I can't remember if I've written about this place before; I probably have. There's a sandwich bar-cum-cafe just down the road from my office, which is fairly popular. I say popular, to be honest, there's not much choice. There is a fish and Chip shop at the end of the high street that doubles up as a cafe, but that's mainly 'eat in' for breakfast food. Is haddock and chips a breakfast food? One of the guys who used to work here loved the sandwich place and would order from there every day, so much so that if he didn't order, they would start moaning! The food is OK. It has typical cafe offerings, but getting your food is a nightmare! It's a hairsbreadth from "Cooking to order" Most of these places have the good sense to prepare a batch of sausages, bacon, etc., for the morning rush, not this cafe, and then they wonder why they have a shop full of frustrated workers. Fridays are the worst, never try and get anything from them on a Friday when all the factories ring through with orders for three hundred staff.
This morning, I fancied a poached egg on toast. Given that it takes so long to prepare an order, I rang (Hands-free) from the car on my way to work, probably about three miles away. This doesn't sound far, but it probably takes around eight or nine minutes to get there. As I walked in, one guy was in the shop but was leaving.
Cafe: "Yours won't be a minute; it's been busy this morning."
Busy? BUSY? There's nobody here! The guy behind the counter promptly started to cook my poached eggs; why did I even bother phoning? The whole point was to save time so I could walk in, pay, and walk out. Then the guy who had left the shop came back in.
Cafe: "There you go, mate, sausage, egg and bacon on crusty."
Oh, I get it; he can't multitask. He couldn't sling my eggs in the microwave and pop two slices of toast in the toaster while pushing a fry-up around the cooking plate; oh no. He has to cook the first order before starting mine, right? So I wait the seven or eight minutes it takes (Making a grand total of around sixteen minutes), and finally, handing over the paper bag containing my food wrapped in foil.
Cafe: There you go, mate, cooked perfectly."
Hmm? I'm not so sure.
I was right not to be so sure! When I'd settled down at my desk, I was presented with a hard-boiled, poached egg and anaemic bread that had just about been shown the heating elements inside the toaster.
