Of course the joint needs no introduction. We’ve banged on about their coffee, their balls, their superior festival fayre. That’s because, if truth be told, in our deluded little minds they’re like The Kentishtowner’s cafe spin-off. We’d be quite happy there in the kitchen, dicing onions and adding wine to the risotto.
So we were excited when Dave mentioned to us the other day that he’d cleaned up the backyard, whipped out the astroturf, and constructed more of that thriftily utilitarian (if slightly strange) plywood furniture. There’s the odd tree and a pungent bed of herbs or two, and the estate looming behind the branches. It’s juxtaposition, in the true Kentish Town way, and it works.
And, we concluded, sheltering from the storm of our inbox on a blue-sky morning, it really is a balmy place to enjoy their 100% arabica beaned expresso. ‘We never use robusta,’ said Dave, wincing (the robusta has twice the caffeine for that ‘kick’, but less flavour). It shows. Rich, mellow, a pleasant acidity (sharp but not bitter). Perfect with a brownie. But we resisted this time.
Incidentally, we heart their wall sign too, especially the rules of the garden.
Oops.
Words & Pics: Stephen Emms
