The French Tarte

You're walking down Maple Road in Surbiton and suddenly the smell of butter and almond paste pulls you in. The French Tarte does what the British have been trying to do for years—nail French café culture without the pretension. The counter's heaving with tarts that look like they've been flown in from a Parisian arrondissement, but they're actually made here. Order a coffee and watch locals queue out the door for lunch; it's become that sort of place. The space feels lived-in rather than designed, which somehow makes the whole thing work better.