Page 7 of Autumn at the Oak Leaf Café
Madeline had madecountless cups of coffee for herself at home over the years, even some more exotic variations involving added ingredients and toppings, but when required to make one for a total stranger, it suddenly became the hardest thing in the world.
‘So, how much milk should I put in?’
‘Enough to make it taste good.’
‘How much is that?’
‘Use your judgement, dear. And failing that, use one of the customers as a test bunny. But never the old ladies. They’re the connoisseurs. Get it wrong, and you’ll be slandered in Women’s Institute meetings all over Brentwell. With the old ladies, always ask. Makes them feel important. If you’re looking for a tester, pick an office type, particularly one with sweat under the arms.’
‘That’s gross.’
Angela grinned. ‘It means he’s tired. You could stir a spoonful of caffeine into a glass of water and he’d gratefully drink it, but if you prepare him something good, you’ll see his eyes light up. It’s like you’ve just plugged them into the mains.’
‘Okay, guys with sweat under the arms.’
‘Or mothers with children. Always add an extra half a spoonful of sugar. They usually need the energy.’
‘Right, got it.’
‘Okay, next thing. We need to get those swirly patterns in the cream down.’
‘How do you do those?’
‘Oh, it’s easy. Takes a bit of practice. The customers love it, though. Especially if you come up with a few unique designs. Mine especially like the squirrel. If you screw it up and it turns out just a splodge, put a dot of chocolate powder at one end and tell them it’s a hedgehog.’ Angela tapped her nose with a finger. ‘Insider secret.’
‘I never realised so much thought went into running a coffee shop.’
Angela’s smile dropped. ‘The problem is, that for most these days, it doesn’t. All these chain places popping up everywhere, relying on famous brand names to sell their rubbish generic coffee, they’re the scourge of our existence. Us independents can’t compete with their prices or their product range, or even their posh, imported stools and chairs. What we have to offer our customers is a personal touch. People want to feel human.’
‘That’s sad. I mean, about the chain places.’
Angela smiled again. ‘The revolution has begun, don’t you worry. Thanks to that big messy thing on every computer and phone in the land, the little people are rising up to retake the world from the corporates. There are more boutique coffee shops, specialist retailers, and independent producers than ever before. But it’s taking time, because it went really far down before it started to come back up. I remember when Brentwell’s centre was a hive of shoppers every Saturday morning, going from shop to shop. Then they built two massive supermarkets, one at each end of town, and the centre was gutted. For years, all you could see were charity shops and estate agents. Things are changing now, but we’re only at the beginning of the revolution.’
‘I imagine it’s pretty stressful being a revolutionary,’ Madeline said.
Angela thumped a fist into her palm. ‘And that’s why we need more coffee,’ she said. ‘More, more, more!’ She gave a little shake of her head and grinned. Then, at a tinkle of the bell over the door, her eyes widened. ‘Ah ha. Customers. Are you ready?’
‘No.’
‘Be brave. It’s just coffee.’
In the afternoon, they started on the pies. Angela had a couple of dozen recipes for various seasonal specialities, most scrawled on crumpled pieces of paper that to Madeline were barely legible.
‘So long as you master the basics,’ Angela said. ‘That’s all that counts. The amount of seasoning, the length of time to bake it, the optimum time to let it stand before serving … the rest is a world of possibilities.’ She spread her arms as though to emphasise her point. ‘The people who come here aren’t looking for something generic that tastes the same day in, day out. Remind me what they’re looking for?’
‘The personal touch.’
Angela clicked her fingers. ‘Ta da! Give them the personal touch, a smile, and a bit of conversation if they need it, and they’ll be back again. I guarantee it. Don’t overdo it, though. Some people come for company, some people are good on their own. You’ll learn to spot them. If they keep glancing up, fidgeting, shifting their chair around, they’re waiting for something, usually a bit of attention. Wander over and have a word. If they turn their chair to the window and pull out a book or—god forbid—a smartphone, leave them to it. They’re happy in their solitude or their devices.’
‘It must take years to figure out all this.’
‘Less time than you’d think. You just need to find a tuning that connects you to other people. Then, voila! You have a vibrant and successful café full of happy, returning customers.’ Angela lifted a finger. ‘But remember, while they’re customers, they’re still just people. Sure, you’ll get a few weirdos—that’s inevitable—but if you find someone you like, or—’ She narrowed her eyes and smiled, ‘—even someone youlove, slide right in there.’ Angela made a grand sweeping gesture with her hand, like an ice-skater preparing to pirouette.
‘I’ll try to remember that.’
Angela smiled. ‘You’ll do great.’
For the next three days, Angela took Madeline through all the main points for running a café.
