Wilson Cafe & Restaurant

Having gotten stuck at a catered event across the street at the Clube Açores, I was looking for some options.
There it was staring us in the face, daring us to come in. I normally wouldn’t even think of entering a place like this. From all outward appearances, it smacked of a 2-​star, or possibly a 1-​star. I have literally gone past this place thousands of times and had never even gotten the least temptation to even think about going in.
I was just hanging with the guys, and running for a quick coffee wouldn’t hurt. When I entered, all my low expectations seemed justified. Just another unremarkable hole in the wall.
Then one of the guys who was a regular, insisted that we go to back through a small corridor. The rest of us just wanted to get it over with, and the thought of going through unnecessary steps seemed to work against the main objective, which was to get out of there quick. But his insistence had some teeth to it, so we just went with the flow.
As we passed through the last door, it was as if we had just been magically transported over 5,000 kilometers to a super secret speakeasy outdoor garden in a hip café in Europe. Lots of exposed brick, one entire wall painted a lively, but warm yellow, and authentic outdoor European café tables. The mojo was back.
3 authentic European expressos served in real expresso cups, accompanied by 3 brandies in real snifters — $ 19.50
Watching my drunk friend hit on the hot waitress — priceless
You must understand that the server was an integral part of the experience. Not only was she on point getting us our drinks quickly and efficiently, even though we ordered them in dribs and drabs; she was very approachable.
She stopped and chatted with us for a little while. Not 2 years before, she was serving customers in her own café in Lisbon. By my estimate she had a body fat percentage of about (-)3%. Not only did she look hot, she was athletic, and gave off this vibe that if she had to, she could take on all 3 of us men, and still kick our collective ass.
Now back to our friend who was hitting on the waitress. In a sense, we were more concerned about his safety then hers. He was clearly past his limit, and even a soft gush of wind would knock him over. And she is clearly a woman that can take care of herself. Since he is a regular, the two knew each other well enough. Also, she could clearly see that we were there to check him if need be, so she seemed totally at ease, and even stayed and chatted. His attempts at hitting on her just seemed amusing to the rest of us, including the server.
She stayed and recounted stories for what seemed like hours, but was only maybe 30 minutes, while we had our expressos and played with our brandies. If even only half of her stories form her Lisbon café days are true, she has had some remarkable life experiences. She looked you in the eye when she spoke to you, showering each person with attention. This was an experienced server who knew how to work it, and must collect some tidy tips. She has mad skills. This is strictly a man’s zone, no boys need apply.
Then just as quickly, she was off to play soccer in the park.
Everything about the experience was like out of a movie, but yet there I was. I had a delightful time, and I hadn’t even the temptation to go in.
[disclosure: in a previous life, I lived in the neighborhood, and during high school, even waited for the bus on that very corner each morning for a year.]