The Coffee Pot Abbeyfeale Limerick Ireland

We’d driven off the ferry at Dublin at 12 midday to begin our journey down to Ballinskelligs in South Kerry. After three hours in the car, I had back ache and craved something to eat and drink. We decided to stop at the nearest town, Abbeyfeale. The Coffee Pot looked old fashioned enough to attract our attention. Spotlessly clean (the café), we stood as two aliens in front of the fridge and pondered the wares. The difference between a café here in Ireland and one, say, in Eccles is that in Eccles you’d get a Costco cake, or a chocolate Brownie in a packet, made on a production line in Devon. In Ireland the woman serving you in the café is likely to have made all the cakes you see in front of you. The Coffee Pot’s cheesecake looked delicious, so I ordered us a slice each, with a tea and a coffee. We sat at the nearest booth and all our accoutrements were on our table, including the milk for our drinks. In Eccles you’d be up and down, first for cutlery, then for milk, then for serviettes then for something else you’d forgotten, usually a tea spoon or a sachet of ketchup. Café culture in Ireland caters for your every need; at your own table at the end of your own elbow. The cheesecake did not disappoint. I wolfed mine down and asked our waitress if she had made it, she said she had and I had no reason to disbelieve her. I also asked her if we were still in Limerick, she said we were. Just before we left I nipped to the loo.  They weren’t up to much but then that was hardly surprising as I had accidentally used the Gents.

A week later on our way back to Dublin, we stopped at The Coffee Pot again. I saw a lonesome piece of cheesecake in the same fridge we had stood before the week earlier. It had green mould on it.

Vintage Cafe and Bar Church Street Eccles

I've found a new cafe in Eccles. Danny wanted to go home for a coffee,  I insisted on trying Vintage. On the corner next to Eccles Parish Church, we entered Vintage tentatively and slightly self conscious, unusually unfamiliar with an Eccles eatery.  We were greeted by a lovely vanilla smell and the sound of a man's booming voice, pontificating to his friend about the national minimum wage. A lone woman with a tall latte and us two, swiftly followed by two woman and a little boy and Vintage was bustling. One of the women was pushing the little boy's scooter. I observed from the menu that they were serving ristrettos, bet you cant get one of those within a five mile radius. The woman behind the counter allowed us to peruse the menu and the array of food on display, which consisted of paninis, cookies and muffins. We ordered a Latte, an Americano (black separate cold milk) and one chocolate muffin. We parked our backsides at a table in the window. I heard our loud mouthed pony tailed neighbour, stretched out in his chair, right arm slung back, talking about a Ken Loach documentary. Coffees and comestibles arrived on mis-matched crockery, which I absolutely loved and thought was a touch of genius. I detest uniformity, it puts me in mind of an ikea purgatory. The little boy on the next table was presented with a rather large cookie. His female guardian told him she thought the cookie was the size of the sun. The little boy disagreed. For one he said the sun was outside. Next minute the little lad was writhing in his seat and looked in some discomfort, he'd bit his lip on his first bite of the sun sized cookie.Our drinks were spectacular. I ate one of the brown sugar lumps, couldn't resist. The Ken Loach fan was talking about a time someone had the nerve to push in front of him in a queue. When we'd finished we went to the counter to pay. Three pounds fifty for the lot. After we had thanked and complimented her on the food and drink she asked if we drank beer, she told us they had some Czech ales on sale. she gave us a loyalty card and we were on our way. I would now chose Vintage any day over its nearest rival, Season's; which is about twenty yards away. Whilst Vintage is exceptionally reasonable priced, and  unique Season's is tatty, tawdry and backdated. 

Cafe Moods Salford

Everyone who works within the Salford Quays/ Media City area should come and have at least a coffee in Moods. I've been coming here almost every day for donkeys years. My preferred coffee  of a morning  is a filter coffee, dead cheap, but top quality, at £1.50, freshly made. If it's before 11 I'll usually eat two brown toasts or a toasted teacake.  Of an afternoon I can often be found luxuriating in a latte and chocolate brownie. 

The owner, Jay, prides Cafe  Moods on the quality of the coffee, food and service.  What you won't find in here is; staff asking you to repeat your order three times and still getting it wrong,  shouting of orders, intrusive radio playing too loudly, being told you can only have what's out, rudeness, lack of manners, plastic spoons, or UHT milk.  The informal system of service in moods is simply you place your order at the counter,  pay for it and sit down. The staff will bring everything over to you. If you have the pleasure of being served by the owner, Jay, you will find him to be the  perfect gentleman and an exemplary salesman. 

They are even now  open on a Saturday morning. 

Right Jay, that free chocolate Brownie......

Mazzei Cafe Winter Gardens Blackpool

After I’d dropped the kids off at the Pleasure Beach for the day and  walked along the prom for half an hour,  I dragged my long suffering husband round the back streets of Blackpool looking for a half decent place to rest my weary trotters. I declared we should go to the Winter Gardens. The last time I had been here was in 2004, for a Morrissey concert.  I opened one of the heavy front doors (chivalry is not dead), my husband followed me up the stone steps and we made our way across the concourse towards the doors which were signed “cafe”. We passed an empty bar to our left and a posh looking restaurant to our right before we meandered into Mazzei’s. I counted fifteen customers in an area which could have easily accommodated a couple of hundred people. Behind the counter, a lone, bequiffed member of staff, busying himself at the coffee machine. Me and Danny (aforementioned husband) dithered at the fridges over what we wanted to eat. I fancied a brownie, then I changed my mind and wanted an egg and cress sandwich on brown. I settled upon a scone, Danny had the brownie. Monsieur Pedant said later that the brownie was in fact not a brownie, but a chocolate cake.  In addition I asked for jam and butter with my scone; drinks were two lattes. Quiff man announced the total to be £8.90, then without taking our remittance, he walked away and started preparing my scone. Another male member of staff appeared and asked if we were ok. I told him we were being seen to. Preston Guild came and went and then our coffees and comestibles were ready, we paid and off we went to sit down. A woman and another couple were served after us. The place is immaculately clean, no crumbs, no lingering smells of dishcloths, no loud music, no unwelcome radio stations. We settled at a large round table, kicked off our shoes and took in the ambience and surroundings. I was at peace in Blackpool. Happy as a sandboy. Wonderful food, amazing coffee and scintillating conversation with my gorgeous husband.  As the froth from my latte was sinking into my top lip something cought my eye to the right. A coach party of old people had arrived. To my relief, they were not customers but part of a guided tour of The Winter Gardens. I shushed Danny several times to ear wig their tour guide. I heard, to my absolute pleasure, that the interior plasterwork of this very cafe had been covered up since the 1960s and had recently been found completely intact during the recent multi million pound refurbishment. The plasterwork had been designed by the renowned film set designer, Andrew Mazzei. The guide quickly ushered her charges through to the next room and as I lumped jam on my scone I felt like that Pennine farmer who wouldn’t sell up when the M62 motorway was built. I overheard an elderly lady say that she thought the “plasterwork” curtains were real curtains, she didn’t think anyone would be able to tell they were not real. Danny thought they were real curtains too.

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The Airfield Lodge Bar and Restaurant City Airport Manchester

It was “Fun” day today at The Airport Formerly Known As Barton. After objecting to paying £6.00 entry fee, eventually relenting and paying a fiver, we trudged through the mud towards the newly refurbished cafe.  The Airport cafe has recently morphed into a Bar and Restaurant, not that there was anything wrong with it when it was just a cafe. Alan Sugar was given a tuna butty in this very cafe when his light aircraft had to make an emergency landing here. I’ve had many a good egg on toast in here. As I walked into the Airfield Lodge I was rather taken aback to see Elvis introducing himself on stage, just as Jerry St Clair used to at The Phoenix Club. I walked straight back out of the entrance, round to the front of the lodge to enjoy Elvis’s set. From my spot down the front I could see his set list blowing in the wind, one corner of it secured underneath his mic stand. The flimsy bit of paper was in danger of blowing away and Elvis knew it. A woman appeared from backstage, (from just inside the cafe), she shunted her handbag further up her shoulder, strode out in front of The King and re-secured the set list. I imagined it was just like this in Vegas. After enjoying the set for a while we fancied a warm so back inside we went. We found the only empty table, just by the toilets. My daughter wanted a cheese sandwich, chips and a coke. Despite being hungry, I settled on a coffee as the menu was all burger and chips, cheese burger and chips, fish and chips, all of which did not appeal to me. No sign of egg on toast. I joined the long queue. After giving the girl my order she then told me I could not have a cheese sandwich, only what was there. I could not see any pre packed cheese sandwiches. I asked her if she could make one for my daughter, she made no apologies, she told me “No” and said they only had stock for what was out. She then rambled on for a while about how everything had changed; she wafted a laminated menu under my nose, pointed her finger at it and told me that was the menu. I handed over eight quid to another girl operating the till and she handed me a raffle ticket with the number 297 on it. Said girl told me to stay in the area so she knew where we would be. I replied that we were just over in the corner. She ignored me. My coffee tasted rather good, but it was served to me in a polystyrene cup and I had to lift a six pinter to put my milk in. After a short wait, a young lad hollered, “297”, to which I replied, “Over here”. The chips were enveloped in a polystyrene container too. I don’t know if this is the norm, or were these receptacles just being used today, in the name of fun? Elvis was still at it over the other side of the cafe.

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