At Kutens Bensin, Fårö. Or as it's also known 'Creperi Tati'. It lay on the other side of what was possibly the largest sloping road on Fårö, and I inwardly cursed it's location as I peddled furiously up what became known as my nemesis hill; I filled with dread and defiance every time it loomed ahead of me, but the promise of relaxation, crepes, and a jukebox asking to be played was enough incentive. (let it be known I conquered this hill every time.)
We went there twice, first for dessert, and the next day for dinner.
The exterior is all overgrown weeds, rusted cars (one was meant to be the car Bonnie and Clyde were shot to death in, I never found it), and miscellaneous signs, watched over by an american flag atop an impossibly tall flag pole. The interior was a hodge-podge of Americana and Swedish nostalgia, wooden beams, formica tables, mismatched chairs; the kind of place where every inch of wall space seems to be covered by a photo, catchy slogan or retro knick-knack, and everything felt worn and lived in, in that comfortable, nostalgic way.
Sitting inside on the first evening, I had a classic chocolate crepe, while Kris ordered a 'Summer evening smile', I believe it was called, with saffron ice cream and dewberry jam. We drank cold Coke out of glass bottles (coke does taste better in glass bottles, you know), read old Swedish magazines and spent two hours taking turns playing the jukebox.
On our return trip with had dinner outside amongst the blue painted garden furniture and rusted refrigerators. The dinner galettes were all named after actors and musicians of the 50's and 60's - the Marilyn's, the Jimmy Deans, the Presleys and so forth. My Galette was called the 'Hopper', after Denis, naturally, and was brimming with chorizo, parma ham, potato, cherry tomatoes and cheese, and accompanied by a crisp, dry apple cider. I read a Goldfinger paperback I discovered earlier in the day at a small book stall set up in a shed next door to the supermarket and the fish smokery.