Cake in Prague

We had walked through the ancient city of Prague for hours, mooching over bridges, past statues, and into cathedrals, castles, seats of power, faded glories; pondering failed forms of government and man’s inhumanity to man.

Off the coursing Kings Way we took a turn down a lane, off which branched even smaller ones. There, alone and tranquil, stood the Choco Cafe. Chocolate AND coffee – and there in the window: cake. Knowing there would also be “amenities”, and figuring that all essentials were now covered, we repaired inside.

An oasis of cool calm beckoned us into a plush leather couch. Swift efficient ladies in black uniforms swept about, reverse-pollinating guests with sugary confections and hot drinks.

There, in the glass showcase stood a “Sicilian Cake” with my name seemingly engraved into the rich orange icing. A double-shot espresso was swiftly ordered to go with it.

We sank back into our couch, partook of our newly-acquired bounty and wondered whether the politics of the Czech Republic may have been happier if people had spent more time eating cake and less time fomenting revolution. Perhaps Marie Antoinette had it right?