This was my start to the day. At least the sun was shining, always something. I call into school and tell them I’m going to be late. It’s the last week of school before summer break. All the coursework is done and dusted, all deadlines have been met. Today we are having meetings with our mentor’s and finding out our grades for the year which will give a good indication of the progress we’re making going into the all important third year next autumn. I’m quietly satisfied with how I’ve done this year. Anyway, my mentor tells me that I may as well just meet them in town since we’re having a frluftsdag today, activity day, out in the fresh air. I head to the rendezvous point, over by KTH, the Technical College on the north side of town, an area I rarely frequent, and find nobody from my class here to greet me. I call a friend and they tell me they’re still at school and will be there for the next hour. Fuck sakes… I best go find some coffee, I think to myself.
The initial walk down Vallahallavägen doesn’t exactly fill me with hope, the busy street has little more to offer than kebab shops and dodgy pasta and noodle shops aimed at the office lunch crowd. And then I come across this really cool place, the name, Pasta Rapido, makes me a little wary I have to admit, but the locale itself is ace. They’ve built a space in what used to be the cargo entrance to the East Station. This front wall of the oblong room, the wall facing the street is entirely glass and the space itself is painted white and kept nice and basic, a few long wooden benches and some potted plants here and there. I’m not sure if they’re open or what they have on offer, the two guys hanging out either side the rough and ready counter, one with a broom in his hand, the other leant over looking tired and not totally ready for the day ahead. Broom has a wry smile on his face. The pair of them just the right side of hipster. It’s a total Stockholm thing to say but this place doesn’t look like Stockholm, it reminds me of the place we played in Antwerp with Victims a couple of months ago.
I ask them if they have coffee and a sandwich, anything vegetarian. They tell me, in a most friendly pair of voices, that they can fix me something. They ask if there’s anything I’d like in particular. The smell of bacon frying is filling the breezy passageway and it smells like England. I ask them if they can do me a fried egg sandwich. Delighted to. The coffee is basic black filter coffee, perfect for my needs, and tastes great. But the sarnie is something else, Broome just completely winging it. Lightly fried fruit cob, parsley oil drizzled lightly on it, egg, cheese, red pepper and chopped spring onion. It’s fucking sublime! I chat away to him about the history of the building, about how the East Station used to be a main cargo rail hub. By the time the sarnie is made I’m out of coffee so order another. Forty kronor for the lot. Amazing how the little things, like good coffee and a sandwich and a bit of pleasant banter can change your day, bring it back from the brink of severely frying your piss.
Balance well and truly restored. I now have a reason to hang out on the north side of the city a little more.