So in conclusion, because of their chain status I simply cannot recommend the Coffee House but I suggest instead some great independent cafe snap these staff up, put them behind the counters and never let them go!

Frothy Fun Fact of the Day - Coffee beans are not actually beans. They don't belong to the legume family. They are actually the pits from the coffee berries. So what the sign should say is "Coffee our favourite kind of berry" and it would have saved me from much Mr Bean confusion.