Flaneur

Sklep z Kawa

 

Ok, I’m in a café in Warsaw and I’m not even sure what the name is. But it's stunning. I think its the one Malgosia recommended, but the coffee is superb, out of this world. Or from all over the world. Oh, I’ve just found out that it's called Sklep v Kawa. 'Coffee Shop'. And yes, there's a small coffee shop attached. So… There you are. Does what it says on the tin. And I do love how understated this is - they must know just how good their stuff is. It's literally on a par with the Algerian Coffee House in Old Compton Street in London, except the latter doesn't have a fantastic café attached. They have genuine Jamaican Blue Mountain. Even a peaberry variety. Hawaii Kona, Yemen Matari, Mexico Maragogype and Altura, Nepal Mount Everest Supreme, (which is actually grown at the foot of the Ganesh Himal mountain, about seventy clicks from Kathmandu, but which is fed by waters from the melted snow of the Himalaya), Ethiopia Sidamo and Djimah, as well as Yirgacheffe, Costa Rica Tarrazu san Rafael, Guatemala Antigua, (in choices of roastings), Brazil Pergamino sul de Minas (certified by BSCA), Nicaragua SHB, Papua New Guinea Pearl (a romantic word for peaberry), Java WIB, Colombia Supremo Medellin, Puerto Rica Yauco Selecto, Sumatra Mandheling, a selection of Indian plantation roasts. I mean, come on. What more could anyone want? 

Well, how about this: they make all the coffees in little 'Szeherezada' ceramic topped macchinas on a stove at the front of the café right there in front of you. With ginger, cardomum, cinnamon, natural spices as part of chinese medicine brewed in a kettle for two minutes. And Kulczycki Coffee, Ethiopian Djimah brewed with honey. It’s going to take wild horses to remove me. Or possibly excess caffeine. One lady brews and delivers, and another pops her head out from the room beyond to retrieve the used pots. The café itself is small, with wooden tables replete with - slightly oddly (or maybe not - Africa after all) zebra skin wraps around the wooden topped stools. Three small tables for four people and and one for two.

I watch stove lady making my coffee. Brewing the beans with cardomon. Good for the kidneys, apparently, and that's fine by me. She brings the small cup and a little side order of milk. I asked her what's best - with or without? She said she felt without. Mmm. Good choice. A double espresso in a small cup, full to the brim. Simple. But, oh… the aroma from the top - it's not cheap at 8zl, or about a pound sixty, but it's the best I’ve ever smelled, and I haven't even tasted it yet. In fact it would be worth the price just for the aroma. Just sit and smell it. 8zl. Yeah, I’m fine with that. Contemporary music, which is actually ok; Turkish or trad music might be more in keeping with the feel, but conversely could turn this into a museum piece, a tourist curiosity, which I can see it isn't. So i'm ok with it. An alternative would be no music at all. That would also be fine. Maybe what it needs is Darek with his duduk....

Ubiquitous tealights on the table, and the huge german sweetener dispenser spoils it a bit. The single light from the window would be fine. They also have a Pepsi fridge full of Liptons iced tea and of course Pepsi. Which also seems out of place in a place so small and so dedicated, but I’m sure they get asked for it, or they wouldn't have it here. Oh, and that coffee tasted every bit as good as it smelled. Truly, truly great coffee. And my kidneys do indeed feel fortified and ready to face the brutal cold outside. This was an unexpected find. A quick stunning coffee. And now I must be on my way to see a lady about procuring some beautiful girls. All in the cause of the furthering of photographic art, of course.

President Cafe

 

Funny old place. I've lived here over a year and only just found it. You'd really have to know it’s here. That's its blessing and it's curse. The setting is kind of idyllic. Tucked up at one end of a sunken garden just over the road from the main shopping centre, a stone's throw from Andel tube station beside the church; it's convenient to get to, but hidden away, and quiet.

Looking the length of the park which, again, because it's not frequented a great deal, is lush and green completely unlike it's impoverished next door neighbour by the supermarket library thing.  You'd think it would be perfect, but somehow it just isn't. Which is a real shame, as it's right on my doorstep.

 

Ok, part of it was the truly awful music. The inside's nice - quite small, but well appointed. But I could only squeeze this quick shot off before I had to leave, because the music was so terrible and the air conditioning was non-existent.  The seats ouside are fine. Relatively new and the tables aren't bad. You know; not bad. Could try harder.

There's a long path up the side of the lawn with benches, and this is clearly where the winos are. Oh god, a bloke ewith a djembe has just walked in. But look around at the faces.... are they all drunk or alcoholic...? The most preposterous peroxide blonde who looks to be pushing sixty, but probably not much more than my age. Leopard skin lycra top. Brushed forward. Fag and friend. Imagine the worst it could be (you'll have to imagine - I'm not cruel enough to take a picture). And yet… some office workers from around, blue collar, so it feels like a known meeting place for gossip. A funny old clientele, then. 

The coffee? It's slightly thin and bitter. They haven't got medovnik, got something else instead, but it tastes really processed. Not quite railway fare, but only a step above. The café as a whole is really not bad, and it certainly seems to have its fans, but I feel slightly irked because with just a little more effort I feel it could be really good.  The parasols - big ones provided by Coca Cola. So they've paid for the furniture, probably; hopefully at least the parasols. They bear oldey worldey scenes of cafes of yesteryear in sepiatone, with 'Drink Coca Cola', 'Ice cold Coca Cola sold here' emblazoned in red across them. They look bloody awful. They'd actually have looked better without the sepia scenes. Why does it bug me so much? Because they are flying in the face of the genuine history of this place, taking away, not adding. You know, with just a little thought.... 

They serve ice cream here, and it actually looks quite good. But none of their enthusiastic regulars is eating one, despite the summer sunshine. Oh, bollocks the djembe player's started. I'm off. This place seems like a summer café because of the park, but you know, I reckon it would be better in the winter, warm indoors in that little space..... Just me and Peroxide Pavla and the music from hell.