This is the first of some (planned) occasional posts on writers’ cafes. Writers’ cafe has a personal meaning. It means that I found the place quiet enough and agreeable enough that I got some writing done there, and nobody gave me dirty looks or threw me out to free up a table. Hassle-free, with drinkable coffee. Cafe Boheme, on Old Compton Street in Soho, London, is one of those.
It opened in 1995, and I found it by chance when visiting London on business in the late 90s, a time when a good cup of coffee was a lot harder to find in London than it is now. Then, the coffee at Cafe Boheme was refreshing to a New Yorker suffering from the scarcity. Now, the Cafe Boheme coffee is … tolerable, I would say. A bit thin, perhaps. But likely the standard for coffee has risen in London. Now, there’s a Caffè Nero or a Costa Coffee on every corner.
Intended ambience: 1950s Parisian bistro-brasserie, and Nick Jones—the restauranteur who owns it—manages to …