I headed out to escape them, and found myself in deepest Notting Hill tired of all things computer related and eager for an afternoon cuppa.
Something caught my eye. Didn’t this used to be a Japanese restaurant? I thought. Now, all the windows displayed concoctions of cakes. Frothy masterpieces with every colour of icing manifested in replicas of Tiffany boxes and a Louis Vuitton handbag to a fairytale princess castle complete with pink turrets. These were serious creations and I walked into the bakery/cafe curious to find out more.
Wooden shelves filled with freshly baked loaves of bread abounded. Plump croissants and pain au chocolat sat adjacent to them, but it was the adjoining cafe that drew me closer. A shiny new case full of the most delicious and unusual pastries was the main feature. Beside that, in this corner cafe with floor to ceiling windows, there were long wooden tables with stools to sit on and a family of cacti decorating them.
I got chatting to Medi, the Persian owner who told me they’d only opened last Monday. I complimented him on the lovely ambience and he offered me coffee and a couple of cakes to try.
My latte arrived, just how I like it – in a glass with half milk and a layer of dark coffee just waiting to be stirred in. Alongside it came a plate with a cute looking cake and a biscuit. I bit into the first – a small box shaped delicacy. It was like nothing I’ve tasted before, a sort of brioche texture with a lightness that just melted away to expose a delicate custard…. of what? ‘Is this lemon, Medi?’ I asked. ‘No, it’s a special Persian cake, a sort of Iranian style Danish, and actually the filling is pineapple’. ‘It’s simply delicious’ I said wiping away a couple of crumbs. ‘Would you like another one?’ ‘Well, I wouldn’t say no, let me try the biscuit though’. Wafer thin with raisins poking through it like a couple of rocks on a sandy beach, it looked like something you’d make at three in the morning after a night on the tiles, and eat straight out of the oven. It was crispy, and even more so after a dunk in my latte leaving a delicious almondy taste in my mouth.
We compared nationalities. ‘Of course after the Italians the Irish are closest to the Iranians – they’re from the same race: Aryan. Google it!’ Medi insisted. I told him I would and then said that this might have to be my new post yoga place. ‘I love Planet Organic, but it’s so light and airy here – and that was the best decaff I think I’ve ever had’. ‘Well, we’re not so far away from them; it’s not all organic but the bread is all a sourdough base and everything is made fresh downstairs in our kitchen. That’s why we’re called Cake Create!’
Reluctantly I got up to leave and commented that I was sure it would be hard to get a seat after a few weeks of business. ‘Don’t worry we’ll always have one here for you……. downstairs next to the kitchen’, he added. We chuckled, and picking up my things I departed to tackle the rest of the day.