I'm always intrigued by the tides of culinary culture that wash over London. A while ago we were invaded by Australian and Kiwi coffee connoisseurship, which seemed very odd to me until Dan explained that it was to do with different generations of Italian emigration, steam technology and a highly urban society. I'm hoping he'll write about it soon so I can make sure I've got it right. And now, we seeming to be seeing a mini-influx of Scandinavian-ness. Which, heretofore had been confined to those strange kiosk places past the check-out desks in Ikea. The only place I've been in so far is the Scandinavian Kitchen on Great Titchfield Street and it's rather lovely.
A cup of traditional British tea is clearly not a central to what they're all about, but they do it nicely. And I love these big proboscun cups. (Is that a word? It is now.) And your milk arrrives in what I presume to be an authentically Scandinavian pyramid. It's the little things that make cultural differences interesting.
The decor's what you'd probably expect. Clean. Simple. Woody but not too woody. Modern wood. Wood that's read Buckminster Fuller and always uses Helvetica. This would be a fine place for designing a new town or leaving through the new Monocle. (Obviously all these should really be references to Scandinavian folks but I'm a little too ignorant for that. Sorry.)
And they take the edge of the relentless good taste with a broad selection of nicely packaged Scandinavian foodstuffs, which livens the place up a lot. And there's nothing us un-cosmopolitan Brits like more than looking at exotic foreign biscuits. Especially when there's a chance to point at amusingly named products like Plopp. Ahh. Heaven.
All this plus nice sandwiches and they're funny too. Splendid place. I shall be going back.