Ode to Barista

My neighbourhood is full of cafés and bars: for a start, the most famous ice cream parlour in Muenchen is on my street corner. There is the Greek, a couple of Italian places, a lovely Indian restaurant with individual cushions on the chairs. There are also some good old traditional Bavarian pubs left, where you smell the sauerkraut as you are passing. I am fond of them. But the best of all is Barista, a place that sells antique and strange coffee machines and old crockery and tins and stuff, and over time is has become a full scale café that makes lovely coffee. It is not at all cute, or nostalgic, or trendy. It just is what it is - a jumble of stuff to do with coffee.

You can sit outside on nice colourful chairs, (oh and by the way if I had gorgeous thick curly gray hair like that I would not bother colouring it)
or inside, where the delicious cakes are
they make probably the best cappuccino outside Italy (I know everyone says that of their favourite café but it is true here)
And you can even continue the class struggle here:
(Eat the Rich. Please order at the bar.)