I'd like to think my preparation for Sundays lofty climb towards the Mancunian Gods is copacetic. And in many ways it is, assuming drinking tea and eating cake is a measure of athletic finesse. For today I have excelled myself, two fine cafes with tea and cake in each. Earlier in the week I was in Great Missenden, home to the late Roald Dahl, author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. There I had an amazing Hot Chocolate, which was made with a mug of piping hot milk and what seemed like a large chunk of solid chocolate on a stick dunked in, until it melted. The result was far from smooth and sophisticated, but thick and lumpy, with stringy bits of milky skin sticking to your lips, and partially dissolved chocolate floaters swirling in a sea of gloopy hot chocolate heaven. This was Hot Chocolate theatre.
Earlier today I stopped at a cafe out in the hills and couldn't resist revisiting the bacon and cream cheese bagel. Revitalising. It was one of those culinary episodes that once started has to be completed, almost within a single breath. There's no putting it down, reassessing and starting afresh. Once the first mouthful has been snatched, the bagel is destabilised, in danger of imminent collapse, and in need of firm handling. Feeling a little breathless and looking around for some kind of recognition of the not insignificant effort I'd just undertaken, it seemed fitting that I should be rewarded with a piece of local Bakewell Tart.
A little closer to home and nearing the end of a long day, and indeed a long week, I found myself in a lovely little cafe, savouring a tasty piece of carrot cake and a pot of Earl Grey. At front of house, there were a few ladies who lunch late, and mums picking up their kids from schools. Schools where blazers and hats rule, and mums who need all of their wheels driven in order to mount the challenging kerb outside.
In the back, it was a hive of industry, the atmosphere urgent, enthusiasm and creativity as rich and tactile as the cakes they produce... a kind of caketopia (though not an actual caketopia, having just googled that out of curiosity!) where lots of mixing and stirring of pinky cakey goodness was being performed. Unsurprisingly, the carrot cake was 'carroty'. Not usually worthy of questioning, but it seems some are astonished to discover that carrot cake should contain actual carrots. Well, this morning I spotted carrot and courgette cake. Big flaky strips of bright green. Courgette cake...the next big thing? My tea was very welcome, Earl Grey with lemon, the only real way to drink it, I find.
I'm feeling very tierd today, and empty, despite all of the above. I'm getting a hair cut tomorrow, and hope this doesn't further sap my strength. I'm not really sure why I'm doing this run on Sunday. Perhaps like Charlie, I should just take the elevator...and enjoy the ride.
