Kibo …

Moka, a nice little independently run cafe in Cheltenham’s Montpellier area. Serving up a range of tempting cakes, sandwiches, paninis, coffees and teas, you’d be forgiven for thinking Moka’s a decent alternative to bland, packaged and over-priced offerings from megacorps like Starbucks and Costa. It’s the sort of place you feel good about visiting. On Valentine’s Day there was a hand-written message to customers on the door, along the lines of, “We’re closing early today so that I can get some lovin’ with my woman”. You feel like you’re in the company of friends. Cool friends, at that. I’ve been to Moka several times. It’s close to work, the cakes are superb and the coffee tastes good. Today, however, was something else. Visiting with some friends, we ordered three drinks and two pieces of cake, before joining some friends who were already there. We sat and chatted for about ten minutes before our friends’ sandwiches, ordered before we got there, arrived. Ten minutes later, after prompting, their drinks arrived. Two Americanos served up in dirty white mugs that had obviously not been washed before being re-used, and a tea in a glass cup that looked like it had been on a building site for a couple of days. Needless to say, the drinks were returned with the intent of getting replacements. However, as we’d already seen another couple of drinks sent back because the mugs were dirty only to be poured directly in to clean cups, we decided on refunds all round. The conversation was startling while one of the people we joined negotiated his refund.

“Three regular coffees, wasn’t it?” “No, it was three large coffees.” “It says ‘regular’ on the chit.” “Well, I paid for large.”

It doesn’t bode well. A lady with a baby on another table received her meal at least twenty minutes before her coffee arrived, also having to tell a staff member that she was still waiting. We’d been there for thirty minutes and there was not a sign of cake nor coffee. The two people working there were new, and had a rush on. Sorry mate, that’s not my problem. If I wanted to wait for half an hour for a coffee I’d have gone to Costa instead. At least I’d get it in a clean mug, probably chipped, but clean nonetheless. It’s not unusual for cafe and restaurant service to be shoddy. In the UK it’s the norm unless you’re in a swanky restaurant or a family run trattoria. It’s generally done by young people that don’t give a stuff and are just in it for beer tokens. It’s a far cry from the levels of service we can expect on the continent, where waiting tables is regarded as an important occupation that should be done with pride and finesse. Work gives back what you put in. Some people have become hugely successful in future careers having built on skills and training picked up in McJobs, though most just plod along in gloomy misery, clock-watching their days away. “Moka. Healthy treats … yummy things … scrummy place”, reads their business card. It wasn’t today. It was an Environmental Health inspector’s dream and a customer’s waste of time. It’s been a long time since I walked out of a place after ordering and paying for food. Is the promise of good cake worth risking another visit? At least it’s on the way to Hot Pepper Jelly, another excellent little cafe, so we can do a fly-by to see who’s on service.