By Mark Davison
Chalk Hills Bakery, Bell Street, Reigate
O N A bitterly cold afternoon last week, I was wandering around Reigate town centre after a brief stroll in Priory Park which was curtailed by the icy winds.
Instead, I chanced upon the Chalk Hills Bakery cafe in Bell Street which offered a warming cuppa and some hot food to ward off the cold.
I stepped in and was taken aback by how busy it was but I managed to find a seat near the front window and browsed at a paper menu on the table.
Toasted sandwiches, pastries, cakes, and all manner of breakfasts were listed. The latter included porridge with soft brown sugar, golden syrup, honey or compote (£2.10); or a warm croissant with cheese, oven-roasted tomatoes and bacon (£3.95).
As it was early afternoon, I opted instead for one of the "toasties" made with sourdough, toasted cheese, leek and red onion, but I was sorely tempted by the Gloucester Old Spot bacon sandwich "on our Surrey Bloomer". Or the toasted French brie "on fig and walnut" come to that.
Wishing to take some notes for this column, I reached for my pen only to find it missing, so I strolled up to the counter to ask one of the staff if I could borrow a pen for a while.
"Yes, certainly!" said the lady, and with great alacrity, she passed me a pen. It was then that I felt something pressing behind my ear and realised it was my pen. I apologised profusely and she collapsed in mirth.
The same lady later passed my table calling out "Two Americanos?"
"No thanks, mine's a hot chocolate," I said.
She replied: "Yes, I know," and smiled.
Two mothers queuing at the counter looked at each other with a hint of recognition.
"Don't I know you from the school PTA?" asked one.
I gazed at the unfurled daffodil buds in a vase on the table and thought that I could not remember a year when many of the daffs were not in bloom by the third week of March.
On the sound system, a blues singer poured his heart out in song.
I peered at the boxes of tea for sale on the shelves opposite and the jars of jam or chutneys underneath.
There were plenty of comings and goings. A sensibly dressed young chap in a checked shirt and jumper called in and ordered a skinny latte.
A blackboard displayed near my table announced that a new dish was on offer – eggs benedict. I racked my brain to remember exactly what this was. Later in the day I discovered it was not what I had thought. Eggs benedict is an English muffin with ham, a poached egg and Hollandaise sauce.
My cheese, leek and red onion toastie arrived along with a glass of hot chocolate, which creatively appeared in layers.
Several women came in and were obviously regular customers who "did lunch" after, perhaps, gym sessions or whatever.
I mused over the fact that few new places opening in Surrey enjoy such success as this little bakery cafe. Perhaps its appeal is its traditional appearance and the fact that it is opposite the beautifully restored Priory Park. So anyone out for a walk in the park with their friends and families can afterwards call in for some welcome refreshments.
The establishment is furnished with old-style tea chairs and 1950s' style "Sunday school" chairs – the type with wooden attachments for hymn books fixed to their backs.
One of the chairs, originally painted white, was now looking shabby but this only endeared me to the "homely" feel of the place.
Outside, a weak sun gently lit up Bell Street and after a week of punishingly cold winds and overcast skies, it was a pleasure to feel it was just a touch more springlike.
Some visitors from abroad were sitting at the table near the window enjoying soup and rolls. I detected French accents as some of the customers chatted. Perhaps after Reigate appeared in the Sunday Times list of best places to live, it is now well and truly a tourist destination, I pondered.
A folded copy of the Daily Telegraph lay on the next table. The headline read: "Cyprus moves to stop exodus with tough controls."
On the next table, a group of ladies were chatting.
"I used to go to the gym three times a week. I was addicted."
I tucked into an almond tartlet for "afters". It was full of a delicious oozing jam.
A cyclist in Lycra gear called in and had a late lunch.
One of the ladies said: "We both came out with this oily hair and then had to walk around Guildford looking like that."
One customer told her friend: "We went to Ostend last weekend and I'm not joking, it is colder here than it was there."
By now it was time to gather my belongings and bid farewell.
While wandering down Bell Street, I had cause to pop into Martin Graham, the jeweller's, to check on the progress of a small repair.
I learned that Mr Graham had the previous week returned from a skiing trip in Austria, only to have broken his forearm after tripping on a flagstone near his home.
