Few places bring me a deep sense of calm. The kind of calm where your mind empties, you dissolve into your surroundings and everything continues around you.
As I sit on the pavement, I feel as though I’m a piece of the furniture, like I’d always been here and will be forever more. Cars rumble by with a low hum over the cobbled stone streets. Schools of pedestrians meander by at paces of their own. Distant music eminates from the bar behind.
The coffee is bitter, creamy and dark. The water is cool, crisp and clear. They paradoxically entwine over my tastebuds.
The pork chop arrives, golden brown on a bed of tarragon jus and accompanied by pickled white grapes. The table rocks slightly as I saw into the perfectly rendered fat. I jam my foot onto the leg to hold it in place.
The jus is meaty and rich. Tarragon licks through every chew, just enough to remind you it’s there, without shouting too loudly. The grapes have retained their crunch and are laced with a suprising bite of aniseed.
Moment after moment, each flavour slices through the last.
Before long, I’m almost out of food. I’ve nearly scraped the plate dry of the jus. I break my stoicism. The remnants of the pork chop are now in my bare hands as I tear the remaining morsels of meat from the bone with my eager teeth. It would have been sacrilegious to do anything otherwise.
The bill is offered as I revel in the throes of another sensational meal. I contemplate lingering a little longer. It would have been selfish to deprive someone else the pleasure I had just experienced. And so, I vacate the space and wander off without aim, eager as always to find what lies in wait for me next.
Pockets 