Great expectations for Café Serendipity…

serendipity |ˌserənˈdipitē| // noun // the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

N and P like to think that Fika Forever is a real-life example of serendipitous events culminating in the creation of something wonderful (ahem). They both consider Fika Forever to be a somewhat personal space in which they are free to rant and rave about Cork’s café culture. N and P also acknowledge that your reading of this article is perhaps somewhat less than serendipitous and would like to apologise for their Twitter hustling, but they shan’t be stopping that any time soon…. So, with their hopes and expectations set high, the duo was understandably apprehensive on their recent visit to Café Serendipity on Cork’s Western Road.

Serendipity is located close enough to UCC’s main campus not to fall foul of even the laziest student’s travels; yet, it is just far enough to feel as though, for the duration of your fika session, you’ve managed to escape the glares of similarly stressed students in the reading rooms and authoritative librarians whose sole function seems to be reminding patrons that their phones can only be used in the other stairwell.

As is usual for the duo, deciding where to sit perhaps proved the most troublesome aspect of the visit. Their ‘friendly’ quarrel was nothing new, but when viewed from the staff’s perspective you’d swear P had just ‘misplaced’ N’s first born. N, ever the veggie loving, tree hugging, organic enthusiast, is a major fan of al fresco dining no matter the weather and so advocated they brave Cork’s, somewhat hormonal of late, weather. P, who is just plain stubborn, preferred the comfort of the indoors and it was he who prevailed. The Queen of Green agreed with P (albeit reluctantly) that one couldn’t exactly marvel at Serendipity’s outdoor seating when the splendid sights, sounds and smells of the Western Road are all one can expect. P: 1, N: 0.

N and P found the décor to be pleasant, even if it did lean heavily on the ‘homely’ side (read: twee). The cosy couches, comfy chairs and earthen fireplace find themselves strangely juxtaposed with the almighty chandeliers hung above the counter and the numerous embroidered cushions that adorn the exposed beams. N hypothesised that the chandeliers were placed specifically to provide ‘matron’ (Serendipity’s proprietress) with flattering light, making her look more stUnNahhh-like as she surveyed her restaurant from behind the counter. Eventually settled N and P turned to the Microsoft Word 1998-esque menus provided. A simple task, one would think, but it somehow managed to further highlight the duo’s difference of approach. N likes to take her time, meticulously consider the menu and only after this has been done can she come to her generally well-reasoned decision. P, on the other hand, is one of those whose perusal of a menu sounds more like an overexcited preteen: ‘ooooh….. aaaaaah……. I’m getting this…. no wait, this…. no, wait, definitely this’.

Eventually P chose the half seafood chowder/half sandwich (€9.00) and N, after being told by P that she wasn’t allowed get the sandwich she initially ordered, ‘decided’ (read: was told) to opt for the roasted red pepper and feta quiche (€7.50). The friendly waitress made no attempt at hiding her half-horrified, half-bemused expression, however banter ensued when P decided, rather than look like a misogynistic oddball, to explain N and P’s reason for being there in the first place. On foot of this rather friendly conversation, N and P received an ever-so-slightly worrying, yet sincere assurance that the staff would not be killed, hurt or maimed on foot of a less-than-positive review. Something to put their minds at ease, then…

Upon the food’s arrival at the table, both agreed that the dishes certainly looked good. While N and P are not professional food critics (yet), and tend to concern themselves more with reviewing the experience as a whole, it ain’t fika without food and beverages. It follows, then, that the food forms a significant part of each review and provides the greatest influence in their evaluation. P ended up highly confused after his seafood chowder, the highlight of which was certainly the variety of fish and shellfish present. What P really wasn’t too keen on, however, was the soup-y element of the chowder; it really was as if matron had accidentally mixed quantities of custard, milk and hollandaise and low-and-behold Serendipity’s take on chowder was born. All very well to have a distinctive approach, save for when it tastes rather awful. His red pepper, olive and goat’s cheese sandwich (served on a choice of bread) didn’t really redeem matters, the balsamic vinegar proved to be rather overpowering and rather unnecessary. Something that could be said in Serendipity’s favour is that the combo’s portion size was perfect and neatly presented. Looks, however, proved to be sadly deceptive. Adding to their lunchtime woes, N’s quiche proved to be pretty standard as quiches go. While red peppers were definitely present, neither N nor P could taste even the slightest trace of feta. Controversially the quiche appeared to be topped with melted cheddar, which really wasn’t what it said on the tin (i.e. the specials board). The cheddar also served an odd purpose, as somehow the pair couldn’t shake the feeling that it was there to stop the quiche from falling apart when sliced, rather than to provide any sort of enjoyment. For what little it’s worth, the side salad did prove to be more than a mere afterthought and was enjoyed by the lettuce-loving vegetarian.

Going for ‘fika’ and not having a caffeinated beverage and something sweet could really prove to be self-defeating, perhaps to the point where the outing may not fulfil the requirements of fika (it’s in the Swedish constitution, we swear). With this in mind, N and P naturally decided to finish the meal with tea and cake. And, for Serendipity’s sake, you’ll be glad they did as it proved significantly better than the savoury fare. N opted for a carrot cake muffin (€2.50) while P’s decision was made for him as soon as he heard they served something called ‘The Lazy Housewife’ – a poppy seed sponge sufficiently smothered in chocolate icing (€2.50).

Dessert was most definitely the highlight of the day’s outing, so it was unfortunate that the pair found themselves so rushed. Undeterred by their time constraints, the cakes were ravaged as if diabetes and obesity were mere figments of some public healthcare worker’s imagination. Given her deep love for cream cheese icing, N thoroughly enjoyed her carrot cake muffin, although the icing was a little too sweet for P’s liking (usually one would point out that he’s probably sweet enough as he is, but he’s really not – trust us). The ‘Lazy Housewife’ had provided P with enjoyment before any of it passed his lips, yet it did taste rather delicious. On a slightly more worrying note, however, P did notice that the ‘Lazy Housewife’ had a rather ‘crunchy bottom’. Neither N nor P could figure out whether this was due to her age, or whether this was a particular feature of the cake (neither having previously encountered a Lazy Housewife). Either way, P wasn’t too put off by his slightly disturbing analogy. 

N and P left Serendipity with a generally positive impression of this new(ish) café. Both were pleased to see a new fika spot doing so well with not a table to be had after 1pm on their visit (which was a Thursday afternoon). There was a nice buzz about the place, a warm and welcoming interior and friendly (if preoccupied) staff. However, the pair were less than impressed by its savoury wares. Couple this with the fact that the menu spanned over four pages, encompassing everything from pancakes and eggs benedict to steak sandwiches, salads and soups and you begin to see where ambition can lead to a pleasant yet unremarkable dining experience. Serendipity is a fairly new establishment, perhaps yet to find its strengths, but sadly its weaknesses were rather more pronounced. The pair couldn’t help but feel that Serendipity, in trying to cater for every unanticipated eventuality, favour overpromising and under delivering. Having regard to the whole experience, N and P leave you with…

HOT FF TIP #3: Definitely check this place out if you’re nearby or passing, as it has a lot to offer, especially if it’s traditional tea and cake fika you’re after. However, N and P really could never recommend making the ten minute ‘trek’ from the city centre. If you find yourself famished around UCC’s main campus and its environs, then focus primarily on the fika and you’ll be sure to have a serendipitous time. 

Bullshit, Books & Beans in The Bookshelf…

N and P like to be ahead of the posse. They like to know about the new, hip ‘n’ cool places and, now that they have an uber-successful blog, it’s even more important for them to be on top of such things. With that (sort of) in mind, they headed to The Bookshelf Coffee House on Pembroke Street.

Being the sUCCessful scholars that they are, N and P feel most at home in a library. Take UCC’s Boole Library, where the duo has recently been living (rent-free!) surrounded by books, knowledge, MacBooks and more Hollister per square metre than anywhere else on planet earth. What better way to reconnect with the world beyond UCC’s front gate then to head for Cork’s Old Library on Pembroke St., or The Bookshelf as it is now known. The Bookshelf has been on N and P’s proverbial ‘to-do list’ since Fika Forever’s inception, so expectations were high for this quaint coffee spot. P likened the atmosphere to a combination of a hotel foyer and cosy sitting room, yet one which retains that café vibe with its commanding counter and plentiful seating arrangements. A little brass plaque proudly proclaims the top corner of the café to be the ‘Bullshit Corner’ and so, naturally enough, N and P felt compelled to sit there.

After taking in their surrounds for a sufficient length of time, N initiated proceedings by going to the counter where she opted for the day’s soup: leek and potato (€4.50). In an ever-so-slightly hypocritical move (in relation to last week’s affair), P also opted for the soup, so it’s his fault that this review is silent on the quality of The Bookshelf’s more substantial offerings. N found the soup to be quite tasty once seasoned accordingly, and the brown scone provided proved to be the perfect accompaniment. P, however, thought the soup remarkably bland for such an outwardly enticing fika spot. Neither earthy from the leeks, nor comforting from the potatoes, P felt the soup’s appearance to be greatly let down by its substance. It’s a pity then that, while physically warmed, P found himself gastronomically less so.

Despite the less than favourable start, The Bookshelf identifies primarily as a ‘coffee house’, taking pride in the fact they stock and serve Co. Limerick’s award winning ‘Pónaire’ coffee beans. It is only fitting then that, having appreciated the homely décor fulfilling of the ‘house’ requirements, the duo decided it was high time they give the coffee a chance. Decidedly clear that the coffee is what N and P were most interested in, one can imagine P’s incredulity when N proudly returned from the counter and announced she had ‘dealt with it’ (verb // ‘deal with it’ // to order, to decide what to have in a restaurant or café) by opting for tea. Yes, plain tea; the kind of tea that requires about as much effort to make as those ‘Hallowe’en costumes’ parsimonious (read: unloving) parents make from bin liners and duck tape. A great start, then. P, in sticking to their original pact, opted for a latte and was thrilled for having done so. The coffee was, without doubt, the best he’d had in recent memory. To accompany the hot drinks, N and P opted to share a slice of The Bookshelf’s take on chocolate and amaretti cake as the soup had been rather filling (as much as this will surprise one particular reader, the soup had not been filling enough to warrant the pair resorting to sharing one bowl). The cake was simply delicious, providing the pair with the perfect balance of a crisp exterior and gooey interior. P rather gracelessly enthused that if you tried some cake followed by some coffee in quick succession the resulting taste was rather redolent of a Terry’s chocolate orange (aaaaaaalrighty then). From the above outline it should be clear that, as rarely as this tends to happen, both N and P agree that it is ‘traditional fika’ that makes The Bookshelf special.

One thing N and P would have appreciated, particularly on a first visit to a café or restaurant, is some sort of written menu. If you’re like P and already fearful of the dreaded counter-style approach to ordering then having a menu verbally relayed is decidedly distressing, leaving little time for thought before being faced with the dreaded ‘So, have you made up your mind?’ (Note: the apparent onset of stage-fright when ordering may or may not have contributed to P’s earlier mishap in opting to follow N’s lead). N found herself reluctant in enquiring into The Bookshelf’s more substantial offerings purely because there was no guide in the form of a pre-prepared menu. Upon summoning the required courage (ahem), N found the deli-style ‘one meat, two salads’ approach a little lacklustre and out of place. While there is a scantly detailed blackboard outside the café, the pair would have appreciated an actual menu inside, even one on a board behind the counter. On the other hand, the uncomplicated coffee choices, while delicious, are rather unjustifiably awarded a menu board all to themselves. This may just be one pair’s take on how best to ‘deal with it’ when venturing somewhere for the first time, so make of this what you will.

The Bookshelf seems to attract a good mix of clientele, and there’s still a pleasant feeling that everyone’s new here. The duo eagerly embraced, and in fact contributed to, the ‘I’m-so-impressive-for-having-discovered-this-place’ vibe. The Bookshelf, like its name and surrounds suggest, is definitely somewhere to check out if you like your cafés quaint, your clientele quirky and your order offbeat. The eclectic furniture, high ceilings, homely colour scheme and antique accessories combine to create a perfect fika destination. N and P could easily imagine themselves chatting away here for hours, subjecting the Bullshit Corner to its weekly allowance of bullshit in a single afternoon. Despite its outwardly open appearance, The Bookshelf even manages to cater for the most sociopathic amongst us with its upstairs hideaway accessed by a narrow stairs – somewhere you can truly escape it all for an hour or so. And, this leads us to another…

HOT FF TIP #3 – Both N and P love the idea of cafés providing people with a place to ‘escape from it all’, whether ‘it all’ is your job, your kids or even your significant other…With that in mind if it’s somewhere to enjoy a coffee unperturbed, seated upstairs in The Bookshelf with some coffee and cake is about as close to heaven as one can find on Pembroke St.

All things considered, N and P left The Bookshelf suitably impressed. Its homely aesthetic, quality coffees and comfortable character help it to stand out from your run of the mill cafés and it’s sure to become firm favourite among Cork’s fika-lovers. So, with all of the above in mind, N and P would advise you to get in there ASAP and fika away to your heart’s content……

Love, peace and speciality teas <3 

A Controversial Continuation in The Quay Co-Op…

N and P are no strangers to controversy. In fact, some may say they live for it; however, that is most certainly a more monumental(ly mind-numbing) discussion best saved for someplace else on this fair interweb. It is with this in mind that we come to Fika Forever’s second review, that of Cork’s Quay Co-op.*

As students, N and P find themselves perpetually hungry. This type of hunger isn’t your hunger of the academic variety; we’re talking feed-me-until-I-find-breathing-difficult hungry. It perhaps, then, comes as no surprise that N and P’s second outing as the ‘dynamic duo’ (ahem) behind Fika Forever actually occurred on the same day as their first. And so, in a giant up yours to Mother’s Nature’s earlier unfriendliness, N and P headed for Cork’s Quay Co-op.

The Quay Co-op, for the unenlightened amongst us, is situated at a distance from Cork city centre (aka Penneys of Patrick’s Street) just great enough to relegate it to the realm of cafés that popular opinion considers to be ‘out of the way’. In short, if your standard getup consists of a variation on the Ugg boots, Premiership soccer jersey and fake tan look (and that’s just the men), then N and P suggest sticking to somewhere failternative (defn. trying, but failing, to be alternative) like the Farmgate.

Being the hip-lifestyle-leading self-professed queen of everything alternative that she is, N possessed an already sizeable opinion (strange for her, she swears….) of the Quay Co-op. Conversely, P was like a vegetarian child in a gelatin-free sweet shop as he wandered around, discovering new treasures each time he turned a corner. Elderflower cordial! Posh chocolate! Japanese things! Veggie burgers! Swedish biscuits! Stroopwaffels (as experts of all things Dutch, N and P assure Fika Forever that it is pronounced with the emphasis on the non-existent half dozen ks there in the middle)! Thus, their brief shopping spree and mishap at the cash desk over with, N and P found themselves once again ready to get their fika on. (As an aside, we here at Fika Forever remain doubtful P will ever possess the €2,000 cash the cashier claimed to have seen, but await the outcome of the Garda investigation with interest).

While N and P readily admit to being dickheads, they’re not so bad as to judge the décor of a fika spot over the wares on offer, but for the sake of coherency this review will deal with the interior aesthetic first. It’s actually rather apt, when you think about it, as both N and P consider fika to be more than just having a coffee or a bite to eat - fika encompasses the entire experience (an opinion further evidencing their dickheadedness). The pretentiousness of that last sentence serves as a nice contrast to the unpretentious surroundings of the Quay Co-op itself. According to P the furniture was very ‘authentic’, whatever that means. Most of the tables seat between two and four people, which is potentially controversial for fika en masse. The three different ‘rooms’ of the restaurant add to its quirkiness, with N and P particularly liking the large vintage mirror that dominated the ‘room’ they chose (s0 th3y cOu!d ch£cK th€iR hAiR iN dA miRrOr b4 tAkiN’ dA b3b0 sTunNaHhh pic$ x0x0), as well as the minimalist lighting and giant windows. 

Service in Quay Co-op is of the ‘every man, woman and child for themselves’ variety, but in practice this works rather well. N and P can’t imagine the staff here, while friendly, becoming overly concerned by deep debate, matrimonial meltdown or wailing whippersnappers - consistent with the slow food movement they seemingly stand for, then. However, the self-service setup coupled with the lack of menus on the tables and N’s hunger (read: impatience) did result in an upsetting mishap; she ordered the very same dish as P had, moments earlier (quite the departure by N, usually independent and non-conformist <- lol). Good thing P ordered the last two servings of his sides then, somewhat negating N’s slip. The offending yet enticing dish came in the form of a chickpea burger, served with satay sauce and two side salads of your choosing (€6.95). However, as previously mentioned, P did manage to secure the final serving of both the noodle and mixed leaf salads, leaving N to enjoy her choices of couscous and coleslaw.

While neither P nor N enjoyed a very long perusal of the menu before the awkward ‘who’s next?’ question beckoned, they both agreed that it encompassed a refreshing variety; quiches, pies, salads, burgers, sandwiches, roasts and one-pot dishes all happily co-exist and vie for your attention. Reasonably priced and welcomingly fresh, the food at Quay Co-op successfully manages to distinguish itself as a truly great fika spot in a market sadly, but increasingly, fixated with cut-rate convenience. With the majority of its mains sitting within a comfortable distance of a tenner, Quay Co-op is certainly within reach of both paysans (P) and those of us fortunate enough to have a few ducats to spare in the credit union (N).

In fact, N and P were so impressed with the value to be found in the Quay Co-op they’d nearly have live-tweeted it if it weren’t for the fact that P’s iPhone was busy snapping the food and restaurant from each of the three main photography angles, namely the Facebook angle, the Myspace angle, and the Twitter angle. Despite the Quay Co-op catering pretty exclusively to the vegetarian movement (a group to which N belongs), it is by no means unwelcoming to those of us fond of some cooked animal flesh (a group to which P – for now - belongs). As N has been vegetarian for a while now, and P, being the pious Catholic he is, had given up eating dead animals for Lent, both agreed that the variety on offer could stretch to cover the appetites of the most demanding fika enthusiast, irrespective of whether they identify as omnivore, veggie or just plain picky.

N and P enjoyed their food immensely, however, they would have appreciated larger plates as the salads and burgers weren’t able to give each other much personal space. N in particular felt she was intruding on an unusually tight culinary ménage-à-trois (whatever that means). As they tasted each other’s salads a thought struck them, partly due to the example being set by the nearby Italian posse…
 

HOT FF TIP #2: Whether eating in the Quay Co-Op with a friend, spouse, partner or favourite in-law (ahem) you should each choose your main and then share an array of accompaniments (salads, breads, dressings, dips etc.). Veggies (decide for yourself whether this means the plants or the people) are made for sharing, after all, and sharing is friendly, so, if possible, share everything! Except your beverage, because that’s just disgusting. By following this tip, we here at Fika Forever can almost-but-not-quite guarantee you the friendliest fika of your life, à la Jesus breaking the bread at the Last Supper or something equally epic.

Speaking of Jesus, some folk may find Quay Co-Op patrons way too alt, hip or cool to handle. In fact one patron actually may have thought he was the Lord reincarnate, having his dreadlocks fashioned into a fetching (but borderline blasphemous) crown, remnant of the crown of thorns from Jesus’ Spring/Summer 36 AD collection.

After clearing their plates, N and P turned their minds to dessert. Having learned their lesson in sharing, courtesy of the Italians opposite, N and P shared two desserts; an American-style chocolate fudge brownie and a dark chocolate and clementine pound cake. Both were equally delicious; the brownie being deliciously dark, while the pound cake was on the right side of moist. A selection of teas and coffees, fundamental for any fika spot, was also available. P was suitably impressed that, despite the staff not having previously realised, the Quay Co-op did indeed serve White Tea. 

The Quay Co-Op is a perfect place for a relaxing dinner, a reasonably priced lunch or long catch-up chats with a friend (all of the above demonstrating some aspect of fika). The food caters to most and, thankfully, is also available to take away; friendly office fika anyone? One can even purchase most of the art that adorns the walls if you’re after a serious souvenir. Although, if you’ve found yourself bidding on the artwork that surrounds you instead of getting your fika on, then we seriously suggest you consider changing your company for your next outing. For what it’s worth, financially challenged students like N and P, however, preferred to opt for some baked goods from the fridge in the downstairs shop. 

Love, peace and speciality teas <3



*The as yet unenumerated point of contention lies in the nature of the Quay Co-op as a fika spot deserving of inclusion here on Fika Forever. Fika purists out there may deride (lol dah ride) at N and P’s inclusion of Quay Co-op, however, we here at Fika Forever hope that our readers can see past this controversial (non)issue and appreciate the Quay Co-op for what it really is - a reliable and wholly wholesome spot for lunch, dinner, brunch or fika, wholeheartedly deserving of inclusion. The larger question of ‘What is fika?’ is bound to be the subject of the post with the potential for the most controversy ever to hit Fika Forever……. Exciting stuff, we swear.

As N and P were busy clogging up their friends’ respective Twitter feeds they managed to come up with quite a comprehensive (but by no means exhaustive) list of establishments that they plan on reviewing here on Fika Forever.

However, one thing they both agreed on (and unanimous agreement is slender and seldom between the pair) is that, in a tribute to the place that sparked all this fika madness, their first review had to be of Coffee Dock @ The ORB in UCC. So cancel any plans, call work and tell them you’ve bird flu, consign your pets to the outdoors (with food obvs), and ready yourself for the first ever review here on Fika Forever!

It is worth noting that, despite UCC’s reputation hardly being dependent on its gastronomic excellence (fika-factor if you will), Coffee Dock is certainly the most borderline exception to the above one could hope for…

Also worth noting is that, despite their best intentions, it is doubtful that N and P will ever ‘lower’ themselves (ahem) to purchasing food in the Main Rest, Mini Rest or Café Oasis; so, make of that what you will… and fika at your own risk. N and P hereby disclaim all liability for any twigs and/or cigarette butts you may find in your soup (not like they’re basing that on prior experience or anything….. ahem).

All jokes aside, we here at FF hope to bring you our very first review soon. It should have been today, but P enjoys breaking N’s heart on a regular basis and engaging in generally unfriendly and upsetting behaviour. Standard behaviour, so.

Soon though, they promise..

Love, peace and speciality teas <3