Naturally, I know some picky people. They decided to move from Hyndland to Lenzie; short commute, countryside, nice houses, the Academy…
That’s quite picky. Hyndland is not exactly a slum.
‘Lenzie,’ snorted my friend Moira, dreadfully hungover on the sofa, ‘It’s just Cumbernauld.’ She waved a hand limply in a NE direction, indicating a large area of greater Glasgow and general Lenzian pretension in one economic flick of her wrist. ‘It’s all just Cumbernauld’.
Moira is from Cumbernauld.
Billington’s of Lenzie is in the rank of shops by the station, which has some free short-term parking. The site used to be the Peckham’s deli. Opposite is the architecturally spectacular Lenzie Old Parish church flaunting a strong stylistic hint of Notre Dame. The huge circular window and the spire, not the hunchback. You can admire it from the sit-up seats of Lenzie in Billington’s of Lenzie’s window. You may need to if your van is in the loading bay outside.
The café is at the front of a long thin space, which opens up at the rear to reveal more deli bits, an open kitchen and an odd sit-up table in the centre. Sort of like a ‘chef’s table’ in an upmarket noshery but strangely exposing as customers seek dried mushrooms and heritage marmalade from the surrounding shelves whilst you feed. The café has dark-wood varnished strip panelling like an 80s sauna and minty-green seats. Billington’s has upped the ante in the café green wall game and gone for a two-tone green velour banquette seatback which draws the eye upward to a green-lit wall of awards, won by said establishment, of Lenzie. Acrylic shields, plaques and trophies abound. This place has won a wheelbarrow load of prizes. So I would expect. This is Lenzie. And this is Billington’s. Of Lenzie.
Service is quick and attentive despite the kids flooding in from football practice to get ice creams. My quiche and coffee arrive triggering a vague air of disappointment. The quiche and salads are on a wooden trencher, which looks a little like a ping-pong bat I once made in woodwork CSE. The petite salad on this pseudo-bat, or perhaps it is the unpainted, unsuccessful prototype of an item used to instruct a taxiing jet in which direction to park, leaves said item and deploys on the table as I try to eat. I thought they still did plates in Lenzie? Plates of Lenzie. The food does not taste of much. The quiche is underwhelming. The salad is underwhelming. The coffee, which is nicely presented in a moody black cup and saucer, is rather underwhelming. Over-roasted and the kind of thing we should no longer tolerate in supposedly classy cafés. Down with that kind of thing! Of Lenzie. It all cost £11.15, not outrageous but I am underwhelmed. What about all those awards though?
On closer inspection I note several of the trophies on the wall are for stocking and successfully selling gin or are for being considered in various paid hospitality competitions. Quite a few are a little out of date or mildly irrelevant. A bit like…
I don’t think a chap like me would willingly desert the chic cafés. Of Hyndland. For Billington’s. Of Lenzie. Or swop the postcode of my fictitious residence. I did expect a little more. Surely Lenzie could expect a little more?
I thought Lenzie was better. But then, perhaps it is all just Cumbernauld.
Leave a comment if you must
You must be logged in to post a comment.