We were paying our first visit to Perran in his new residence in Brussels.
He took us to what used to be called a flea market but is now known as a vintage fair and we admired the tables laden with tat and treasures.
A heatwave was boiling up and we were wilting, but it wasn't yet time for lunch.
We spotted a cool-looking coffee bar on a crossroads, a few metal chairs and tables sheltered by parasols on the pavement.
The chalkboard offered espresso, then 'Americano - NO MILK'
'Well,' I thought to myself, 'I won't be having that then.'
Never mind - below was the option of 'a batch brew of filter coffee'. Apparently it offered 'hints of rose and lemon.' But I was prepared to overlook that and drink some with a slurp of milk.
However, when the man came to take our order, first Nigel (who clearly cannot read chalkboards) asked for an Americano with milk.
The man refused. Milk would ruin the fragrance. (I'm not saying 'waiter' because his irritation implied he had some skin in the game - perhaps he was the proprietor).
'It's okay, Nigel, we'll have the filter coffee. That doesn't say 'NO MILK''
'Okay, two of those please.'
But when it arrived, there was no milk. Nor, despite my best French, was there any milk to be had. In a Fawlty-esque tone of barely-suppressed rage, the man explained the milk would mask the hints of rose and lemon.
'And a good thing too,' I thought.
'We know how it is best for you to drink your coffee!' he finished.
Despite the atmosphere now surrounding our table, we lingered over our small cups of black coffee. It was too expensive not to. At least, thankfully, I could detect no rose or lemon.
We never got as far as telling the man that it was oat or soya milk we wanted, not dairy. What would have happened if we had? Possibly he would have spontaneously combusted in a shower of blue sparks.
Leaving nothing behind except a whiff of rose and lemon.
