Balott Coffee & Factory

Ever embarked on a journey filled with high hopes, only to find out your GPS was a tad...misguided? Riding on the wings of stellar reviews, I was convinced I was in for a coffee at Balott Cafe that would transport me straight to the charming alleys of Italy. What I got could best be described as a caffeinated identity crisis: fiercely bitter one moment, resolutely acidic the next. My stomach, sensing the unfolding drama, diplomatically chose to abstain.

Now, the carrot cake. Heralded as 'dreamy' and 'fluffy', I was expecting a slice of homemade heaven. Instead, it felt like it had rolled off a factory conveyor belt – decidedly more assembly line than artisan.

Given the quality, the prices felt somewhat steep. After all, for the same price tag, both London and Paris have treated me to far superior delights.

As for the ambiance? Picture a shoebox, with acoustics that made every conversation sound like it was broadcasted live.

Might I be found here again? Let’s just say, I’d probably be more tempted to whip up my own coffee and cake combo at home. How hard could it be, right?