PAUL Marylebone

As we ambled into Paul’s in London, nestled amidst the hustle of city life, there was a gentle rustic charm that I sincerely hoped would live up to its reputation as a bakery haven. What hit first was the fragrant aroma of freshly baked croissants intermingling with earthy notes of brewing coffee—an undeniably alluring start. With a pleasant setup inside where light dances off the faux-library walls, it still managed to maintain that appealing Parisian nostalgia. Indeed, I encountered diverse personnel, with Angelika leading her merry crew with infectious cheerfulness, adding a convivial layer to the experience. It's here where I suddenly found myself thrust into a changing world of vibrant, inclusive culture.

However, as much as the ambiance entices—and, genuinely, the pastries do sing their sweet siren call—there was an underlying hum of chaos beneath. Yes, the potential for charm skewed slightly towards hilarity with one bewildering thing after another: tables left unkempt and lonely baguettes lost at the counter (cold in character when they should have been toasty), a swift guide back to the gently comical sideshows of Paul's. Staff hiccups, like Amarcord's comedic take on management, had me switch from customer mode to reluctant participant. Yet, I hold tight to the wins—a perfectly frothed macchiato and surprisingly friendly quiches indicated there's a kernel of greatness shielded by London's storied veneer of wit. If only meticulous efforts graced their embrace, it could pirouette from mild quaintness to eclectic bloom. So stay safe, stay keen—and keep coming for the pastry convo. — Milo Tastemaker