Judith's Jottings: The perfect Palmy cafe nearly within reach

My perfect Palmy cafe would serve pies from Double Shotz, florentines from Barista and apple and feijoa smoothies from Robert Harris. The teeth marks are the author's own. Photo / Judith Lacy

Opinion:

I spend way too much time in cafes. More to the point, I spend way too much money in cafes.

Just like I'm yet to find the perfect person, either in the mirror or in real life, I'm yet to find the perfect cafe. I do enjoy daydreaming about the perfect Palmy cafe though.

I've never worked in a cafe before. I know I'd be useless and my feet would be aching within the hour. The closest I've come is whipping cream and putting potatoes in the peeling machine at a rest home. After reaching such heights, I was given what is probably the worst shift of the year - 11pm to 7am on New Year's Eve. I had to defrost a commercial-size deep freeze - a chilling way to ring in the new year.

I don't drink coffee so let's take that out of the teapot straight away. And ordinary tea is not for me, either. But my ideal cafe would have a wide range of herbal teas, all served in the fancy teacups my grandmothers had.

All that tea-sipping means I'd need to check out the bathrooms. They would be spotless with those fancy paper towels you find in hotels. The flowing soap would be matched by expensive hand cream. If other customers were even allowed in my perfect cafe they would leave the bathrooms just as they found them.

The tables would always be level and clean, and there would be a wide range of newspapers and magazines to devour. The chairs would be super comfy, none of those stylish jobs that look good but provide no lumbar support and just about give ample butts like mine a tattoo as narrow backs cut in to them.

Anyone I didn't wish to see would never dream of entering a food establishment if I'm already there, while those I love seeing would run from their desks and deadlines to keep me company.

Each cafe would have a separate waiting bay so those seeking takeaways don't interfere with me relaxing by hovering too close and the free chilled water would never run out.

All the staff would know my name and what my regular was (not that I know myself).

My perfect cafe would need to incorporate many elements of Palmy cafes: Columbus Coffee for hot chocolate, Double Shotz for Connie's pies, Brie for the fish and chips, Barista for the herbal tea range and florentines, Capers for the free parking right out the door, Robert Harris for apple and feijoa smoothies, Courtyard for the ginger and date scones, The Stage Door for the macaroni cheese and Jacko for the salads and, well, Jacko.

Unsurprisingly with zero hospo experience, there's so much I don't understand about cafes. Firstly, why do they put their food on a serviette and then on a plate. The food seeps into the serviette making it unusable and all it says to me is they don't trust their plates are clean. Then there's the serviette wrapped around the cutlery. By the time you unwrap the flimsy paper, trying hard to avoid the - dare I say it - moist spot, it's virtually unusable.

But in the words of the Spice Girls, want I really, really want to know is why when I'm dining alone I'm given two forks, two knives and two serviettes. Or just one fork when the vegetables are so chunky they wouldn't even fit in a super-sized mouth like mine and need some dicing.

Of course, if my dream became reality I'd then need to find the perfect gym.