Coffee and cocktails in context.

I'm sure you'll all be fascinated and delighted to know that I recently discovered a new favourite cocktail - the Smoky Peach Margarita at The Eagle, Brighton. I first tasted it on a lovers' dinner date; we sat in the corner of the warmly lit back room, on the bouncy booth seats, and we ordered amazing Thai food but not before we'd tried this new special advertised on the fireplace blackboard beside the bar. I then returned to the pub twice within the space of two weeks with different dates, friends and crushes and something mores, only to order it again and again. 9/10, I wish I'd had even more. 

The peachy babe.

This food was beautiful.

One day a great deal more moons ago I was on my way to meet a man I'd matched with somewhere in the virtual ether outside of timelines, and I stopped for an anxious coffee by myself en route. Before long my order was under way, I'd opted for a space outside in the sunshine, I had a delicious episode of Desert Island Discs locked and loaded in my buds, and a hardback tastefully placed on the corner of the table on the very slim chance that Lauren Laverne let me down. I took photos of my oat flat white and cinnamon bun when they were brought out to me, thinking to myself 'how cute is this little life of mine?' - I wasn't long out of a relationship at this point, the one I'd thought was The One, or been led to believe as much, so I was finding joy in all the moments where the sunlight came through the curtains and I was reminded that I'm just fine on my own. It was a period of adjustment, and unlearning. 

Then out of nowhere, a seagull swooped right past my eyes in a blur and a thud, then my untouched coffee was pouring over and off the table onto the pavement, and my cinnamon bun was gone. My ear buds wobbled as I looked up to see the bird flying away over the recycling bins across the road, bun in beak, mission accomplished. My first thought was, what? The second was, why did no one warn me? Then came the third - you idiot, of course that happened, it's all your fault. I burst into tears, extracted myself from the bench behind the table and went to the door of the cafe, trembling. I simply said 'can someone help me?' in a childlike voice; 'my whole order's gone.'

I stood and sobbed for a good while as the lovely team members cleaned up the space before going inside as they advised, where I found a safe space to gather myself and mop my face and say quietly a few times, 'you're fine, this isn't your fault' - then my order was brought to me anew, another fresh spicy swirl of cinnamon and perfectly poured oat heart. That's when I smiled to myself and thought, 'I'm doing my best'. Thank you, Bread & Milk. 10/10. 

I also took photos of myself in the Snoopers Paradise booth that day. Tradition is tradition.

That morning I’d woken up in Brighton and been for a rainy coffee with my friend. I was waiting a long time as she’d apparently been arguing with her partner about their upcoming move to a bigger place – the wheres and whens were getting a bit much. I didn’t mind. In the time spent waiting, I formed situational friendships with the Gen Z baristas – an all-female team, all of them with dyed hair, excessive jewellery and tattoos, just my kind of people – saying I'd go with their recommendations when they asked me which beans blend I wanted in my long black. I bantered with my fellow customers and caffeine dependents about which seat was best placed near the heaters and away from the draughty door on this miserable, wet day. 

My friend eventually turned up, and we chatted about naughty things over our respective brews for a couple of hours. She had a lot of milk in her tea. It was probably the longest amount of time we’d spent together, fully clothed. I got my train to Dorset not long after, feeling like my cup had been filled with the warmest froth.

I'd been apprehensive to try this coffee place, as the one that lived there before it wasn't to my taste. Turns out the company is the key thing. Not the company. 

I chose to take the seagull as a good omen.

Thanks for reading. 

G. x