I love Nags Head. It's a little-acknowledged corridor between Finsbury Park and Holloway, barely touched by gentrification, untroubled by students or hipsters, utterly run down and grubby, with no dominant ethnic demographic. I would use the loftily academic phrase 'liminal space', but I'm not sure I've understood that properly, even in it's broadest sense. Basically, the place is a mess and I feel at home here. It's pretty much the only corner of North London without a Costa Coffee and when I used to work in Gospel Oak and walk there it was precisely half way, making the ideal breakfast coffee stop. I would sit outside on either a frosty or sunny morning and contemplate my failed relationships. Since I absent mindedly wandered in here, it was only on a recent visit that I realised this was a French cafe, in aspiration atleast. The menu headers are in French, there is a vast spread of synthetic looking pastries and cream cakes, and there are some sad looking pre-cooked Croque Monsieurs on display. Any failures cuisine wise are made up by a busy, cosily anonymous atmosphere and some reliable coffee.