The L’Occitane Café was not your ordinary café but was a premium café for premium people who were hungrier for taste than for a dozen like worthy selfies.
People who stopped by were only the ones who were homesick and craved home-cooked food. That is, people like me.
Equipped with traditional cutleries and dishes, the café was managed by a group of widows who served every dish with motherly affection and love. It was their secret ingredient that lured customers like me, like honey to bees.
Every single dish was prepared by highly skilled chefs, mostly women. Ironically, they didn’t have a degree to support their validation, unlike other chained restaurants that dominated the food sector. Instead, years of accumulated experience of serving their husbands, children, and parents
