Let me set the scene: Bethnal Green dweller of many years from my early twenties into my mid-thirties. The Vintage Bean was a promising hopeful for a regular customer who begun to fancy somewhere between hipster and elderly haunt. For one, I kept forgetting its name. Secondly, being sufficiently off Brick Lane meant it kept itself suitably hidden from the throngs of a Sunday daytime while it was relatively new. During the week, it is so quiet that customers regularly go there to READ. In the summer, the back provided a welcome, if tiny, haven of shade. The downstairs space afforded one with the satisfaction that should they come here on a stormy evening, they wouldn't have to wait to get a seat, scanning around furtively, willing someone to catch your eye and move to free space for just you, only you. A secret among strangers. It never happens in places like Costa. Moving on... The cake displays are enchanting in that rather quaint pop-uppy way, but alas, they were to be my undoing and reveal he ugly truth to the charming coffee-sack-sofa-upholstery veneer (this isn't that comfortable to sit on FYI).
It was the day before yesterday and I had met a friend. We have babies the same age and yes, I'm one of THOSE mothers, who has the nerve to want to enjoy my maternity leave, and go out during the day to baby-friendly coffee places. We abandoned our usual trusty spot for somewhere a bit different (i.e., with a sofa) and it was I that suggested the Bean. Devoid of customers, save one young man reading and the proprietor, we, half-embarrassed, struggled our buggies inside, asking each other whether we should ask permission to enter with them. The proprietor, a rather austere lady, did not move to help us with the door, but that is possibly because the man helped us first. Upon entry, we ordered two mochas, and she asked us whether we'd like to avail of the £4 coffee and cake. My eyes roved over the cakes, and I think I can admit it now, that I was more attracted by the idea of the deal than eating, but still. I accepted, and chose a beautiful looking slice that I vaguely registered was uncovered. But a few were not under domes, it didn't necessarily mean anything (said the tupperware queen with a Filipino mama).
She presented our mochas beautifully with the slice of cake, dusting icing sugar on top. This was promising. Sip of coffee. Not mocha. Hm. Didn't really mind. Less sugar the better. Says she who is about to greedily eat a cake. One forkful of said cake later, and I made the face my baby made when tasting avocado for the first time. Not a good face. What was wrong? I placed it, carefully - definitely stale: the cake had been out too long. Well, it was better than mould, but there was no way I was going to waste precious calorie allowance intake on stale cake. I politely left it. My friend also tasted it, and confirmed the verdict, only her assessment was that it was dry as well.
This is where things got a bit confusing and subsequently ugly. About an hour later, the proprietor walked past from the outdoors (she enjoys a cigarette, this one), spotted the cake untouched and asked if it was ok. Automatically, I said yes, but then I was in the middle of talking. I conferred with friend, and she encouraged me to tell her the truth, as she did ask. Said she'd appreciate the feedback. Well, friend was wrong. As I paid, I told her as sweetly and apologetically as possible that actually, I didn't eat the cake because it had gone a bit stale. Cue apology, cue, astonishment, cue offering a different slice. On the contrary, I watched as her face turned to icy stone. 'It can't have,' she said flatly 'I only made it yesterday.' I nodded, a bit taken aback by her defensiveness. NO, not defensiveness, her edged refusal to acknowledge why I decided to order, pay for and LEAVE a whole slice of cake. Not to mention the fact that she asked. She ASKED me IF anything was 'wrong', and I told her the truth! Not an interpretation of the truth, the actual truth, and she rejected it like I was lying scum trying to sully her good cake name. I continued: 'perhaps it was because it was uncovered for a while?' This meek suggestion was met by a death stare, and I think she might have killed me if she could. 'It was covered.' I looked at the cake stand in the window. Certainly, I did not imagine that this was a stand without a dome. But I didn't dare say another word. I gathered my things into the pram with baby, and left. After leaving, my friend was reeling from the response ... especially making me pay for it and no apology. 'It's simple', I explained, 'she didn't think she was wrong, customer or no customer.' On the way home, I was angry about it, and now I'm not; I have accepted that her cake and £2 and no apology meant more to her than two potentially regular customers (with babies, we clearly weren't tourists). I don't recommend this coffee place solely on the basis of this experience - and experiences like this matter a lot! read more
