That's Heaton Moor, the former village cum suburb next to Heaton Mersey where I live. It's in north Stockport. Over the past few years, a host of pavement cafe sort of places has opened along its main thoroughfare.
Sarah and I went to one tonight. The food was OK - sort of a reasonable starter disguised as a main course. Hardly any beer, though. Lots of fizzy stuff under pressure, and some of that so-nasty-it-has-to-be-extra-chilled stuff. We did find a bottle of Duvel, priced at £3.50. That's about twice what it is in Belgium, and a pound more than at my local.
So what is it we're paying for here? The beer is mostly bad, and very expensive; much more than pub prices. The food is only OK; my crab and haddock fish cakes may have contained some sort of gadoid fish, but I suspect that decapods were only a distant rumour to them. Nicely presented, on black square plates, though.
I suppose the answer is that we are paying for an idea. Some sort of sophisticated pseudo-european chic. Frankly, I don't think it's worth it. But I probably don't understand these things. I'm old-fashioned and like beer with flavour and food with a bit of volume to it.