In my shop I’d sell:

Pineapple tarts – you know the ones, with passionfruit icing
Neenish tarts – lined with homemade jam
Jam roly polys – for entertaining and mini ones to treat yourself
Lamingtons – with jam and cream in the middle
Double layered chocolate cake – in great slabs with thick delectable icing that you have to lick off your fingers
Buttery cupcakes with lemon icing
Butterfly cupcakes for the fairy within us all
A big fruity cake laden with crushed pineapple, carrot and sultanas
A zingy lemon tart that shines on its plate and makes you smile
A dignified orange and almond meal cake for days when you need fortifying
A thick slice of lemon yoghurt cake which is hard to surpass when washed down with proper tea and sublime coffee
Ice cream sundaes with homemade butterscotch sauce, ice cream laden with tiny black bursts of vanilla bean goodness, dollopy whipped cream, homemade biscotti for grown ups and wafers for kids (or both if I like you), with nuts and cherries on the side
In winter there’ll be a couple of warm puddings on offer. Maybe a crumble, or a bread and butter pudding with plump fruit and unctuous wobbly custard

Mugs of hot chocolate made properly with real chocolate buttons and warmed frothy milk
Big pots of tea that we’ll replenish as often as you like

There’ll be jars of jams, relishes and chutneys for you to take away. So every time you spoon some onto your toast, your sandwich or just straight from the jar to tingle your tongue, you’ll remember that place you went to where the food you ate made you feel that everything would be OK.

The seats would be comfy and hopefully even some booths (or at least benches with back support) where there is no rush for you to move on.

There’d be breakfasts to prepare you for the day, porridge with rhubarb compote, pancakes w/ maple butter and berries, baked eggs and thick (but not doorstop thick) toast with a daily special muffin and always my cinnamon scrolls.

Lunch would be restorative – a simple quiche with salad, a salad or two and in winter you’d start smelling the slow roasted lamb for rolls by mid morning.

Dinner would only be on Thursdays and Fridays, (but I’d have things in the fridge and freezer for other working mums and busy families to drop in, take home, heat up and eat together every other afternoon). It’d be known as The Family Table. There’d only be a choice of two or three and it would change week to week with what was in season and what local suppliers had suggested or brought in. Not many tables. Lots of familiar faces. The place where eventually you all talk to each other in the vein of ‘how was the pork’ and ‘she better make that lemon delicious next week’ and where when you see each other at the kids soccer or netball, or on the bus doing the daily commute, or in the supermarket doing that late night grocery run you simply smile at each other and feel a little bit more connected and a lot less alone.