Archive

Tag Archives: coffeehouse

The “Profiles” features in The New Yorker are some of the most inspirational, thought-provoking pieces of writing one could read on otherwise unproductive, stifling commutes on the subway. In a recent feature, Jony Ive, senior vice-president of design at Apple, alludes to the German designer Dieter Rams as a source of inspiration. To quote the article:

“In Rams’s formulation, a new object should be innovative, useful, aesthetic, understandable, unobtrusive, honest, long-lasting, thorough, and environmentally friendly, and feature ‘as little design as possible.'”

While this is certainly applicable to Apple and its immensely profitable products, that last bit is profoundly gospel-like – as little design as possible. Now, more than ever, when coffee roasters and cafes are investing more time, energy, and money into designing and operating coffee shops of varying appearances, “cafe design” has become a cornerstone topic. (As a footnote, you can read my interview with Brian Jones of Dear Coffee I Love you, here.)

Less is more. Design is most effective when it whispers. Shouting, while eye-grabbing for fleeting moments, is distracting to the ultimate experience of enjoying a tasty cup of coffee.

Peregrine Espresso, in the Eastern Market neighborhood in DC, embodies this ideal. I have heard of Peregrine’s impressive selection of impeccably (in-house) roasted beans, and the masterful orchestration of its baristas. All true. The natural sun-dried Yirgacheffe I tried that day, from the Idido farm, was immaculate. With hints of Concord grape and strawberry jam, the cup was balanced with just enough acidity.

Compared to the flashy flavors of its coffees, the cafe itself is very understated. No Scandinavian furniture, no fancy lighting, no multi-colored chalk drawings sprawled about. Space is a premium. Yet the cafe is profound. Peregrine’s logo, re-created on one wall, is symbolized with a shade of the color green; that green theme is subconsciously reminded throughout the cafe, to the point where it goes unnoticed until the second or third glance. The place does not shout “hipster.” It is clean-cut, minimal, where you have just the essentials – bar, brewing gear, pastry/coffee display, tables, chairs. Not much else.

On a rather unassuming Wednesday afternoon, the cafe was bustling. Patrons order, chat, drink, chat some more. Some stay, some leave. A cafe carrying out its essential functions is a beautiful thing. Serve great coffee, provide an inviting space, highlight your brand quietly in design, but powerfully in taste.

Specialty coffee, in recent years, has attracted (unwillingly, and unintentionally, maybe) a pretentious side. While in line at Peregrine, I overheard an interesting exchange between a patron and a barista.

“Could you grind this bag for an AeroPress, and this bag for a Bialetti?”

Perfectly legitimate request, until you think it through. The AeroPress and Bialetti are both excellence brewing contraptions. But getting freshly roasted specialty coffee pre-grinded – by the bag – defeats the purpose of buying specialty coffee or brewing with varying devices. Brewing devices exist to highlight different angles and flavor profiles in a batch of coffee. The lone fact that you are brewing using an AeroPress or Bialetti has little value in itself. It almost seems as if saying “I brew with an AeroPress” automatically places one in the class of coffee connoisseur. It does not.

It does not take a major stretch in imagination to think that coffee – although perfectly sourced, processed, and roasted – that was ground three, five, seven days prior, is not the same coffee. It loses aroma and essential oils that are so vital to highlighting the coffee’s flavors. The AeroPress and Bialetti are not flavor injectors; they are mere tools to enhance what the beans already possess.

There is no room for pretentiousness in coffee. While the science behind cultivating, picking, processing, roasting, and brewing coffee is undeniable, enjoying coffee is simple, as simple as things get. In this regard, coffee’s magnetic attraction to design is irreversible. Contraptions, cafes, brands – they are there but not there. Getting out of the way for the coffee in the cup to shine is hard to execute but essential to sustainable success.

Peregrine would have Rams’ approval. Aesthetic beauty is best exemplified through unobtrusive, honest design. And design is best exemplified when there is as little design as possible.

Design is not foreign or alien. It is most effective when it is the opposite: intimate. But one could argue good design is roving or migratory, in that it is never the overwhelming statue in the middle of the room. Rather, it is a steady, constant current, drifting through the core. According to Peregrine, its name is defined, fittingly, as follows:

Peregrine (per’e-grin,-gren)
1. Foreign; alien.
2. Roving/wandering; migratory

[Middle English, from Old French, from Medieval Latin peregrïnus, wandering, pilgrim, from Latin, foreigner, from pereger, being abroad]

A feeling of loss? Theft, maybe. Relinquishment?

It’s the feeling when a best kept secret is no longer a best kept secret, when the world knows what you thought was secretly yours. I guess it was never a best kept secret in the first place – it was never ours, never mine. It was the world’s to begin with.

I’m talking about Baked & Wired in Georgetown.

Weekday mornings, weekend evenings, it seems nearly impossible now to find a decently serene time of day to fully enjoy this beautiful coffee shop. The coffee bar is on full throttle – milk steaming, espresso flowing, coffee grinding. Tourists, passers-by, serious folk, casual folk, they’re all lined up in a squiggly formation in front of the pastry and cupcake shrine. And macaroons, too.

Coffee is great here, partly because they usually offer a variety of single-origin beans from a few roasters. Intelligentsia, Stumptown, and so on. I don’t usually drink lattes, but when I do, it is here at B&W. If you do have a sugary urge, do grab a cupcake. Yes, you read that correctly. Cupcake. There is a particularly famous joint in Georgetown, one that has its own TV series, where tourists stand in lines that go for blocks, in rain and snow. You might of heard of it, yeah, Georgetown Cupcake, or whatever. Totally overrated compared to the stuff at B&W. Better frosting, better flavor, better and better. I don’t usually buy cupcakes, but when I do, you get the gist.

Great coffee, great baked goods. But I like this place because of its somewhat odd, unbalanced interior. The coffee bar is understated, the La Marzocco machine is prominently featured, while random trinkets hang from the ceiling in harmony with hand-written menus. Minimal, essential. The baked goods bar is contrasted by giant moon-like lighting fixtures, illuminating the assortment of carbohydrates enveloped under glass lids. More like an art showcase than a pastry display. Glamorous, even.

The back of the coffee shop is starkly different, highlighted by a “Napkin Wall.” Dozens of paper napkins are taped to the wall, all of them with some form of writing or drawing (or both) on them. I don’t know what the wall is supposed to represent. As a collective, it seems to be a “I was here” sort of thing, individual doodles making a broader collage with no particular meaning. Meaning, however, is no prerequisite to general aesthetic beauty. And the wall, in an eery way, is beautiful.

The coffee shop that was never mine, never ours, is no longer mine, no longer ours. But it’s still there, serving good stuff, and the wall is growing. Each stroll through Georgetown will always feel incomplete without a visit to Baked & Wired.

And as the great Maya Angelou would say

“Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.”

Wikipedia defines a collage as “a technique of an art production, primarily used in the visual arts, where the artwork is made from an assemblage of different forms, thus creating a new whole.”

An assemblage of different forms. Creating a new whole. Most things we consider “uniform” did not start out in uniformity. At one point, most things we consider as uniform, as a singular “whole,” began as distinct, individualistic blurbs, heralding from different corners of this organized chaos we refer to as our world. An assemblage of distinctness thus creates new wholes, whether or not the purveyor of the said whole or the recipient of the benefits of the said whole realize the distinctness that embodies this new creation.

When one studies the history of coffee, from its early beginnings through colonialism through industrialism and beyond, one realizes the undeniable fact that coffee history is “an assemblage of different forms.” As the coffee trade traveled through cities, countries, and continents, it absorbed distinct blurbs of disinctness, reformatting itself to the needs and wants of the people.

The coffee house was no exception. Debate house for debaters, political house for politicals, chat house for chatters. The coffee houses we know today are a product of this assemblage of hundreds of years, and is still being molded to create a “new whole.”

Killer E.S.P. in Old Town Alexandria is a collage.

The cafe’s entrance is bright and airy, as an impressive selection of colorful gelato and a hand-painted elephant greet you. As one walks deeper towards the back of the cafe, the more “random” everything becomes – an odd collection of tables and couches, eclectic photographs hanging throughout, and red brick walls as old as Old Town itself. Organized chaos, when executed precisely, is a beautiful thing. An assemblage of different forms creating a new whole is no easy task, and Killer E.S.P. almost has it.

“An assemblage of distinctness thus creates new wholes.”

Seating per square feet says a lot about a coffee house. More seats, more bustle. Less seats, less bustle. To add to the character of a coffee house, the decision to place more or less seats per square foot should be made on an aesthetic basis. Done this way, even a “cramped” coffee house could resemble “an assemblage of different forms, thus creating a new whole.” Coffee houses should not be about “turning tables” without any design considerations on how the seating affects the cafe experience.

The random collection of tables and couches at Killer E.S.P., seemingly thrown together at the back of the cafe, is not ideal for reminiscence, quiet conversation, or work. However, that is why this coffee house has character. The random tables and couches add character, the photographs on the wall add character, the “tightness” of the space adds character, the loud music adds character. Killer E.S.P., in short, is visual arts demonstrated in coffee-form. Preference for lighter, airy cafes should not diminish the value of human warmth devised through the proximity in which my neighbor is sipping her latte.

 

This leads to an observation of something prevalent in the coffee house world, something that does not embody the collage of coffee history – coffee houses exclusively brewing coffee from a single roaster.

The economic reasons for such business decisions are clear. So are reasons based in reality and practicality. Exclusive dealing clauses are a way of life in the world of contracts, ensuring a protective bubble around a brand’s product in the market. Killer E.S.P. brews Stumptown beans exclusively. Stumptown Coffee is excellent. In terms of sourcing, roasting, and branding, it is indeed one of the leaders in the specialty coffee world. But it seems like every other coffee house brews Stumptown. Every other coffee house (at least in the DC area) brews Counter Culture Coffee, for instance (which is, of course, another excellent leader in quality coffee). The issue is not with the standard of quality associated with these roasters. Instead, the issue is the lack of choice for the customer.

“Coffee houses are miniatures of the neighborhoods they call home. They are the essence, the quintessential, the absolute, the one-and-only.”

Coffee connoisseurship is often compared with wine connoisseurship. There begins my analysis. When one walks into a wine bar, one expects more than one variety of wine from more than one vintner. A wine bar that serves only a limited number of bottles from one vintner from one region could be deemed a “specialist,” but it would indeed close its doors in no time. Singularity is not accepted in the wine world, and it should not be so easily accepted in the coffee world. Variety should be celebrated, not only in terms of coffee growing regions and micro-lots, but also in terms of specialty roasters.

For coffee houses that roast their own beans, singularity should be celebrated, and all attempts should be made to feature, front and center, their product. But for those that “import” beans from elsewhere, this is a thought to consider. There already exists coffee houses that practice this method. Even some coffee houses that roast their own beans often feature “outside” coffee. This added variety not only enhances the customers’ coffee experience, but also adheres to the history of the coffee house.

At their best, coffee houses are miniatures of the neighborhoods they call home. They are the essence, the quintessential, the absolute, the one-and-only. Killer E.S.P. smells of the brick walls of Alexandria. As a collage within a collage, the heart of a city thumps within this giant of a cafe.

*          *          *

http://killeresp.com/
1012 King Street
Alexandria, VA 22314
Sun – Thur 9 – 9:30ish, Fri – Sat 9 – 11:30ish

Coffeehouses are special places. “Reviewing” them is, therefore, almost heretic.

One can only scribble one’s thoughts into merely man-made words, as all senses take part in a unique experience one refers to as “drinking coffee.”

The initial review of cafes in Old Town Alexandria started off with Misha’s Coffeehouse and Roaster. And now, the second installment of coffeehouses in Old Town takes us to a space I have been meaning to visit for a while: M.E. Swings’ coffee bar and roasting facility in Del Ray.

Established in Washington, DC in 1916, M.E. Swings became a neighborhood charm when it opened the now historic Mesco Coffee Roasters building at 1013 E Street, decked with hand-crafted mahogany interior and bright red, wooden coffee bins. In addition to crafting hand-dipped chocolates, Swings roasted fresh batches of coffee every day with a German roaster, permeating downtown DC with the smell of roasted coffee beans for 70 plus years.

I first became acquainted with Swings through their coffeehouse on G Street. Located across from the Old Executive Office Building, the G Street coffeehouse is filled with the original mahogany and mirrored fixtures, vintage burr grinders, wooden coffee bins, and counterweight scales that were part of the legendary Mesco Building on E Street.

When I heard that Swings opened an expanded roasting facility, along with a spacious coffee bar, in the Del Ray neighborhood in May 2013, I was intrigued to see how Swings would portray its rich history in a new space, a new block.

After spending a quiet Saturday afternoon there, serenity is my word of choice.

One often associates the coffeehouse with conversation, with music, with bustling crowds, with newspapers, with laptops. All of that was present, but I choose to associate Swings’ Del Ray coffeehouse with natural sunlight.

The space is bright and airy, and its high ceilings, along with endlessly tall windows spanning an entire wall, are remnants of an old bakery. The mixed use of wood and steel was a unique aspect of the space. The coffee bar itself and some of the tables featured beautiful wood, while other parts of the coffeehouse are riddled with – and supported by – what seems like steel construction beams. This concoction of wood + steel gives the space an industrial yet natural vibe. And yet you will also find refined modernity by the presence of a beautiful, shiny La Marzocco Strada espresso machine, front and center.

One commonality I am finding amongst newer coffeehouses is the lack of seating per square feet. (This was also apparent when I visited Dolcezza’s new gelato factory and coffee lab in Shaw.)

A large “communal” table, two or so smaller tables, and a few arm chairs. That was it as far as seating. Coffeehouses, at least those opening new spots in the DC area, have taken advantage of larger, “warehouse-like” spaces to create airy and spacious “labs.” These new spaces are not about cramming as many seats as possible within a given square footage. Instead, like good paintings, they fully utilize “emptiness,” and thrive upon it.

Along with design and atmosphere, an absolute must for a stand-up coffeehouse is – coffee. On that particular day, I had hand-poured Brasil Sertão, a lighter roast with notes of cinnamon, nuts, and lemon. I had a brief discussion with Brian of DCILY about how Swing’s coffee is usually roasted on the darker side, maybe too dark for some. I agreed. But Swing’s may have found an answer in the Brasil Sertão. The coffee was roasted lightly enough so that the natural acidity and sweetness of the coffee came through, and yet it was dark enough that the depth of flavor, especially the nutty cinnamon notes, was still present. Delicious.

The “lab” aspect of the Del Ray coffeehouse comes from the separate cupping room, where public cuppings are held every Friday at 10 am. With its roasters literally right next door to the cafe, the Swing’s cupping room can truly be designated as a coffee “lab.”

To go back to step one, serenity is my word of choice to describe this Del Ray spot.

A coffeehouse has many ways to “speak.” It may speak through its baristas, its patrons, its music, its design, its furniture, and of course, its coffee. But a coffeehouse may also speak through its emptiness. Emptiness speaks volumes, perhaps even more so than any other aspect of a coffeehouse.

In a world where restaurants and cafes alike fight to see who can cram more seats (and turn them over faster) into limited and pricey square footage, being able to discern the flooring at Swing’s and notice the natural sunlight bounce off of it was a serene experience.

Only in relative emptiness did I truly find a fulfilling coffee experience.

*          *          *

Swing’s Del Ray Coffee Bar

501 East Monroe Avenue, Alexandria, VA

Monday – Friday | 7:00 am – 3:30 pm

Saturday | 8:00 am – 2:00 pm

The wind was blistering cold, churning the frigid air, molding it into icy torpedoes gusting through the narrow streets of Old Town Alexandria. Right in the heart of town lives Misha’s Coffeehouse, a local favorite known for its addictive Route 66 blend (roasted in-house, like all of its blends and single-origin varietals) and cozy atmosphere.

The centerpiece of this coffeehouse is the vintage refrigerator, featured prominently next to the main entrance. Draped with all sorts of local community news and announcements, the fridge, which is still used regularly, shows how deeply Misha’s is integrated with Old Town.

I can sum up Misha’s as “vibrant.” The amount of red used in a cafe, let alone in any interior design layout, could be frightening. But the red used in Misha’s is anything but that. Rather, the red is inviting, complimenting the rows of freshly roasted beans, loud but not boisterous jazz music, and the unassuming black and white exterior.

In terms of cafe design, I prefer minimalist approaches, lots of black and white, modern metallic pieces mixed with vintage items, and bold colors used sparingly as highlights. If color is to be used, in any amount, it needs to make a statement without screaming at you. Misha’s interior accomplishes that at some level.

Fresh batches of coffee are roasted several times a week. While its signature Route 66 blend has customers incessantly storming the counter, Misha’s also roasts an impressive lineup of single-origin varietals, from Yemen Mocca Matari to Kenya AA. The barista’s pour over technique was less than impressive (did not pre-soak the paper filter to minimize the paper taste, and I always cringe when there is a row of commercial Bunn coffee makers displayed at a coffee bar), and the “French Roast” for certain beans seemed too dark to bring out any of the unique flavor notes of the coffees. That said, with a little training, this coffeehouse has potential to brew delicious coffee in a delicious, historic neighborhood.

Misha’s Coffeehouse & Roaster

As many of you are acutely aware, I am a coffee addict. Sourcing, brewing and drinking, however, are just acts in a grand symphony. Café history and culture has the breadth and depth that eclipse those of pubs and bars, and yet what the average coffee connoisseur sees and experiences seems all too one dimensional. To enjoy coffee at its fullest potential, a discussion of the “coffeehouse” – the brick and mortar, the counters, the stools, the people – is more than relevant.

Enter Niels Lee, a close friend of mine, trained historian, and fellow coffee addict. The combination of years of wandering through cafés all over the map and a thorough understanding of contextual coffee history is the prime reason I reached out to him to author the first guest piece for i am not a lawyer. As I have broadened my own observance from the mere taste of coffee to its significance of “place,” Niels reminds us of what it means to enter a coffeehouse, to order your special drink, to plunk down in your seat. What it means to “drink coffee.”

Enjoy.

*          *          *

Our contemporary coffee culture has been in a mood swing of sorts. Coffee is still consumed in copious amounts in its most traditional form, yet it seems our modern gleeful entrepreneurial spirit, mixed with a hint of capitalist innuendo, has produced some interesting outcomes. People for some time have been using coffee grinds as ant and flea repellents, additional ingredients for their compost and odor sanitizers. Many of you thought that coffee from monkey droppings was weird; well, here in the West we are now being introduced to a $50 per cup coffee made from the finest ingredients from elephant dung. Oh, and coffee obsessed conservationists should rejoice, as you can now wear your recycled coffee beans on your daily runs. And of course, amidst the Americanos, cappuccinos and espressos, we have witnessed the rise of the ice blended drink that tried to sound sophisticated by labeling itself as a “frappuccino.” Don’t get me wrong, I actually enjoy these new attempts at recycling coffee beans and inventing new forms of coffee. “Tradition,” if anything, is built on the steady acceptance of innovation. I occasionally enjoy the drink that skyrocketed Starbucks to a passable franchise. I just wish the “frappuccino” didn’t try so hard to join the traditional coffee club.

The actual modern pushback against the adulterous affairs of coffee is lead by the “Epicureans.” No, not the pretentious “coffee snob” crowd whose sole identity is defined and confined by their defiance against Starbucks. I’m talking about the “true believers” who discuss and practice the fine art of grinding, roasting, temperature obsessing, hand-pouring and finger-giving to those who can’t tell the difference between a hand-pour and an Americano. I for one could never join this elite subculture where most seem to be card carrying members of the Specialty Coffee Association of America or hippies who spend their time in cafes well known for their torn up couches. Not that I would reject a certificate from the SCAA or avoid spending time with my friends who seamlessly use the words “those were the days” and “fair-trade” in the same sentence. I guess I’m just more of the view that the greatest evil is not a terrible cup of joe from 7/11, but energy drinks that shamelessly promote their relevance by claiming it can replace coffee simply because it is more convenient, devoid of heat, and full of “energy inducing ingredients.” Let’s face it, toothpaste and shampoo commercials with their fake smiles are more convincing. At least those selling bad coffee know how terrible their products are- the energy drink crowd actually seem to believe in their messianic pomposity.

Up to this point, most of you have heard it all, the cries of the coffee cultural wars. Yet I bring up the energy drink industry for it to act not only as my personal linguistic piñata, but because it is part of a larger issue regarding the coffee industry. While the battle between the “innovators” and “true believers” continue, I lament at the decline of the “coffeehouse” culture. The very idea of the traditional coffeehouse culture is steadily contracting to the point of nonexistence, and those pesky energy drinks aren’t helping.

What is this coffeehouse culture you ask? Wait, aren’t the young, old, and odd all converging to the nearest coffee shop to relax, engage in conversations, get work done, and to use the restroom? Aren’t I actually typing this very post in a coffee shop filled with people engaging in various social activities? Well, not exactly. I’m a son of the South, studied in the Midwest and currently live in the East Coast, all the while stormed every coffeehouse my Wal-Mart bike would take me. Whenever I stopped by local establishments, I was often struck by how customers were always quite self-enclosed. People were either on their laptops, talking about work with (usually) a single co-worker, reorienting their iPhone screens or zipping out of the café while juggling their cup of joe, briefcase, suit jacket, and divorce papers. If a local talent is out there in the corner singing hear heart out, barely half of the room seemed to notice, with pockets of people looking up once in a while to give an indifferent round of applause. Now, I will be the first to say there is nothing wrong with relaxing with a friend or ignoring a struggling musician, but it seems like we have gotten used to bringing our individualistic tendencies out into the public. Yet coffee houses in the past were more than extensions of our living rooms. Let me explain, with a very, very short history of the cafe.

The first users of coffee as a social beverage were the Sufis in Yemen during the turn of the 15th century. Within two centuries, the beverage had spread through the rest of Europe. According to pre-eminent Ottoman historian Cemal Kafadar, coffee houses on the other hand were first established in Istanbul in 1551 primarily for local Sufi orders, but the idea of a coffeehouse steadily expanded into the public arena, and by the 18th century, coffee and its houses became an integral part of Middle Eastern and European social gatherings. This was possible not only due to coffee’s bittersweet taste and its ability to manipulate our biological clocks, but because coffee houses’ cultural and intellectual output. Initially, the coffee houses gained popularity in the Middle East due to its various forms of public entertainment, such as shadow puppet theatres and meddah (storytelling), while European cafes steadily began to define their place in society as unique intellectual hubs. While great German composers such as Beethoven and Bach often composed their works in cafes, English coffeehouses or “Penny Universities” gathered intellectuals, playwrights, local professors and journalists to discuss obscure philosophy and the politics of the day. In Vienna, those who were shunned by mainstream academia – the majority of which were the Jewish intelligentsia – would relocate themselves to salons and cafes to discuss the social ills of the day, so much that as the historian Steven Beller notes, the proverbial local saying was “the Jew belongs in the coffee-house.” With this in mind, Matthew Green has recently asked, “Can you imagine walking in, sitting next to a stranger and asking for the latest news? Or slamming a recent novel down next to someone’s coffee and asking for their opinion before delivering yours? It’s not the done thing.”

I could go on, but I think you get the idea. In many ways, the modern coffeehouse has improved, with relatively cheap coffee, free WiFi, semi-comfortable chairs and endless supply of bad music. But aesthetics and service aside, most coffee enthusiasts seem to be unaware of how historically, coffee itself was not the major focus, but rather the brick walls and wooden tables that allowed a place of refuge from everyday toils. The great intellectual and cultural hubs of yesterday are now either glorified vending machines for the busy worker or where the coffee elite can converse about the superior quality of their beans.

We can discuss the rising rent costs, the inevitability of cultural manipulations, the menace of the buy-one-coffee-and-stay-for-three-hours crowd, the fact that some people are just turned off by graduate students pretending to understand Hegel’s Phenomenology of the Spirit, and the simple hectic schedules many of us have to maintain. (It is of course during this confusion, the “energy drinks” with their closing caps, portability, and lack of a burning sensation, steadily rose to feed on our modern illness.) For some political conservatives, the constant Republican-bashing and promotion of a socialist utopia in certain cafes is disturbing, thus driving three individuals to establish the Conservative Cafe in Crown Point, Indiana. This conservative themed café has great ambitions to create a new franchise, where the “fair and balanced” is on 24/7, coffee blends include Conservative, Liberal, Moderate, Radical Right and sells T-shirts with patriotic slogans such as “Peace Through Superior Firepower,” whatever that means.

These troubles aside, if part of our modern civilization was born and sustained with the help of intellectually curious individuals holding cups of coffee in shady cafes, perhaps it’s a tradition worthy of continuation despite our modern ills. I’m not too pleased that one of the most historical coffeehouses in London is now home to a random Starbucks, but if that particular café focuses on creating an atmosphere that draws the various forms of social activity instead coming up with another “frappuccino” flavor that sounds great on paper but a monstrosity to taste, I think I could live with that.

The revival of the coffeehouse culture, of course, transcends politically themed cafés, does not really care about whether you’ll join in on the revolution, loves conversations that will last for hours, invites local talent for various kinds of entertainment, and tolerates poor graduate students struggling to sound significant. The coffee shop was influential because it provided alternative forms of entertainment and intellectual activity; the cup of coffee you bought was a mere entrance fee. Call me a romantic, for imagining such a cafe in world of instant gratification and uber-capitalism at its finest. But then again, as F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, “I’m a romantic; a sentimental person think things will last, a romantic person hopes against hope that they won’t.”

Anyhow, until I see the rise of snobs decrying the deteriorating state of coffeehouses, I’m staying out of all coffee related controversies, clashes and discussions.

Oh, and energy drinks, I await your defamation lawsuits.

*          *          *

Niels is one of the many poor graduate students you will find wandering around various coffeehouses. He is trained as a historian, a romantic by trade, loves Dostoyevsky, and hates taking out the trash. Publications include “Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church and Ukrainian Identity” published by The Birch, but understands that most people don’t really care much about tedious history.

%d bloggers like this: