The Algerian coffee shop was a strange footnote in a bizarre London trip. It is in the heart of SoHo. I took a morning stroll there, with Sister, and it turned into an event, as most travels with my Sister turn out. In. Into.
The place itself, from memory, was packed with that old-school kind of coffee canisters and containers, all the earmarks of lovely coffee place. They made single and double shots of espresso. I don’t think there was anything else. An assortment of tea, but the primary product was coffee.
Around my Sister? Feed her some espresso. It’s a memorable experience.