A Tabou Cafe in Kingsland

One night me and the hubby went to the premier of a short film, produced by one of his friends. As it was a short film, we decided to go for coffee afterwards, even though it was Wednesday night.

I mean, how often do we get to go out? Not as much as we'd like to, I can tell you!

So anyways, we trotted off to Kingsland, which used to be a rundown quirky little strip of shops and cafes. Now that the Rugby World Cup is coming in 2011, the place has decided to spruce itself up and turn trendy. Great.

So we manage to find a carpark (amazingly), right outside a very hip and happening Bar populated with lots of beautiful people (I quickly spotted some TV stars in the crowd). Not for me thanks!

We headed to a quiet cafe with an outside table (it was a balmy evening) and ordered a hot chocolate (Mr G) and a Mochaccino (me).

It was all going reasonably well - a fews laughs, some chitchat - and eventually 20 minutes later a waiter brought out the drinks. I took a sip of mine, expecting sweet chocolatey-coffee goodness... and blecchh! Got a mouth full of bitter, burnt-tasting unchocolatey super-strong coffee.

Bad bad bad. No way was that a mocha. They must have mixed up my order?? (Even if it was coffee, it was FOUL).

Rory tasted it and agreed with me; eventually he managed to flag down a pre-occupied waiter, and handed the "mocha" back: "We ordered a Mocha; this isn't a mocha..." he explained.

Within seconds, a very posh-sounding lady (the manager?) emerged to confront us with our obvious ignorance...

"Hmmmm... and what (pray tell) do you think a mocha is????" she demanded, highly affronted that we would DARE to send back that foul brew.

"Coffee and chocolate...?" I said somewhat meekly. Mr G was not cowed.

"That was not a mocha," he insisted. "It tasted terrible."

"And did you stir it???" she demanded. "We make our mochas with real chocolate and two shots of coffee. Perhaps you're not used to that??" (Where you come from in Hicksville)

Eeeeeee! I couldn't believe it. Talk about patronising. At that point I just wanted to leave, forget about the drinks (but they were already paid for, dammit!)

She eventually returned with a (stirred) mocha made with only one shot, for the silly Peasant Girl who had stumbled into the Big City Cafe and expected something that was drinkable - you know, like the ones from McD's or the BP station.

We drank our drinks quick as we could, and left, totally unimpressed.

So if you ever stumble into the bright lights of Kingsland, avoid the well-named Cafe Tabou at all costs unless being insulted, patronised and served bad coffee very slowly is your idea of a pleasant experience. (Go next door to Deve instead).

Pictures from GoogleImage