… and ‘Boulangerie—Patisserie’

I have enjoyed the ubiquitous coffee shops of Stockholm for almost 23 years. There are many varieties and owners, local and national (the only Starbucks I’m aware of is in Stockholm’s central railway station).

Typically, such ‘shops’ are much more than a place to get my cafe latte. There will always be kanelbullar (cinnamon buns) and kardemummabullar (cardamom) and pastries and cookies of all types. One of my favorites is morotskaka, carrot cake.

Recently I have become enamored of a bageri in a neighborhood which requires a bus ride and tram ride to reach from home—around 25 minutes, if the timing is right.

So I arrive after noon for my private fika, equipped with my latest book, (Braiding Sweetgrass), and a notepad.

This bageri offers much more than many other cafés. It is, in fact, a bakery. Eva and I enjoy the real sourdough loafs they offer, both white and rye.

Having finished my bulle and latte, and having read as much as I cared to, I sat back and basked in the lovely Swedish ambiance. The place was packed, with more in line (this is a Sunday winter afternoon).

Close by my right were a young a couple, lovingly spooning food to each other. Across a narrow isle to my left were a young couple with two small children. Across the main room, sitting in a window seat facing me was a wonderfully gray-bearded and -headed older man, the noon light reflecting brightly from his grayness. Midway between us were three young men together, full of quiet male energy. There were others further to my right near the window, and behind me in the smaller room. And, across the aisle from the graybeard, the quickly moving line of customers in front of the order counter midway between the two glass cabinets containing pastries and lunch items, freshly-made sandwiches and salads.

From my position I could clearly see the personnel, all young women, taking orders and delivering the coffee drinks which take time to prepare at the espresso machine behind the counter. They were beautiful in their youth and energy, erect and confident, their beauty unmarred by piercings or enhancements, tattoos or layers of makeup. I felt like I was in a field of flowers as I unobtrusively watched them.

No-time passed as I relaxed into this atmosphere.

I became aware that I was occupying a small table that could accommodate two people, and the line at the order counter was still accumulating, so I gave over to the needs of the establishment to serve their customers. I bussed my dishes, gathered and donned my outer clothing and side-carry pouch (purse?) to then walk a short distance to the tram station.

Life is good.