I like Nutrigrain as much as the next person but this idea is leaving me cold: Haven’t we reached peak hipster cafe bullshit yet?
Because this cafe is in painfully-hip Shoreditch in London’s East End. But pretty soon you just know that there is going to be a cereal cafe here. Next to the cat cafe. And the secret coffee shop up that is so cool it doesn’t have a sign on the door. And the converted shipping container/tram stop/car boot cafe. And the paperless news stand cafe. And the water-only restaurant.
I love breakfast. I love to eat it on my own, I like to meet other people to eat it, I like to eat it all day long (it turns out that I like it so much, I sound like Dr Seuss when I talk about it).
But I just wonder whether we need our bacon and eggs to come with this bottomless cup of over-hyped gimmicky nonsense.
My needs aren’t great. I want breakfast. And I don’t want cat hair in it.
I’m not immune to marketing (or cat hair). But if you are going to open a new and interesting cafe, I’d like you to take a few things on board.
Firstly, I am not interested in waiting for a coffee made from a single origin bean with its own passport that was shat out by a discerning skunk and then ground between the butt-cheeks of Bono. And I don’t want to pay like you’ve flown every bean in on its own Business Class seat.
I also want to sit on an actual seat. Not a milk crate. Not a cardboard box (or something styled to look like a cardboard box because that is as ridiculous as it sounds). Not on a Tibetan prayer stool or on the floor. Something with a bit of lumbar support would be great.
I want some space between tables. I know that you’re a popular operation and you want to fit as many lucky patrons in, but if I accidentally drop a sugar cube into my neighbour’s scrambled eggs, that is on you.