The Enchanted Hole in The Wall

Of all the ‘Hole in the Wall’ cafe’s that I’ve visited, I’m quite sure that none of them have been literal holes in walls. Maybe a cavity. A cavernous opening. A mouth even. No, not a mouth. 

There’s been no little portholes like on a ship, or letterbox slots in London doors, or food tray openings in prison cells, or the round window in Playschool. No little apertures in a building’s facade which provides just a peek into the magical workshop that belies the surface. No cracks in the barricade that mystifies you by the light which pours out like sun rays through clouds.

When I think of a ‘Hole in the Wall’ cafe I imagine, rather hope for, a place like the following. After approaching the hidden hole in the wall and ordering (though some esoteric means), I hear tinkering, water trickling, the trinkle of little bells, the hammer on an anvil, flashes of light and heat that toasts my cheek almost to the point of singeing, before it cools with exhilarating relief. I imagine behind the chink in the wall – a menagerie (under consensual employment with fair wages and opportunities for career development), working in harmonious artifice amidst the pulleys and spokes and furnaces. And after a bated breath, a coffee is produced, a golden hued elixir, budding delicate floral aromas and satin caramel textures. I float away content, on a rug woven by enchanted silkworms with the secrets of the magi’s of old.

Instead I’ve been to many ‘Shop where the bench and espresso machine are flush with the Wall’ cafe’s. I can clearly see zero elephants by steaming cauldrons or flamingos billowing the fire with their wings, only regular baristas doing regular barista things. But when I get that cup of golden elixir – well, maybe those regular baristas were really those legendary alchemists after all, just masked behind their black shirts.