Some Peapod to tide you over.

Due to the fact that the entire month of March has been sucked into a time vortex, I haven't been able to get a substantial post up between the hard graft for money and excessive reviews, even though I've got tons I want to write about (sorry!). So until I clear my scribbly little schedule, I thought I'd share one of my reviews with you. Enjoy!

Miss Peapod’s, Penryn.

It’s all I can do not to squeal with delight and dance my way up to the counter when I spot a mother and daughter, sat perfectly serenely at a table by Miss Peapod’s poster-clad entrance, having a casual catchup over...is it?...yes...yes it is! It’s tea. Tea poured from a teapot, drunk from a dainty teacup settled on a china saucer, all of which bear no colour/pattern coordination to each other whatsoever. Retro heaven. I’m sold before a single morsel has even passed my lips.

It’s clear that Miss Peapod’s, a neat little café situated down by the Penryn harbour, was made to draw in crowds as diverse as it is brightly coloured. The medium sized space - spattered with lime green sofas, orange and brown floral curtains and topped off with lemon yellow walls - is playing host to mothers who have palmed their kiddies off into the play area where they can run their very own little (plastic) café, family tea breaks, the group of work chums choosing a lunchtime snack spot, and one or two loners scribbling away and enjoying the Aretha Franklin album like me.

I’ve stopped here due to what I personally regard as a medicinal need for a hot, strong cuppa on the drive back from Roskilly’s farm. Absolutely gasping in fact. Grateful doesn’t even describe how I feel when the nice waitress/tea goddess brings over my brew for one, along with an enormous slice of chocolate and hazelnut berry cake; the obvious choice after an afternoon sampling Roskilly ice cream. I may well wake up diabetic tomorrow and my thighs may never forgive me for this calorie overload, but on the plus side a sign above the counter advertises that all of their dairy products are sourced by Roskilly’s, so at least I can indulge safe in the knowledge that I am supporting local trade.

Taking a humble £4 from me for her troubles, I fire a few questions at the waitress regarding their live music nights. The website states that on Friday and Saturday nights the café is open until midnight as a live music venue, while serving all kinds of crazy soft and alcoholic drink selections (I spy Baileys hot chocolate!). Missus Waitress tells me that the monthly Peapod sessions feature local South-West musicians - the “best on the scene” in fact - and other weekends are filled with acts from all walks of life playing music from all sides of the spectrum. Before bustling off to accommodate the next crowd of cake fiends, she hands me a leaflet detailing this months entertainment. It takes me a minute to realise why classical folk singer Ewan Mclennan’s name is ringing a bell. I wonder how much he’d save on poster ink by renaming himself Gandalf and be done with it? None-the-less, Radio 2 seem to like him, so he must be a talented lad.

All items on their menu come in at under £9, their inexpensive Sunday roast looks better than anything Wetherspoons will ever bung your way, and between the breakfasting hours of 10-11:30am you can order, among other things, french toast with maple syrup and fruit compote. Do I need to say anything other than “absolute WIN?!”