My favourite cafe in Bombay, in the world, the safest space my soul has ever occupied, is shutting. Because pandemic, because Colaba rent, because of all the murkiness and filth that real life brings with it.
It's the most beautiful cafe. Big windows, natural light, quirky but unobtrusive decor. A display full of the best macaroons and pastries you'll now never taste. Small tables scattered all over, everything designed to be both open and cozy.
I was delighted when I discovered that it delivered to work. Delighted, and pained, because how was I going to stop myself from ordering from there every second day? But I found a way to, I set rules - I could only order if I was having a really bad day, or if it was the first day of my period and my cramps were killing me. I could only order if I'd not spent too much money on other random nonsense. I found a way to exercise restraint, and I've never regretted anything more. I wish I'd given in every time, wish I'd bankrupted myself and ruined my waistline and drowned every passing woe and daydream into that magical hot chocolate and croissant.
It became a transportable safe space, a transformational one, when I found out that it delivered to work. I could quietly recede into myself, take my hot chocolate and croissant, or pastry, or macaroon, into a corner of the pantry, put on my noise cancelling headphones and open up a book and just...be. Even if I couldn't, even if I was piled with work and chained to my desk, everything was okay if I just had a box with that beautiful logo by my side. I cut up a piece of the design on the box and pinned it up to my desk. I thought I was being foolish, given how routinely I ordered from there, but it felt wrong to just throw away such beautiful boxes. I've never been so glad to have been foolish.
I don't know if the food had healing qualities, if it was made with the love my mother always said was the ingredient that really elevates food, or if it's just that I connected it to safety and warmth and deliverance in my mind, but every sip rejuvenated me, every bite allowed me to go on a little bit more. It was therapy in a cup.
Not everyone loved it. I dragged everyone I could over there, every visitor from out of town, every friend, flatmate and friendly acquaintance. Every date was strictly kept away from it, because what if it was a bad one, and a boy tainted my safest space? Everyone liked it, but no one seemed as taken in as I was. Some recommended other, better cafes to me. And I went to them, I've been to so many of the prettiest, quirkiest, quaint-est, Sam-perfect outlets out there and...nothing else has ever matched up. Many have been indisputably nice, but they were just restaurants and cafes, just food cooked by someone else on a plate before you. Le15 was...something else.
And now it won't be.
~Sam
It's the most beautiful cafe. Big windows, natural light, quirky but unobtrusive decor. A display full of the best macaroons and pastries you'll now never taste. Small tables scattered all over, everything designed to be both open and cozy.
I was delighted when I discovered that it delivered to work. Delighted, and pained, because how was I going to stop myself from ordering from there every second day? But I found a way to, I set rules - I could only order if I was having a really bad day, or if it was the first day of my period and my cramps were killing me. I could only order if I'd not spent too much money on other random nonsense. I found a way to exercise restraint, and I've never regretted anything more. I wish I'd given in every time, wish I'd bankrupted myself and ruined my waistline and drowned every passing woe and daydream into that magical hot chocolate and croissant.
It became a transportable safe space, a transformational one, when I found out that it delivered to work. I could quietly recede into myself, take my hot chocolate and croissant, or pastry, or macaroon, into a corner of the pantry, put on my noise cancelling headphones and open up a book and just...be. Even if I couldn't, even if I was piled with work and chained to my desk, everything was okay if I just had a box with that beautiful logo by my side. I cut up a piece of the design on the box and pinned it up to my desk. I thought I was being foolish, given how routinely I ordered from there, but it felt wrong to just throw away such beautiful boxes. I've never been so glad to have been foolish.
I don't know if the food had healing qualities, if it was made with the love my mother always said was the ingredient that really elevates food, or if it's just that I connected it to safety and warmth and deliverance in my mind, but every sip rejuvenated me, every bite allowed me to go on a little bit more. It was therapy in a cup.
Not everyone loved it. I dragged everyone I could over there, every visitor from out of town, every friend, flatmate and friendly acquaintance. Every date was strictly kept away from it, because what if it was a bad one, and a boy tainted my safest space? Everyone liked it, but no one seemed as taken in as I was. Some recommended other, better cafes to me. And I went to them, I've been to so many of the prettiest, quirkiest, quaint-est, Sam-perfect outlets out there and...nothing else has ever matched up. Many have been indisputably nice, but they were just restaurants and cafes, just food cooked by someone else on a plate before you. Le15 was...something else.
And now it won't be.
~Sam
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