From the Cafè of the Valar: The Book of Lost Recipes
Lórienphine dwelt far away, and his cafè was great and dimly lit and had large loveseats and lazy-elf chairs. The place of his dwelling he called Muumuuland, which Aulattë made of coffee beans gathered beyond Arvalin upon the Shadowy Seas, stuffed into colour-coordinated casings. 'Twas set in the South by the feet of the Mountains of Valinor upon the confines of the realm, but its loveseats and beanbag chairs sprawled marvelously about, scattered nigh to the feet of the Tree That Bore Beans of Silver, whose shining lit them strangely. The cafè was full of labyrinths and mazes, for Javanna had given Lórienphine great floorplans (drawn by her husband Aulattë) but did not show him how to unfold the blueprints, and so the cafè bent upon itself in strange and avanté guarde ways, (which would make Mr. M.C. Escher's head spin with jealousy).
There grew a wealth of tea trees and salad-greens, and incense burned there that exuded drowsy odors in the dusk. Glowworms crept about their borders and Vardecaf had set strobe-lights within their depths for the pleasure of Lórienphine, but his groupies sang wonderfully in these gardens and the scent of patchouli and the songs of sleepy, spinning deadheads filled them with great loveliness. There too grew the poppies glowing redly in the dusk, and those the Gods called opëyumm the flowers of sleep -- and Lórienphine used them much in his enchantments to counteract the wakeful rush of caffeine from the coffee, (and he used it much in his recipes for brownies, and in his cologne, toothpaste, and applesauce).
Amidmost of those pleasances was set within a ring of dairy farms towering high rose that deep vat of Creme for the Tree That Bore Beans of Silver. There it lay in a bed of pearls, and its surface unbroken was shot with foam, and the clouds of milk lay on it, and the Mountains of Valinor could see their faces mirrored there, like a 'Got Milk' commercial. Lórienphine gazing upon it in his laconic trance saw many visions of mystery pass across its face, and that he suffered never to be stirred from watching his programmes save when Silmococoa came noiselessly with a silver urn to draw a draught of its shimmering dairy, and fared softly thence to whiten the beans of Silpion ere the coffee grew too strong. No other disturbance did he suffer, for he was a watcher of soap operas, which the Elves called Milquetoast.