The Second Chance Café in Carlton Square: A gorgeous summer romance and one of the top holiday reads for women!. Michele GormanЧитать онлайн книгу.
are just as intimidating as when I last looked at it. ‘Have you ever made coffee before?’ he asks.
Lou says, ‘Only instant. That Nescafé’s not bad.’
Pablo shudders for his whole culture. ‘I don’t mean…’ He closes his eyes in pain. ‘… freeze-dried coffee. I mean proper espresso. THIS is real coffee.’
With a dramatic wave of his hand – actually, you can assume everything Pablo does is going to be dramatic – he pulls several sacks of beans from his satchel. Looking faintly orgasmic as he inhales from the first sack, he says, ‘Smell the potential. Do you smell it?’
‘I smell it,’ Joseph says with a noisy sniff.
The beans do smell delicious, and I’m sure Pablo has a process, but I’m anxious to get to the part where coffee comes out of the little metal spout. We can’t serve our customers coffee smells.
But Pablo will not be rushed. He explains all about the proper grind, steam temperature and exactly how many grams of beans go into each shot. I’m starting to nod off when, finally, he wants us to touch the machine.
He demonstrates. ‘It is not that difficult,’ he says, grinding the beans. Then he spoons the grounds into the filter, levels it off and tamps it down. He does this all with the kind of precision that makes the space shuttle look easy to launch. And we haven’t even started on the milk yet.
We try copying him.
‘Like this?’
‘No, carina mia, like this.’
‘Like this?’
‘No, no, try again, like this.’
‘Like this?’
‘No, like this.’
‘Like this?’
‘No, like this!’
We go on (like this) for two hours. Pablo looks like he’s about to risk those puffy eyes having a little sob in the corner, but finally we manage to coax out something that tastes like espresso.
By the time Pablo leaves, we’ve made enough coffee to fuel an army marching into battle. He’s promised to return if we need him, like an over-caffeinated Nanny McPhee. And I get the feeling we will need him. I wouldn’t say the Gaggia and I are friends yet, but we’ve got a tentative understanding.
‘Well, that was fun,’ Lou says, shrugging into her sweatshirt. ‘Let’s be sure to do it again sometime.’ She pretends to stab herself in the tummy.
‘We aren’t finished yet,’ I say. ‘We have to practise. Don’t we want to be sure we can do it when we actually open?’
‘Yeah, Lou, don’t be so lazy,’ Joseph says. ‘I’m here for you, boss.’
‘You don’t have to call me boss.’
‘We can always keep some Nescafé out back,’ Lou suggests. ‘Honestly, it doesn’t taste bad.’
Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. ‘Hopefully we won’t need it. Lou, do you want to be the customer or the barista first? We’ll take turns taking the orders and making and serving the coffee. You remember how Pablo did it?’
‘I do!’ Joseph says. ‘I’ll go first. Can I? I can be first, yeah?’
Lou shrugs. ‘Knock yourself out.’
I’m intrigued and a little scared by her. She seems so self-contained, older than her seventeen years. I know she needs this job – she said so in her interview – but the question is: why? Does she just need the money like any other normal teenager, or is there something else?
I know it’s still early days, but already the differences between them are stark. Joseph’s got all the enthusiasm and Lou’s probably got all the skill. I just hope they draw even by the time we open.
Joseph goes behind the bar to wait for instructions. ‘Lou, pretend you’re a customer,’ I say, ‘and order anything we’ve practised today. Joseph, treat Lou like a real customer, not like Lou, okay?’
‘Yes, madam, what would you like?’ he says, imitating Pablo’s prayer hands.
Lou thinks for a moment. ‘A half-caff double-shot no-foam fat-free latte.’
‘Boss!’ Joseph whines. ‘Tell her she can’t do that.’
‘Sorry, Joseph. She’s the customer. Did you write it down? Lou, that’s cruel.’
‘The customer is always right,’ she says.
I go behind the bar to help Joseph, who’s starting to sweat. ‘Lou, find a table, please. Joseph will bring your order when it’s ready.’
She looks doubtfully at all the pastel before scooting into a booth. ‘Those are nice.’ She takes one of Mum’s fancy teapots off the shelf above her head, turning it over to look at the maker’s name. ‘You’ve got a lot of these.’
‘More than twenty. They’re all my mum’s. She’s got a thing for old Staffordshire teapots. There’s not really room for them at home so she’s letting me use them to decorate in here. I’m not sure about using them for the customers, though. I’d hate to break one.’
‘Why have them if you don’t use them? You may as well sell them otherwise. They’re probably worth something. Have you checked? I could look online for you.’
Alarm bells start ringing. I don’t want Lou valuing my mother’s teapot collection. What if that’s why she’s in trouble with the Old Bill? She might have been arrested for fencing fancy teapots. And I’ve plonked her right in the middle of another potential heist. ‘They’re quite fragile,’ I tell her. ‘I promised Mum we’d keep them on the shelf.’
That’s a lie, but she takes the hint and puts the teapot back. Now I’m worried they’ll get nicked.
Joseph finally gets the coffee right after the third go, but the whole order takes about ten minutes. Which is fine if we’re only planning to have one customer at a time in the café. ‘Good,’ I tell him. ‘We’ll work on that some more, okay? Go give Lou her coffee.’
Carefully he carries the cup to her table.
She sends him back for a spoon.
‘Certainly, madam, anything you want.’ He gives her the spoon with a flourish.
‘And a serviette? You’ve spilled a drop here.’
He trudges back to the bar for serviettes. ‘Anything else?’ he calls.
‘No.’
He brings the serviette.
‘Except sugar.’
‘Boss!’
‘Lou, thank you for making the important point that we’ve got to anticipate the customer’s needs. Now it’s your turn. Up here, please.’
Joseph can’t stop grinning about their role change.
‘What do you want?’ Lou asks him.
‘That’s how you ask a customer for their order?’ I say. ‘I thought you said you were used to looking after people. Maybe you could be nicer.’
‘This is me being nicer.’
‘Then pretend you’re talking to Father Christmas. Be that nice.’
‘I’ll have the same as you,’ Joseph says. ‘Half-caff no-foam fat-free latte, only don’t make the coffee too hot and I’ll have a triple shot. I’ll just be over here when it’s ready.’
He strolls to a table, brushes off the seat and sits down.
Lou’s just about to start the grind when her phone starts ringing. ‘Yeah? Okay. No, don’t. I will.’ Hanging up she says,