I don’t know whether it is the fact that, for me, the ability to converse over excessive amounts tea and scones has always proved fundamental to any relationship, or the fact that my love of baking at inappropriate moments of the day has been ruthlessly quashed by Cambridge’s lack of self catering facilities. Either way I find myself craving slices of cake and cups of coffee in the middle of those afternoons when that essay on how Victorian entrepreneurs were victims of our culture’s ingrained bias towards the landed gentry is making Everest look like a speed bump. It is then that it becomes embarrassingly apparent that, within just a stones throw of my college, there are the grand total of three Starbucks. This is not to mention a similarly indulgent number of Cafe Nero and its other, nigh on identical, counterparts. Now, while I am not averse to the occasional grande skinny caramel late (extra syrup, no cream please), I can’t help but feel that the brusque and unimaginative atmosphere that permeates all of the above hardly renders them the ideal location from an extravagant bout of procrastination. I resolve with a friend, Kate – also suffering from such debilitating lack of concentration and motivation – to begin an exploration of the alternative coffee shop culture that Cambridge has to offer. We decide to organise a series of cake dates, in order to properly sample all that our new home has to offer in the way of afternoon tea. One a week, to sate our need for home-style baking and feed our egos with our conscious rejection of commercial consumerism.
Now, I am sure that there are a plethora of small, utterly unique patisseries and cafes hidden down winding cobbled streets. You could all probably name several that you frequent with religious commitment. I thought, however, if attempting to properly experience the cake of Cambridge, we should begin with the staple of the town’s coffee shop scene. The inimitable and unsurprising Fitzbillies of chelsea bun fame.
It is whole platter of these that fills one of the main windows, drawing looks from the passers by. Not that many seem to pass Fitzbillies by. When we arrive, in the middle of the afternoon, the whole of the seated area, larger than it looks, is filled with clinking tea pots and scraping cutlery. The shop front is also crowded. Those who haven’t time to sit down, dash in to buy cup cakes. It looks promising. The glass counters are filled with an assortment pastries, all filled with enough cream to split their sides. Cakes (the violet and chocolate looks particularly enticing) are flanked by various slices, palmiers, florentines and iced buns, to name but a few.
Further in, the cafe is crammed with small, industrial style tables and simple wooden chairs. You’re not quite cheek by jowl, so to speak, but they have certainly made full use of the space and I am apprehensive as to how cosy this set up might be in practise. Our table in the corner is then, somewhat surprisingly, quite out of the way.The sign outside promised lunch and dinner, but, to be honest, I can’t see any sign of anything remotely savoury – on people’s plates or in the shop. We both take that as a sign and, after a close examination of the menu and a quick trip back to the front of the shop just to make sure that nothing has escaped our attention, we make our orders. Kate goes for the more experimental chocolate eclair and I stick with a chelsea bun. It couldn’t really have been anything else could it? Not here. It’s around three quid for a slice of cake or pastry or whatever takes your fancy. Not too bad, I don’t think. Cheaper than a coffee from Starbucks, the same price as entry to Cindies. I guess it just depends where your priorities lie.
The coffee and tea comes in big blue cups with proper sauces, that match the tiling on the walls, and the portions of cake are certainly value for your money. The infamous chelsea bun is both sticky and almost crunchy from the excess of glaze. It also, even when attacked with my fork, retains its lovely swirly shape. Easier said than done – when ever I have made chelsea buns, they have an infuriating tendency to unravel as soon as you take a bite, spilling raisins and currants everywhere. Kate struggles slightly more as to how to go about tackling her eclair in a dignified fashion, but I think most can sympathise with this particular situation. The filling certainly seems to go everywhere.
The verdict? The bun is delicious, though they aren’t shy with the cinnamon. As for the eclair, Kate is a little dubious about the great amount of cream, but this does allow for spillage. Apart from that, it is, in her words, ‘ideal’. The outing has been highly successful. I fully understand why Fitzbillies has the reputation that it does. The only possible criticism would be that service was possibly a little…distracted. It may have taken us a little longer than we wanted to actually pay and leave, but, hey, that’s more time that we don’t have to spend in the library. Anyway, I think the harried nature of the staff is just testament to the heaving business that the cafe does every day, and with good reason. Never has avoiding work tasted so good.
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