BRØG Litteraturbar København

The two people from Funen had called Copenhagen their home for years, but now they had returned to Funen, where they let themselves be enchanted by the old, crooked streets and the soft whispers of the footsteps of the past. The capital still called on them from time to time, but only for short visits, and rarely were they there at the same time. But then the day came. As if by a little whim of fate, they both suddenly found themselves in the city and felt an urge to breathe deeply, to find a breather in the flow of everyday life. The wife knew a place – a small book café, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with paper and ink, where time went a little slower and where the world outside became a distant whisper. Here she used to seek refuge, and now she wanted to share it with her husband. The soup she ordered was a little bowl of magic. The Jerusalem artichokes tasted as if they had been pulled from the soil at dawn, and the creaminess settled like a velvety greeting from the earth itself. If she could, she would have given it a whole bag full of stars. The man allowed himself to be enticed by a toast, but alas – it was a tame shadow of the adventure he had hoped for. It looked like cowboy toast, simple and plain, without the juice and power he'd dreamed of. A small disappointment, in an otherwise wonderful setting. But the atmosphere, the smells, the warm croissants and the silky coffee were enough to make their little respite a moment they would remember. Because what does it matter if one bite disappoints when the rest of the moment is a little bit magical?