Tuyingidde mu ddiro lya Javas 2.0. I call it V.2.0 for reasons best know to myself but which I shall nevertheless divulge to you out of the love we share which does not permit the withholding of secrets.
I call it Javas 2.0 because it is the second version of Javas. The first being Bombo Road in the petrol station those ends near the riots.
It is like Sevo in some ways. It has stayed. Other cafes become trendy, reach the peak of their fame and then fall out of favour as customers ditch them for the next new joint seeing as these Kampalans ain’t loyal.
But somehow Javas Oasis has remained in power. People going there again and again, still and enduringly, even despite the fact that to get there at prime time you have to penetrate a traffic jam as thick and confused and annoying as Maureen Kyalya’s wig.
The chicken pie made with butter, man! The philly cheese sandwich, dude! The Very Berry, son! The Fuuuuuudge cake, mi bredren! Cafe Javas food is so good.
True story. I once lost a date at Cafe Javas. Lost in the sense that one loses a court case.
This was before, when I was still young and plausibly sexable, (Unlike now, when I increasingly find myself in some sort of weird uncle zone) but not yet famous enough for women to overlook my goofiness (which is mob, by the way) and that is when I went on a date.
The food was so good that on at least four instances I forgot that I was not alone. I did that thing of mumbling with my mouth full because she asked a question and I did not want to swallow before answering because I was still enjoying the taste so I just went “mwooffum” as one does.
Needless to say there was no second date.
Her loss. That food was good.
Anyone who thinks of driving there, do it before 4pm and be prepared to stay till nine. Otherwise it is like carrying a ring to the fires of Mordor.
The revamped, renovated, redecorated, rejuvenated… or should I say, “Rejavanated” interior is no longer like a sitting room the way it used to be. It is now more like a coffee shop in the middle of town, More beige, more symmetrical, more organised. I won’t try to describe it any more. You know the comfortable spongy seats which bloggers with their laptops enjoy so much? More of those now.
My boy Polycarp. Got to sharrout Polycarp. Java tends to have good service, but I have to give Polycarp extra credit because when I bought this:
Which comes loaded with a free coffee drink, I made a very very bad joke about buying a polycup.
He laughed as if it was genuinely funny. This is what we call going beyond the call of duty, laughing at terrible jokes about your name?
The last person to ask if I was earnest about letting them play is decomposing in four different gutters because I threw each piece into a different ditch.
It is a cafe, right? SO the coffee: I grade my coffees on a personal scale of badassery.
And I award Java’s black&strong the category of All-Spark.