There's always that Moment: the awkward instant when you and your friend have almost finished your shared slice of cake, and only one mouthful remains. Of course, neither of you wants to appear a glutton, so although you might know everything about each other, from how you really feel about your in-laws to what actually happened between you and Brad from accounts when your company went on conference, all of a sudden it's as if you've been invited to sup at Buckingham Palace.
"You have it," she'll say.
Your cake fork will, reflexively, make a move towards it, but you'll catch yourself just in time. "Oooh no," you'll trill. "I couldn't possibly." (Yes, I could, you are thinking. I could and I want to.")
"Well, I really shouldn't. I've already broken my Banting this week." Now comes the cliffhanger, a moment soaked in suspense: will she, won't she? Things could go either way, but unfortunately it's "Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound."
And then she takes what was rightfully yours.
Thankfully, this was not the problem I had when I had coffee at Zaris Espresso Bar earlier this week, because I went with my sister - and she knows that I do not believe sharing is caring. Anathema, hideous, less for me, heartwrenching, yes but caring - no. For instance, she was once with me when we were mulling over whether to buy a slice of pecan pie to take home - well, she was mulling, I was paying. She finally went with no - then instantly had non-buyer's remorse. She tried to ask for a bite from mine, but I forestalled her by licking the entire slice, twice over. My husband has also seen this side of me. The first time we celebrated his birthday together, I took him to Circle, then one of Greenside's best restaurants. Since we are both dessert addicts, this was the highlight of the meal, and both of us was worried that by deciding on one thing, we'd be missing out - it was a tremendously tempting menu. "I know," he said. "We'll both order different things, eat half and then swap." Which we did. Well, at least he did. I still remember his look of anticipation as he slid his plate over to mine, thinking I would do the same - and how it melted into confusion when I carried on eating both my own and his servings. Perhaps he'd only ever been to restaurants with girls who declared themselves stuffed after one leaf of lettuce, or maybe he's one of those people who thinks they deserve special treatment on their birthday. Either way, he was shocked, but I was happy.
But back to Zaris. My sister and I did indeed share cake - pecan, as it turns out and it was magic. Not cloyingly sweet, as pecan pie can be, yet deliciously crumbly and buttery, with some unexpected macadamias adding extra crunch. Also, there was no fighting over who got the last mouthful because I knocked her fork out the way and told her she was having a fat day.
The coffee was excellent too, but what I really loved about this place was that everything was R20. Coffee, cake, sandwiches - everything. It was kind of like stepping into a time machine: if Blur had been playing on the sound system, I really would have been convinced that I was back in the 90s, and R20 for a sandwich was the norm instead of something worth blogging about.
It's a great concept, I think, and only one of the things that made me really take a shine to this place. I also loved the decor - all soothing minty green with copper geometric lights - and the quirky touches, like the love locks for sale (so you're on 4th Ave Parkhurst instead of overlooking the Seine - does it really matter?) and the bag of coffee grounds the owner gave each of us to perk up our roses.
Another must for my coffice mornings.
"You have it," she'll say.
Your cake fork will, reflexively, make a move towards it, but you'll catch yourself just in time. "Oooh no," you'll trill. "I couldn't possibly." (Yes, I could, you are thinking. I could and I want to.")
"Well, I really shouldn't. I've already broken my Banting this week." Now comes the cliffhanger, a moment soaked in suspense: will she, won't she? Things could go either way, but unfortunately it's "Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound."
And then she takes what was rightfully yours.
Thankfully, this was not the problem I had when I had coffee at Zaris Espresso Bar earlier this week, because I went with my sister - and she knows that I do not believe sharing is caring. Anathema, hideous, less for me, heartwrenching, yes but caring - no. For instance, she was once with me when we were mulling over whether to buy a slice of pecan pie to take home - well, she was mulling, I was paying. She finally went with no - then instantly had non-buyer's remorse. She tried to ask for a bite from mine, but I forestalled her by licking the entire slice, twice over. My husband has also seen this side of me. The first time we celebrated his birthday together, I took him to Circle, then one of Greenside's best restaurants. Since we are both dessert addicts, this was the highlight of the meal, and both of us was worried that by deciding on one thing, we'd be missing out - it was a tremendously tempting menu. "I know," he said. "We'll both order different things, eat half and then swap." Which we did. Well, at least he did. I still remember his look of anticipation as he slid his plate over to mine, thinking I would do the same - and how it melted into confusion when I carried on eating both my own and his servings. Perhaps he'd only ever been to restaurants with girls who declared themselves stuffed after one leaf of lettuce, or maybe he's one of those people who thinks they deserve special treatment on their birthday. Either way, he was shocked, but I was happy.
But back to Zaris. My sister and I did indeed share cake - pecan, as it turns out and it was magic. Not cloyingly sweet, as pecan pie can be, yet deliciously crumbly and buttery, with some unexpected macadamias adding extra crunch. Also, there was no fighting over who got the last mouthful because I knocked her fork out the way and told her she was having a fat day.
The coffee was excellent too, but what I really loved about this place was that everything was R20. Coffee, cake, sandwiches - everything. It was kind of like stepping into a time machine: if Blur had been playing on the sound system, I really would have been convinced that I was back in the 90s, and R20 for a sandwich was the norm instead of something worth blogging about.
It's a great concept, I think, and only one of the things that made me really take a shine to this place. I also loved the decor - all soothing minty green with copper geometric lights - and the quirky touches, like the love locks for sale (so you're on 4th Ave Parkhurst instead of overlooking the Seine - does it really matter?) and the bag of coffee grounds the owner gave each of us to perk up our roses.
Another must for my coffice mornings.
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