Coffee at Chez R

I came to this outdoor venue to pen a cheery piece for you, my venerable readers, but instead I am forced to recount an uglier truth. What used to be a pleasant café, Chez R, has since gone to the dogs, and the fithy, rabid curs couldn’t even properly deliver me a decent cup of coffee. Typical. The kids take over the business and it goes to rot.

I arrived just past two. After waiting nearly ten minutes at the wobbly, splintered table, a churlish waiter finally arrived, wiping what appeared to be swine blood from his hands onto a greasy apron. He sneered at me and demanded my order, not even offering a menu.



I informed him that I was only after a latte and biscotti. (Under the former management I would have happily requested a grander feast, but already I couldn’t stand the place.) He, no doubt a snuff-abusing chum of R’s son, clucked his tongue at me, scribbled what might have been a rude word on his grimy notepad, and sulked back into the establishment.

Time passed. This gave me an opportunity to reflect on why I hadn’t come to Chez R in many weeks. The other patrons, once drawn only from the more genteel pockets of society, were in this instance unkempt denizens of some low-GDP country, plucked from the mire each for their boorish features and disgusting manners. One imp, wearing a loose, hooded garment, was scratching a scab on his leg through a deliberately-made hole in his trousers. Another, assumed to be female, was so covered in rouge and eye charcoal to have been possibly recently escaped from the circus, which had clearly committed horrors upon her physique. Where were the lithe nymphs I recall from my youth?

Finally, just when I had noticed a mewling child clawing at her distracted, shabby mother, my waiter returned. The “latte” was both watery and burnt, most of the foam sloshed onto the saucer beneath it. My “biscotti” was a mass-produced crumbly yellow circle, more sugar than flavour. I consumed it as politely as I could, although it was clear it would only be myself I would otherwise be offending. That, however, is reason enough for me.

So, dear reader, my trip to Chez R will not be repeated for quite some time, though rest assured I shall write again soon.