The Thousands

You’re 21 years old and have a profound love for lavender, black coffee, the countryside, existentialism, philosophy, sexual liberation, surly demeanors, cigarettes, jazz, AND when you get on a train you become discombobulated (real word) by the fact it doesn’t smell like urine. Guess what? You are not weird, you just might be French! (Truly sorry for the horrible cliches).

Hey Francophile! We have the scoop. Down on Hutt Street, amongst a backpackers hostel, a guest house, halfway houses and various cafes with various levels of misguided pomp, there rests a subtle and understated sign that reads ‘patisserie’.

What hits you is the peace – not a stool in site, no stainless steel to be found, no techno(!), just mellow tunes without the suits or the expectation that you’ll be sculling that latte in upright discomfort before heading off to your 14 hour day of hell. This is the kind of place where you wake at midday and head there for a lemon tart (far out it’s awesome) and a nice long black. A cafe reminiscent of South West France, just beautiful. Magnifique! The coffee even tastes like it does in Europe too.