I’m a little nervous right now. I was just recently kicked out of a restaurant for the very first time. Apparently some people don’t take too kindly to having scum like me taking pictures of their food and their restaurants. Oh well. I suppose the soul-stealing qualities of cameras are still feared by many food vendors. I guess I really should’ve seen something like this coming, but honestly given the amount of people with smart phones taking pictures of food, I didn’t think that it was such a big deal. Chalk it up to experience. Soul-stealing without consent isn’t safe. Let that be a lesson to all of you.
So yeah, I am quite nervous right now as I walk into this café. I’m really hoping that the good folks at this place will be better sports when it comes to soul-stealing.
A slight pause. I finally pull myself through the door. The place is nice. Dark tiles line the floor. Big windows offer a panoramic view to my right. Black marble tables line the room with comfy leather chairs standing by their sides. The Pastry display case is to my left, the cash register in front. Hiding behind counter, you can catch the steel glint of an Espresso machine.
“I wince each time I click the button, half-expecting to get thrown out of the place again. Foodie PTSD is catching up with me.”
I place my order. A Soy Caramel Macchiato and a Chocolate Waffle with Whip Cream on the side. I pay the cashier, and wait for the order. I fumble around anxiously with my camera in my pocket. This is unnerving. I’m suffering from Foodie Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (FPTSD). Who would’ve thought getting thrown out of a restaurant would’ve given me such battle scars?
My hostess is giving me a blank stare.
Now a blanker stare.
“…take pictures? I’m…a blogger. For food.”
I feel like a twelve year old asking out a girl for the first time. Some things never change I guess.
She gives me an awkward okay, followed with a forced smile. Yup. Some things really don’t change at all.
I finally reveal my camera, stumble around awkwardly trying to look professional, and start snapping photos. I wince each time I click the button, half-expecting to get thrown out of the place again. Foodie PTSD is catching up with me.
I’m finally done clicking away and start to appreciate the orange diamonds dancing on my Caramel Macchiato. Beautiful. A sip reveals the foam to be of good quality; thick enough to provide a pleasing texture to the tongue, smooth enough to transition between foam to liquid without interruption, and uniform. No stray bubbles. An inferior barista makes their drinks feel like microwaved sugary Coffee-Milk with bubbles on top. Definitely not the case here. I’m enjoying it.
The Chocolate Waffle looks good and provides a nice Mocha-infused experience. With Whip Cream on top, and bits of Chocolate Flakes sprinkled around, it makes for a satisfying snack. My only concern; I wish they served it warm. It was a little cold for my tastes.
The food finally relaxes me, and I think most of the symptoms of Foodie PTSD are starting to wear off. I lean back, and enjoy the rainy day the way all rainy days should be enjoyed; inside, with a cup of great Coffee, a snack, and a newspaper in hand.
I fell off the horse a little while ago. I think I’m back on again.