I don’t think there’s a single establishment more inspiring to me than a Paris cafe. And as much as I love the classics like Magots and Flore, my favourites are the quiet ones tucked onto streets the tourists overlook. There will usually be just one old man or two in a deliciously stiff hat stuck behind a newspaper outside. They will appear almost invisible under their cigarette cloud, with their coffee so poetically arranged beside them on the table. The waiters will be slow but cheerful and the croissants too usually taste better at these kinds of cafes. And the colours, all those beautiful woven chairs and gold legged tables arranged under the cosiest amber-yellow terrace light. I’m very lucky to have spent a considerable proportion of my life with my legs tucked under the table of a Paris cafe. And so, these photos are a tribute to that and one of those quieter, almost forgotten cafes we stumbled upon – which really, I promise you are the best kind of cafe.