🥑 At least 17 days ago
I love them miniatures. It started off with Rolife series, where the first hit had come from a tiny library, followed by a sakura train, and then some—well, it’s this one—most surely one of the longest ones to build. What I was used to was a series of poppable pieces of wood that would definitely break off a piece when the smallest and most proper technique was applied, forcing me to attach the tiny piece back in; it was all accompanied with a muttering stream of first-grade curses that JJK writing staff needs to seek me out for.
This was one of those that would have me sit down and focus whilst I would watch hours’ worth of streamers playing the new 007 video game and even more of what it feels to be like never-ending stream of Warhammer lore content, because, for the Glory of the Emperor, of course. And on that one, I had just bought my first ever sets of 40k figures—no intentions of building a 2k army, not even a 1k, really, not even playing the game at all—of Adepta Sororitas and Black Templar Crusade Ancient. Wish me luck!
I have rambled for long enough and thank you, so, BEHOLD before my new tiny cafe—which if it were anywhere near—would be forced to see me as their new top 1 customer by spend in both the money and in time. Rest in Peace, Savoy. Even if the new is neat, you are missed.
They had even printed out the tiny text to put on the table with a pen paperweight that you have to snip off its base. Every tulip was also individually assembled, glued, and glued at the base, so that they never fall out of the vase ever again.
See the more artsy blocking shots from across the different points of the shop to capture that special Je Ne Sais Quoi.
I’d call myself a coffee addict. Not a caffeine addict. I remember this guy in college that would just casually pop the biggest pills you have ever seen, he said he “needed that caffeine in him to deal with his physics classes,” which is not at all that surprising once someone gets to learn the absolute horrors of KU Physics education (derogatory).
My wife calls me a creature of habits. Every morning, I’d make us a pour over with whatever beans that are found in the little corner of the kitchen that I have the utmost joy and opportunity to call mine; it is known in the wide and prosperous universe within the confines of our dwelling as “Sandy’s coffee station.”
My to-go order is always just an Americano. Nothing better had been invented. Well, that is my test for any coffee shop. Think of it as a mirror to my bar test, where you could tell the experience of a bartender by their Martini, since the simpler the recipe is, the more the ingredients need to shine with the skill of their master.
Appalling it is in how many places the beans are just not good; sometimes they are nothing short of repulsive. I appreciate the places where they can give an honest answer to my question, “how are your beans?” My local coffee shop roasts their own and my god it’s like drinking ambrosia. The recipe is so secretive that even nobody on the staff, except for the owner, know everything that goes into their espresso.
Something tells me, this miniature cafe would have a secret or two to keep it interesting. Ciao!