Twelve tables, one oven, no hurry.
The Copper Spoon would sit on GT Road, close enough to the bus stand that you can smell the oven before you see the sign. Mornings are filter coffee and newspapers; evenings are kulchas coming out faster than the oven can blister them.
This is a fictional café — but the layout you’re reading is real work: a room described in words a first-time visitor actually asks about, not adjectives borrowed from a template.
— the (imaginary) family behind the spoon