Review 8: The Flying Kettle

1 atmosphere                                    ***

2 the food & drink                             *** ½

3 price                                                *** ½

4 hospitality                                       ****

5 reading potential                            ****

6 clientele                                          ****

7 location                                           ***

8 busy-ness                                         ****

9 professionalism                              ****

This is not one of the better known of Hereford’s cafes, and indeed I think it’s fairly new (it’s on Bridge St, opposite-ish the Orange Tree).  It certainly gives that impression, for reasons I will detail (or more probably glide over) later.  Speaking of impressions, though, here is a rough log of what my senses registered on arriving:

Yes indeedy, that old cliché. 

The Flying Pig, sorry, Kettle (it’s not really that bad) is - ow do you say? - eclectic.  Had you shared the room with me that day … you would have seen a mysterious cloaked stranger sitting in a dark corner smoking a clay pipe.  But if you could have seen his expression, it would largely have been one of confusion.  The FK (tee hee) just seems out of sync.  For one, the bright walls are covered in large framed prints of a bizarre variety of subjects – from Hereford (cathedral), to scenes of pseudo-myth, to those of the industrial revolution.  The final word in their selection seems to rest with a train-spotting, Anglican goth. 

Also to be glimpsed in this Dali-esque chamber are a wire rack thing, a large plain clock, and a bizarre rubber plant at the back.  Curioser and curioser.  Unfortunately, the fabled Ikea Yeti from across the frigid seas appears to have vomited on the main floor, and you can hardly make your way across it for all the furniture – the café would definitely benefit if there were fewer tables.  And the atmosphere in general is let down by strip lighting, Radio 2, and a slightly grubby carpet.  But there is a great, big, shiny copper (or is it brass – what is the difference between the two?!) kettle in the window. 

All of these things lead me to suspect that the FK was perhaps opened by a genuine café / beverages fan who decided to open a café & do what the hell they wanted with it, which is fair enough.  The very friendly chap who took our order certainly seemed to know more about drinks than your average blonde fembot.  I asked for an espresso, and for my sins they gave me one.  But the exact dialogue ran:

Tea-drinker 1:          I’ll have an espresso please, my good man

friendly chap:           A proper espresso? 

Tea-drinker 1:          As opposed to what, old fruit? 

friendly chap:          As opposed to what most people think is an espresso [here followed a small diatribe about frothy milk I didn’t quite catch]

(The bits in blue I’ve just made up)  So 10 minutes later I waddled out with a

cubic centimetre of antimatter in my belly. 

So, in conclusion, if this place isn’t new, then they should have sorted out their

act a while ago; if it is, I think they’re having a few teething troubles, and

certainly deserve some visits in the future.  It doesn’t seem a very busy place,

which combined with the friendliness of ‘friendly chap’ would probably result in a

high reading potential.  But that’s if you could stand the background smell. 

Which I can’t.  So, overall, a *** ½.  But don’t take my word for it – you must

yourself test the mettle of the weird Flying Kettle. 

PS  I must acknowledge the presence / help of Ursula in this review, but she had

some work on Middle English or something she was doing, so most of this bilge

is mine. 

PPS Special thanks to MS Word for making my fonts fubar.