Breakfast from six, on Sherman Street

That blank on Wednesday is the reason I built this page, so let me be straight about it.

I looked your hours up two different ways this week. One of them says you are open Wednesday, six to two, same as every other day. The other says you are closed Wednesday. Tuesday and Sunday agreed everywhere. Wednesday did not.

I do not know which is right, so I have not put either one on the page. What I do know is that a whole trading day of yours is currently a coin flip to anybody who looks you up, and if the wrong one is showing then somebody drove over on a Wednesday, found the door locked, and did not come back.

One sentence from you fixes it permanently. That is the whole job.

I want to be clear that I am not suggesting you change it. It is your shop and there is an ATM three steps away.

But right now a stranger only finds out at the till, with their food already made and a queue behind them. Put it where they see it before they park and it stops being an awkward moment and starts being a thing your regulars already know and like.

I could not read your Google rating from where I was sitting, so I have not put a number on this page. I would rather leave it blank than print a figure I have not seen with my own eyes. There is one going around that says 4.6 from more than seven hundred people. I found it on a site that scrapes other sites, so I am not repeating it as though it were true.

Now look at the shape of that list. Four places holding your reviews. Hundreds of people who thought your breakfast was worth stopping to write about. And not one of those pages belongs to you. Every good word anybody has said about this cafe is parked on somebody else’s property, earning for somebody else.

That is not something you did wrong. It is just what happens when a place is good for a long time and never had anywhere of its own to point at.

I could have guessed. Reviews mention plenty and I could have built a plausible-looking breakfast menu out of them in about ten minutes.

I am not going to do that. Half of it would have been wrong, you would have spotted it in four seconds, and you would have been right to throw the whole page out over it. A menu with somebody else’s guesses on it is worse than no menu, because now it is wrong in public and it has your name on it.

Write it on a napkin and hand it to me. That is genuinely all I need.

The building from across Sherman, so a stranger knows what they are looking for. The room from the door, early, with people in it. A plate of whatever you are proudest of. The counter.

I am not going to take those and put them up. The phone in your pocket is better than anything I would bring, and they should be pictures of your cafe on a real morning rather than mine of it on a Sunday.

Your Wednesday hours. Your Google rating and how many reviews it is across. Your menu. Your prices. Whether the Facebook page with your name on it is yours or something a customer set up. How long you have actually had the place, because one source says you took it on in 2008 and another says the business goes back to 1988.

I have not put a single one of those on the page as a fact. Every one of them is either blank or labelled. That is not me being slow, it is the only way this works: if I will guess at your opening hours to make a page look finished, you cannot trust anything else on it either.