The Café sits at the corner of the Square, its windows fogged pleasantly in the colder months and its terrace busy from the first warm morning of spring. The coffee has always been good. The pastries — made fresh each morning by a baker whose family has run the ovens for four generations — are remarkable.

The Café is where the informal life of the town tends to happen. Agreements are reached over small cups. Ideas are sketched on paper napkins. Old friends who have not seen each other in years run into one another, sit down, and find that two hours have passed before either of them noticed.

A Table for Everyone

There is always room. The proprietor has a gift for fitting one more chair around any table, and the regulars — who span every walk of life in the town — have long since learned to welcome the stranger who sits down beside them. The Café closes late, and the last customers are never hurried out.