Feast logo

Review Askew #1 - JJ's Coffee House

Cake, funny words & taking on the establishment.

By Nick ArcherPublished 4 years ago 8 min read
Like

JJ’s Coffee House, Crown Square, Matlock

Tuesday 25th August 2020

I write blogs now. This is what I tell my friends, and they give the same sideways look that they give when I say I prefer Mediterranean orange gin to regular.

But when I further explain that I’m going to start reviewing cafe’s and coffee shops, they say ‘oh’, nod knowingly and smirk, like I’ve just delivered the punchline to dog-eared dad-joke that should have been made illegal.

I like a good coffee shop more than I like good coffee. That not to say that I’m a connoisseur by any means. I’ll take a decent freeze-dried Nescafe Azera as readily as an artisan-crafted Columbian dry roast; it depends on my mood; how impatient, how cold, or how pretentious I’m feeling. It’s really the establishment itself that I enjoy, or don’t enjoy (or enjoy not enjoying); the décor, the atmosphere, the service, the choice. These are things that I have opinions on; so, in this opinion saturated world in which we find ourselves living, I thought; what’s one more?

JJ’s sits happily on the roundabout in the middle of Matlock (That’s Matlock, not Matlock Bath; currently known to the locals as Plague Town owing to the hordes of non-locals pouring into it during a global pandemic), a busy little circus of motors hustling down the A615 and chugging over the River Derwent or outwards Manchester. Considering the congestion that can build up mere feet from the cafe’s front door, it’s not an unpleasant place to be. On quieter days, I imagine the roped off area to be a delightful place to sit and watch the world. The park is just off the right, a good one too, in my opinion. Not like others that I’ve been in; it has everything you could need, from a flower garden with space for a small market, a kids play park complete with a splash pool (turned off, thanks to ‘rona), a bandstand overlooking a green space used for festivals and even skate park where kids do things on scooters that I would literally die trying to attempt. It might have grown over time, the town itself being occupied right back into the Roman age, but it’s moved with the times, unlike others that seems woefully under-designed. Like Titchfield Park, in my home-town of Hucknall, Nottingham. A splodge of grass, a criss-cross of paths, a kids park, a monument or two and a cafe (I might review that, one day); but it's not what is or isn’t there, it’s the thought behind it. There’s a purveying sense of the municipal about it, like providing it is an exercise in box-ticking, not giving the public a recreational space they deserve. Like a prison yard. With grass. Sure, I taught my youngest son to ride his bike on the ring of tarmac that surrounds a worn-away cricket pitch, but that in itself reminded me of the scene in A Clockwork Orange where the inmates were trundling around in said circle. Me, my son, and the dog walkers, keeping pace with Malcolm McDowell as he plots his escape. Ultimately, McDowell subverts the system, my son learned to ride his bike and Titchfield Park sucks.

JJ’s attention to design, however, impressed me from the off. That said, the exterior signage was a little underwhelming; the green and greys and the PVC board on which they were printed give the impression of a greasy spoon, but the inside is a different story.

Grey was the dominant colour within, but not so much that it depressed me, rather it felt considered and perhaps even chic, and was cleverly softened with little punches of green. Not the same green as the outside sign that made my teeth grind across each other, but in the form or little plants sat in boxes on the walls or provided by tasteful studies of plants between them. A smattering of good-sized mirrors help to increase the perceived size of the room, and even the suspended ceiling doesn’t seem intrusive, as they sometimes can. Sure, the light fittings looked as though they had come from Ikea, but I quite like Ikea. It might all be mass-produced, but the sheer myriad selection of options means that their goods can be mixed, matched, designed and repurposed in numerous different ways to suit a person's individual tastes. I mean, how can one not love a Billy Bookcase? Or take pleasure in the creative team in making nonsense English words look Nordic? A bottle opener called GROGGY and a lamp named MILF? I mean, that’s hilarious! (But then anything delivered in a dry Norwegian accent is amazing; Netflix’s Norsemen, anyone?).

So, yeah, I liked the Ikea vibes right up until I looked into the cake display by the counter, then it was all about her.

She caught my eye immediately and her coquettishness drew me in. She was small and orange, clementine to be exact, baked with cranberry and topped off with pistachio. I’m usually a chocolate cake sort of fella, a brownie or fudge are generally my speed, but this sexy little sticky delight fluttered her frosting at me and I was sold.

I ordered the cake, and rather embarrassingly described it as ‘epic’ to the girl at the counter, who, with considerably more restraint, agreed that it was ‘very nice’. My mother, whom I was treating to a coffee and cake, went with a scone and jam (no cream; I’m sure the debate of jam/cream first will be covered another time). She went with the latte, and I went full cappuccino.

Now, it’s raining outside, which is something I feel can affect the ambience of a space to quite an extent; it can either become a positive, creating a sense of inviting warmth and escape from the elements, or else fill a room with noise, tension and clammy breath on the windows. JJ’s, although full, hummed pleasantly with the sound of conversation from regular patron and tourists passing through. It is not a large place, and within current social-distancing guidelines being adhered to, comfortably sat around a dozen people.

Our coffees arrived quickly, followed by my cake, and I’m delighted to inform you, delivered its promise in every bite of moist, crumbly wonderfulness. The cappuccino was hot and well balanced between frothed milk and coffee, even with my extra shot of coffee (yeah, I’m that guy, I’m afraid).

As I shovelled the cake into my mouth with all the civility of a desert island escapee, I noticed a tiny home-printed note blue-tacked to a wall just above a plug socket. It states, with authoritarian bombast that pushes back against the welcoming vibes this far, that THE VIEWING OF BBC CONTENT IS NOT PERMITTED ON THESE PREMISES.

You’d immediately assume that it’s simply a measure to ensure that JJ’s continues to enjoy operating its business without the need for a TV license, that somewhat antiquated, and an arguably barbaric of UK laws. I mean, what purpose does it really serve as we enter the third decade of the 21st century, when streaming subscriptions are the way. I know that we get to ‘enjoy’ their programming, advert-free, but I never really minded 3-minutes of Kelly Katona barking at me about Iceland’s great deals, and the guitar-scored monochromatic enigma of a segment that might be about a car, men’s scent, or Guinness. Of course, I watch zero live television these days, my home entertainment sitting on the busy junction of Netflix, Prime and Now TV, with the occasional side streets of All4, UKTV and yes, occasionally BBC I-Player providing additional audio-visual traffic.

I happily pay for my subscriptions, because I actively and regularly use them, but I only rarely watch anything BBC produced (I have recently watched and loved Normal People and I May Destroy You, and gems like Peaky Blinders are rare), and the idea behind the license is bizarre in 2020. The phrasing of TV License would have you believe that you paying simply for having a screen on which to watch anything, but the reality is that you don’t have to, pay if you're not watching the BBC’s live channel or any of its on-demand content. But how do you effectively claim that you are not? How do you prove a negative, when the man in the suit holding his clip-board either over their face to hide their embarrassment or over their crotch to hide a figurative self-righteous erection at enforcing the law, knocks on your door? Will they accept your solemn promise that you do not watch any BBC content, sir, no not me, never...

Unlikely. In fact, the ferocity with which they pursue the hardened criminals who flout their license is terrifying but surely nessecary. For instance, like 92-year-old Betty from two doors down. She runs an illicit fake-TV licensing ring out of her Bridge club, and her gang of bus-pass users are infamous for their ruthless brutality for those who cross her. Don’t be fooled her doddery gait, tea-caddy and collection of doilies. She be crazy.

That’s why retribution for non-compliance with TV licensing law must be swift and merciless. It’s about morality, not money. Ignore the fact that it’s effectively a mandatory subscription, it’s just the way it has always been, and should always be to ensure that this great country of ours doesn’t fall to the heathens and hippies.

Whether it be ethical outrage and a bold stand against it, or simply looking after the bottom line, I think the point I’m trying to make is that the cake at JJ’s is epic.

restaurants
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.