Karen's sister and her husband from Toulouse wanted an authentic local breakfast. Stewed tomatoes, bacon,fried eggs and mushrooms all sitting on top of a fried slice (of bread). Pierre concluded that the role of the slice was to absorb the lion's share of grease and that it should not itself be consumed.
Food aside, a 3 year-old across the restaurant kneeled on the back of his plastic bench seat scoping out Havana. Kids have radars for each other when in the adult world.
"Look at that boy's eyes" our daughter exclaimed. We had fed the girl before coming out and conceded to let her wonder the floor of the cafe (pron. caff). She headed towards the young lad and stopped, distracted by some detail which would only distract a 2 year-old.
The boy moved quickly off seat and ran up behind Havana grabbing her and planting a sweet one squarley on her cheek. Stunned, she ran back to us. Some moments later he returned with a lollipop, handing it to her and returning to his seat. This appeared to be a turning point in their relationship and Havana was once again walking in his direction.
Caught off guard by a second kiss, once more she returned to her corner at the bell.
Onur is the son of the Turkish family that ran this authentic british breakfast cafe. This time the 3 year-old was sent over by his dad to brush some lost egg into a dustpan and some moments later to bus a dish or two. Onur seemed both hardworking and unencumbered by male-emotional restraint. A healthy combination for overtures to a young girl.
Finally, a kiss was accepted over the back of one plastic bench seat backed up to another.
As we stood on the windy train platform some minutes later, Havana edged in close to me and asked me, "where'd my buddy go?" The hard cold truth is that she will probably never see Onur again.
