A giant bird cage hangs from a wooden ceiling just beside a massive wooden beam, silhouetted against a red brick wall.
Servers are dressed in period costumes.
Carved wooden posts, decorated antique maroon chairs, candles at every table to confront the darkness, a mammoth solid wooden bench, inlaid with leather padding, that must weigh a tonne.
Books in varying degrees of disrepair, flasks, bottles, and test tubes adorn a shelf running the length of the room near the ceiling.
Bottles and bottles and bottles of Riga Black Balsam liqueur decorate a shelf.
Piano music for ambience.
Three older gentlemen sit at a table in silence, watching an even older man taste a piece of cake.
The man nods in satisfaction and they all start chattering in German.
I order a coffee, a piece of black current cake, and a shot glass of Riga Black Balsam on the side.
I spoon some liqueur into my coffee, enjoy it while eating my cake, and then savour the remainder of the liqueur, while surreptitiously eyeing the lovers in a corner and reflecting on hope, passion, and the will of the Latvian people to fight for their freedom.
