There are cafés you walk into and immediately think: yes, somebody cared.

Roast on Byres Road is one of those.

Old brick, dark wood, glossy tiles, original plasterwork overhead and enough warmth to make the room feel properly independent rather than assembled from a catalogue entitled Urban Coffee Shop, Package B.

It is a lovely space.

Unfortunately, I came for the coffee.

I ordered a flat white and a slice of carrot cake, because there are limits to how scientific I am prepared to make this.

The coffee arrived looking the part. Good foam, proper presentation, reassuringly competent. Then I drank it.

Strong, certainly. Smooth, less so.

There was a bitter, almost burnt finish that hung around at the back of the tongue longer than invited. It may simply have been served too hot, but whatever happened between bean and table, this particular flat white began confidently and finished slightly angry.

Coffee: 6/10

The carrot cake, however, knew exactly what it was doing.

A generous slice, properly plated, caramel sauce and cream on the side. Sweet without becoming ridiculous, moist without requiring structural support, and genuinely very good.

Not better than somebody’s mum’s, obviously. I am English-born, not suicidal.

Cake: 8/10

Together, the flat white and cake came to £9.20. The coffee was £3.95, which barely causes an eyebrow movement in the West End now. The cake was £5.25.

That changes the test.

At £3.95, very nice cake gets applause. At £5.25, very nice cake needs references and ideally a minor qualification.

It was good. It was not £5.25 miraculous.

Value: 5/10

Roast scores much better when you stop eating and look around.

My booth had the appearance of something somebody had built themselves from old scaffolding boards, then improved with a leather-style seat pad. I mean that affectionately. It suited the place.

Comfort was acceptable rather than luxurious. The back was hard, there was not much padding, I could not see a plug and there was no Wi-Fi. Fine for coffee and cake. Less convincing if you arrive with a laptop and dreams of annexing the table until teatime.

The atmosphere was helped enormously by the music when I arrived. Proper 1960s territory, with Patsy Cline doing more for the room than several expensive interior designers might manage.

Then somebody switched it off.

The café immediately lost about twelve per cent of its soul.

Put Patsy back on.

The staff experience also improved as the visit went on. The first interaction was efficient but fairly transactional. Later, another member of staff stopped to ask how everything was and proudly told me she thought the carrot cake was the best on Byres Road.

That tiny conversation mattered. It turned service into hospitality.

There is, though, one habit in cafés that I cannot stop noticing: when the machinery of running the place starts leaking into the customer space.

Roast offers free water, which is good. Beside it were visible stocks of alternative milks, sugar and sweeteners. There was also a large handwritten warning telling customers to make sure the tap was completely switched off or it would continue running.

I understand the problem. Glasgow premises are not famous for acres of spare storage.

But customers should not feel they have accidentally wandered into the stockroom or been deputised into tap supervision.

Buy a tap that knows when it is finished.

None of this makes Roast a bad café. Quite the opposite.

It is warm, characterful and unmistakably independent. The room is lovely, the cake is excellent and the human side of the service eventually won me over.

But this is Pigeon Feed, not Interior Design Feed, and the coffee has to carry more of the weight.

I would happily go back.

I would probably order the carrot cake.

And I would give the flat white another chance, provided it promises to lower its voice.

The Feed

Coffee: 6/10

Cake: 8/10

Value: 5/10

Comfort: 6/10

Atmosphere: 8/10

Staff: 6.5/10

Return factor: 6/10

Pigeon Feed score: 6.5/10

The Adoptee’s verdict: A cracking room, very good cake and a flat white that needs to stop shouting at the back of your tongue.