The more eagle-eyed among you may have noticed this in Esquire. Or this on Amazon. And it's true. This strange little site has morphed into a strange little book. Due out the middle of Octboer and already being discounted by Amazon. Which may not bode well.
(I should point out that the synopsis on Amazon bears little relation to what's actually in the book - it's publishing blurb which I'd never seen before. Oh well.
I should also point out that the book on Amazon lists, and the cover shot above shows, my name as Russell Davies - which is unfortunate because there's another Russell Davies who's written more and better books than me and there may be some confusion. When the book comes out it'll actually be by Russell M. Davies. Is that less confusing? Probably not.)
Anyway, I'm currently persuading the publishers to let me publish the whole thing on here under a Creative Commons licence. But in the meantime I thought I'd bung up some of the stuff I wrote that didn't make it into the finished product.
Here's the first bit:
What’s that in your tines?
A good ebcb experience is about much more than food. It involves all thirteen of our senses. So here’s a comprehensive list of all the best sensory bits of a good café experience.
Top Ten Cafe Sounds
1. The distant sound of drilling. There’s nothing like the sense that hard manual labour is happening somewhere else to make you appreciate sitting on your arse, enjoying a fry-up.
2. Frying-up. Obviously.
3. That terrifying scream of steam you sometimes get from the espresso machine – like The Flying Scotsman was trying to excrete all its awesome twentieth century power into a tiny Italian cup.
4. A badly tuned radio. Ideally something nostalgic and poppy. (Though the New Piccadilly always used to put The Archers on which was a splendid idea.)
5. The brushy scrunch of man-made fibres on formica. Nylon anoraks, high-viz jackets, messenger bags, nothing natural here.
6. The quite chatter of traffic wardens comparing mornings. (A traffic warden is a sign of a great café. They know the best places.)
7. The repeated flushing of a loo. Someone’s in the basement trying to get the toilet to clear. He’s pulling the lever again and again, but never has the patience to let the cistern refill properly and so never achieves sufficient thrust. We’ve all been there.
8. The headsplitting scrape of metal chair on tiled floor as a larger gentleman tries to find a comfortable position abutting his butty.
9. That really annoying Nokia ring. The one everyone has. So it’s always accompanied by the rustle of pockets being investigated and bags being unzipped.
10. The innocent laughter of tiny children. Outside. Not bothering you in here.
Top Ten café smells
1. Bacon. Obviously.
2. Coffee. Equally obviously.
3. Ammonia. Less obvious, but it suggests that someone’s done some cleaning at some point. Which is good.
4. Mouldy foam seat stuffing.
5. A moist Daily Express
6. Thai food wafting from the restaurant next door.
7. That slightly disturbing chemical smell you associate with the killing of insects on an industrial scale.
8. That manly mix of day-old beer-breath, cheap aftershave and nicotine chewing gum.
9. A suggestion of urine from the loos – or is that the kidneys?
10. Cigarette smoke – endlessly recirculated by a creaky old fan.
Top Ten Cafe textures and feelings
1. Dried egg between the tines of your fork.
2. The slight give of an orange plastic seat accommodating the contours of your bottom
3. The crunch of sugar under your tea spoon, especially those lumps you find in the sugar bowl clumped together with drops of tea.
4. The smooth, smooth rub of a chair-arm burnished by decades of sleeves.
5. The bundled-up comfort of eating your food with your big outside coat on. (When will they turn the heater’s on?)
6. That glorious equilibrium point where your chair’s tipped back perfectly.
7. Squeezing the farty ketchup out of a large plastic tomato.
8. A dribble of vinegar on your fingers, slightly burning the exposed skin around your cuticles.
9. The smoothness of a formica table top, with the little cracks and blemishes that your fingers find and pick away at without you noticing.
10. The thin, thin yellowy paper your order gets written on.
