Cycliste du Café
Google
Approaching by vélo, one weaves through a landscape built for cars, not cyclists. The joy only begins at the tiny Kittery Foreside village, a hidden gem alive with small shops and, of note, a humble garage bike service. It is a known stop of ex-pros like Ted King, and the local sportifs.
No bike rack, no secure placement. One must keep a watchful eye while queueing. Free water is mercifully offered, though the bathrooms (downstairs, rough, utilitarian) lack true civilisation. Service is quick enough, but the line is long, and seats indoors or out are a competitive sport. For practical aid, the bike shop around back is a better ally than the café itself.
Bustling, crowded, a mélange of locals and tourists. Cyclists are not singled out, nor particularly embraced. This is no peloton social hub — you are simply one body among many.
Café is bien, not great. An espresso to accompany, but never to inspire. Fuel, not romance.
The raison d’être: the cruller. A buttery ring of décadence that overshadows all else, drawing both cyclists and civilians alike. The pastry is the main character; everything else plays supporting role.
Lil’s is a stop that feels more like a box ticked than a soul stirred. Yes, one must try the cruller, once, perhaps twice — but the cyclist in search of respite may find greater liberté at the Islander in New Castle.
Ratings
Café: 3/5
Pâtisserie: 5/5
À Vélo: 2/5