Why do these posts not have real titles, or at least interesting titles? How do you know what mood to expect, when all you get is a restaurant name, its approximate location without the convenience of an address?
There are no real titles because the focus of each is to share the mood and the experience, and maybe even a snippet of the train of thought, a glimpse inside my mind, if you will, as I look back and think about the experience. There’s never a point at the start, it’s a build-up of the thoughts, the emotions, and the experiences. So the title really comes at the very end, as the last sentence. And once that mood or experience has been evoked, I stop. That’s all I want to say, and that’s all I want to remember a decade from now as I look back and mull over 2012, the year of the 101 restaurants.
So getting back to Crepes on Cole: in early January, with some light drizzles and a few stray ominous-cloud-wannabes: a scene straight out of warm-and-fuzzy-the-magazine. It was a lazy and slow day, with a built in slot for sleeping in to recover from the preceding week. I can’t remember what my friend and I were up to, but it probably involved watching and re-watching episodes of a Canadian tv serial that Simika had shared with us. Finally after hours of being glued to the tv in a trance, we unglued ourselves from the uber comfy couch and ventured outside to clear our heads and stroll.
What better complement to a lazy, overcast but bright (be imaginative) day than a steaming cup of some frothy and creamy caffeinated beverage to clutch onto and indulge? We strolled into Crepes on Cole and were immediately greeted by a black chalkboard awash in the colors of the rainbow in a cheerful display of confidence and pride in the quality of their offerings. The blackboard menu caught the light of the interesting light fixtures and defied the laws of physics and optics (and probably a few other disciplines as well) in glinting right back at you, almost in a broad grin styled after a striking likeness of the proverbial cheshire cat a-swallowing the canary.
I chose to ignore my self-proclaimed (but externally validated) caffeine sensitivity, throw caution to the wind and just partake in wanton abandon so suited to a lazy Sunday afternoon when I knew I was leaving a huge chunk of my weekend to-do list purposefully (and self-indulgently) unattended to. My friend’s palpable skepticism notwithstanding, I went ahead with my order, slightly breathless at the daring, bold move almost out of character! Turns out they were out of my choice of substance. Not one to be let down too easily, I turned back to the inviting chalkboard to start my research anew, in the quest for the perfect combination of cozy comfort and the shot of hyperactive energy I was thirsting for.
Armed with each of our sustenance, we headed outside, where Crepes on Cole has a few seating options for guests keen on staying outdoors to enjoy their downtime at the café. Not much to write home about (or to write on this blog about): just your standard issue basic café-outdoor seating, and yet here I am, writing about it. We sat, with our drinks and caught up and talked. The unspoken and unacknowledged, the partially broached and relegated to later, the good, the bad and the ugly. We sipped and chatted. We dared, paused and considered. We spoke, and listened. We heard, and we continued to dare. Soon we were done sipping, and continued chatting, leisurely, and in no rush to re-enter the ratrace of the postponements, the “laters” and the delayed gratifications. We twirled our mugs and watched the dregs float around in an indecipherable turbulent flow as we sped up the twirling to up the ante. I recalled the days of fluid mechanics, laminar flow and one hair dryer wielding professor who was determined to have the entire class grasp the concept of tensor math through his deft use of the “air-only” settings on a Vidal Sassoon. Mortified at where memory lane could drag me to, I shook my head and laughed with my friend, agreeing that we needed more strolling and head-clearing and less lazing around. Renewed, reconnected and entertained by a nightmare recollection of a hair dryer, we re-entered.
Crepes on Cole was an energetic bolus of color and warmth, an invitation to intentionally isolate, sense and feel, and share, then smile.