I’m a lover of classic coffee. As a millennial, I cling to the quintessential South Indian filter coffee and scoff at that new fangled, pretentious, cinnamon flavoured 'Tired Bird’ dip bag coffee-like products. So, when I found this great cafe close-ish to home that does a good flat white, I quickly settled into a weekend routine, popping by there for a weekend post workout treat. It comforted me to have a favourite cafe again, after having lost Black Coffee Pharmacy in Bonn ( to the hippies ), and then Kaffeesaurus & Treibgut because I moved. The cafe has a large outdoor space, so once the oppressive heat gave way to only mild sweating and discomfort, they decided to organise a handicrafts festival in the backyard. I headed there and impulse bought some earrings and stickers, before my resolve to ‘support the arts’ gave way to grumpiness at the humidity. I found the kitchen and asked the guy manning it to make me a non-sweet, refreshing drink. It was 8 pm, so I was expecting ...
"A dawn to end all nights, that's all we hoped it was"