I Recommend Aikman’s Coffee... Well, Sort of

Regarding the true Aikman’s dweller, the one who spends every waking hour in that godly place of a pub, one cannot know its true essence by only visiting after the sun has gone down. But who is visiting a pub before dark? Is it acceptable to drink before five? Perhaps only in this town can one get away with it — when it’s the dead of winter and the sun sets by three, and booze and deadlines weigh potently on the mind. 

What of entering Aikman’s during the day, precisely at their opening time of noon, for their coffee?

I purchased my first coffee at Aikman’s in mid-May of my third year. I had a very important upcoming Beowulf exam (and I take my English degree extremely seriously), so, before clocking into the library, I thought, why not stop and grab a La Chouffe? After all, Humanities students always work better after a pint with an alcohol volume higher than 8%. More importantly, it’s evidently easier to find a seat in a pub than in any of the University’s libraries during exam season.

While approaching Aikman’s in the day, you pass the overflowing, rusty receptacle in which pub-goers had plunged their cigarettes the night before. Below this are a few concrete steps leading into the Bistro that are considered to be the pub’s equivalent of an office’s water dispenser; at night, it’s a common gathering spot where one can migrate to and smoke as an excuse to escape the humidity of boiling, boring conversations and the poorly ventilated air of the Cellar. 

Inside, you are met with stairs that lead you down to a room of battered, shamrock green wallpaper with exposed drywall underneath. The wallpaper itself is considered to be a souvenir by many, often found taped onto the walls of student flats. At night, the floors are sticky with piss or beer (or both), and on Thursdays, a crowd gathers: men decked out in generational tweed who claim to know much more than you do.

But when it’s mid-May and midday and the cellar is closed, you are left with only the option to sit in the strikingly yellow room on ground level, illuminated even more so by the sunlight that leaks through the two windows. Believe it or not, Aikman’s gets natural daylight! Workers are mopping the floors, still cleaning up from whatever treacheries were experienced the night before, filling the entire establishment with the sharp smell of bleach. 

If you go too early, around 12 -12:30pm, the workers may not want to serve you. You shouldn’t be at a pub at this hour, and frankly, they can’t be bothered. But if you’re lucky enough to get the chance to order at the bar, you’ll notice a juxtaposing sight: next to their hoard of possibly watered-down liquor sits a surprisingly well-to-do espresso machine.

I remember asking for a beer and, at the last minute, hesitantly and smirkingly adding a latte to my order after catching a glimpse of the coffee machine. They don’t ask whether you’d prefer oat milk or regular, whether it’s sit-in or take-away, and there will certainly be no latte art. They simply give you what they have. I paid £2.45 for my latte, which easily beats the prices of the other coffee-makers in town. In return, I received a drink that made me wonder: Could this even be considered a latte? But it arrived in a darling glass with two Biscoff cookies. The latte may have been a bit burnt, perhaps watered down with hot milk hastily dumped in, served with absolutely no love — but the more one drinks their beer, the better their coffee tastes.

The coffee shop Taste has made a name for itself with its almond croissants and paninis, drawing a devoted crowd of women in trench coats and Flabelus, who line up outside the door. Polompo’s, meanwhile, serves good coffee and benefits and is also right by St Mary’s. But Aikman’s European Bar and Bistro may just have a footing in the coffee competition of this town. I’ll admit, the coffee is by no means great, but Aikman’s provides something rarer: the unique essence of an authentic third space you should never be in before 8pm. And that, in itself, is quite special.

Illustration by Isabella Abott