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Lazy afternoon in a lazy coffeeshop
Café Lily about as exciting as Old Poway Village gets
Ho hum. Turkey bacon club. Café Lily.
I honestly don't know what I was doing in Old Poway Village. It's a cute enough place, with old-timey storefronts that might be charming except for the fact they house businesses along the lines of Curves and a local chiropractor.
If only Old Poway's cuteness were worth something.
Okay, so not quite the tourist destination one might suppose, maybe more of an urban respite. Whatever my reasons, there I was, baking in the sun and getting hungry. I spotted Café Lily, which looked inviting enough, and had a miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower out front. Francophile that I am, I jumped in.
I found quaintly ramshackle interior, decorated by what you might call "naïve" art and furnished by thrift store dining room sets with unmatched chairs. Some scattered books and a few boardgames gave me the impression it's a place to chill, so I did precisely that.
I also ordered a club sandwich. Your standard turkey, bacon and swiss on sourdough. The staff seemed friendly enough, not surprising considering they probably never get too busy. One other customer sat on the other side of the room, eternally focused on the laptop in front of her. Another person occupied an outdoor table, but strictly speaking, I'm not sure he was a customer, but just some guy embracing the shade of a patio umbrella.
A little Eiffel. For no good reason.
My sandwich arrived. Store-bought turkey on store-bought sourdough with maybe the blandest bacon a supermarket has to offer. I could quibble, but it's not like I haven't made the same sandwich for myself a dozen times at home. At least the lettuce was crisp and the tomato fresh.
At seven bucks, eating it wasn't exactly a hardship. Some familiar indie rock tunes were playing quietly in the background, and though I know there's a Pilates studio next-door, there were no yoga-pants-wearing post-workout housewives to break the reverie with self-involved chatter. Or maybe I was just lucky with my timing.
It's just a lazy coffeeshop on the outskirts of town, with nothing particularly French to lean on at all. I could give it a thumbs up or a thumbs down, but it doesn't really warrant the effort of lifting a thumb either way. If I'd found an easy chair to plop myself into, I may even have fallen asleep mid-sandwich. Which I might have enjoyed, actually. A good place to nap is often on my agenda.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Lazy afternoon in a lazy coffeeshop
Café Lily about as exciting as Old Poway Village gets
Lazy afternoon in a lazy coffeeshop
Café Lily about as exciting as Old Poway Village gets
Ho hum. Turkey bacon club. Café Lily.
I honestly don't know what I was doing in Old Poway Village. It's a cute enough place, with old-timey storefronts that might be charming except for the fact they house businesses along the lines of Curves and a local chiropractor.
If only Old Poway's cuteness were worth something.
Okay, so not quite the tourist destination one might suppose, maybe more of an urban respite. Whatever my reasons, there I was, baking in the sun and getting hungry. I spotted Café Lily, which looked inviting enough, and had a miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower out front. Francophile that I am, I jumped in.
I found quaintly ramshackle interior, decorated by what you might call "naïve" art and furnished by thrift store dining room sets with unmatched chairs. Some scattered books and a few boardgames gave me the impression it's a place to chill, so I did precisely that.
I also ordered a club sandwich. Your standard turkey, bacon and swiss on sourdough. The staff seemed friendly enough, not surprising considering they probably never get too busy. One other customer sat on the other side of the room, eternally focused on the laptop in front of her. Another person occupied an outdoor table, but strictly speaking, I'm not sure he was a customer, but just some guy embracing the shade of a patio umbrella.
A little Eiffel. For no good reason.
My sandwich arrived. Store-bought turkey on store-bought sourdough with maybe the blandest bacon a supermarket has to offer. I could quibble, but it's not like I haven't made the same sandwich for myself a dozen times at home. At least the lettuce was crisp and the tomato fresh.
At seven bucks, eating it wasn't exactly a hardship. Some familiar indie rock tunes were playing quietly in the background, and though I know there's a Pilates studio next-door, there were no yoga-pants-wearing post-workout housewives to break the reverie with self-involved chatter. Or maybe I was just lucky with my timing.
It's just a lazy coffeeshop on the outskirts of town, with nothing particularly French to lean on at all. I could give it a thumbs up or a thumbs down, but it doesn't really warrant the effort of lifting a thumb either way. If I'd found an easy chair to plop myself into, I may even have fallen asleep mid-sandwich. Which I might have enjoyed, actually. A good place to nap is often on my agenda.
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