Jonathan F.
Google
“To eat or not to eat? That is NEVER the question.”
I stumbled into Shakespeare and Co. expecting a quiet latte and perhaps a croissant that whispered “bonjour.” What I found instead was a pastel fever dream where Jane Austen meets Marie Antoinette in a caffeinated sword fight. The décor looks like a dollhouse swallowed a Victorian tea parlor and said, “More chandeliers, darling, MORE.”
The cappuccino arrived in a cup so elegant I briefly apologized to it before drinking. It tasted like a sonnet written by angels who studied latte art in Paris. The French toast? A golden brick of happiness, crisp on the outside, pillowy within — like if a cloud went to culinary school. I would have written a love letter to it, sealed with maple syrup tears.
Mid-bite, I half-expected Shakespeare himself to appear, quill in hand, muttering, “Dost thou even brunch, bro?” The staff were absurdly kind — like they’d been trained by celestial beings with British accents. Someone complimented my sunglasses and I almost proposed.
The only downside? Leaving. Walking out felt like exiting Narnia through the wrong wardrobe.
In conclusion:
If you’ve ever wanted to sip a mocha while pondering the existential tragedy of your croissant’s perfection, Shakespeare and Co. is your stage. Bring your appetite, your diary, and perhaps a ruffled collar — for here, all the world’s a café, and we are merely hungry players.