The unassuming fascia of the county cafe in Truro hides a secret world of
fair pricing and bizarre crockery options. We entered the establishment
with little expectation and left with a feeling of total awe, a oneness that
can only be obtained in a 'hot n tot' eatery such as this. From the outside
its no beauty box, and quite clearly has dirt under its fingernails. Past the
madness of the more complicated takeaway section lays the sit down cafe
on entering through light pink drapes one cant help but be reminded of
some sort of mid 90's living room. We sat down to order and within 32
seconds of arrival were greeted by Truro's finest tugging at us for our
order (to say the service was quick would be like saying nelson Mandela
had a tan), to which we kindly declined and begged for more time. Our
request was met halfway with the fascist waitress dragging the drinks
order from our cold dead lips. Once the first attack was over the staff
slowed down and allowed us breathing space before endowing us with the
refreshments, when they finally arrived (a coffee & a tango)
we ordered our food.
During the period between the order and the arrival
of our cuisine we sadly discovered the lack of mayonnaise in the
condiments container, to further that we also discovered the drought had
spread to every table in the establishment. This lead us to believe that some
kind of massive ordering foe par had been made (perhaps it was a new
member of staffs first attempt and there efforts had fallen below par due
to a late night or family problem). One good thing that came of the
mayonnaise search is that we made 'ten second friends' with a lovely dumb
couple that sat opposite us with a surprisingly quiet baby (it may have
been dead but nobody had as of yet had the heart to tell them). The
couple helped by feverishly checking there condiment container for
mayonnaise saving us the hassle of rocking up at there table and having to
turn them over for our potential acquisition of sauce. We could only assume
they enjoyed the encounter as it served as a momentary break from there
quarrel regarding whether they had chosen the cheapest available loan,
which we decided must have been for the young child's college fund. The
food finally arrived and in full county cafe style it did not disappoint, the
bacon baguette was served in a basket, and the chips what can only be
described as a mini-bowl (the type a child or dwarf might complain about).
This was the definitive highlight to the occasion as the comedy settlings of
the foods presentation spawned a delightful conversation regarding the use
of the basket as a flotation device with the addition of mud or clay in
order to fill the gaps between the weave. As a bonus, talking of clay 'Trisha'
has gone state side (after ITV, fickle as they are booting her from the
channel in favor of jeeza), anyway, she had these hicks who are addicted to
eating strange shit, like clay and dirt and sponges, and the whole thing
was a fucking gas!. mean while back in the cafe we had finished our food
and were on our way out, the final nail in the coffin was a 50p surcharge
on all transaction by card. All in all the experience was a toughly enjoyable
one.
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