West with the Best

This summer was a summer of relationships. My friendships deepened so much that every goodbye felt like a knife to the heart and every time I wiped away my tears and said “You’re ok,” a thin Band-Aid (that would soon fall off) came up over the wound. I hate goodbyes. Goodbyes are a thing of the devil but this summer was particularly hard as I headed off to a new school, a new year, a new state, and new cafes (ok that part is pretty nice). Let me first take you back to June. I finally saw the West Coast (men). What a lovely place to be and dwell (and date) -- gosh it was a trip that flew by yet I can’t seem to get it off the tip of my tongue. Here is a log of my time out West based on not the sights or the cities, but the coffee.

In the air:

            After the words “The decaf is instant,” I found myself being poured a cup of regular coffee at 9 pm. It was weak and burnt and tasted like what I imagine death to taste like or the underside of a rock, either one. Nevertheless I was headed to the West Coast and paid for my plane ticket so I was going to have that “free” beverage and straight up enjoy it.

Portland:

I had the jitters for most of my trip to Portland, mainly because of the over consumption of coffee, but also because there was a small (large) part of me that truly believed that I was going to have a bicycle related death while roaming the city. I forced my two West Coast traveling buds to hit up Coava while in Portland. Other than a rather sketchy car rental company, it was our first stop. I spent most of the time there staring at the general area that Fr

ed Armisen and Jerry Seinfeld sat when they stopped by there on Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, although their table was missing. Of course I know it didn’t matter that I couldn’t physically sit in the two seats that they did, and it’s not like I was planning on doing that for the last three months. . . (flips over a table). The hipster wait time was about 10 minutes and the baristas were pleasant and laid back, much like everyone I encountered in Portland. I got drip coffee in a mug so heavy it sent my hand straight to hell (like a good mug should).

The cafe was constantly filling and draining of small clumps of people who are starting trends or at least attempting to. There were qualities of Brooklyn that I somehow felt at Coava, but the overall ambiance was still very much its own. With a bamboo shop in the back and man buns everywhere, the place was as smooth and tasty as the coffee. I snagged a bag of their delicious beans before heading out, because nothing tastes better than coffee that’s been stuffed into a suitcase for a week.

Seattle:

            See ya later – I’m moving to Seattle where the city is fine and the mountains on the horizon are even finer. It’s the reason New York and I are currently fighting. The low humidity was reason enough to make me lease an apartment and stay forever. (Please note that I am usually a mere five on the scale of all things shallow, aka the scale of attraction, aka the scale created by men, however, with the West Coast’s low humidity, my curls and I become a generous five and a half). My five-and-a-half-self strutted into The Oddfellows Café after a great night in Seattle, consisting of Mexican food on a dimly lit rooftop and cocktails at a speakeasy whose secret door was only opened by the press of a doorbell. (I would like to take this time to formally apologize to that speakeasy for the ding-dong ditch we performed that same evening). So needless to say at this point my five-and-a-half looking self was on cloud nine, not to be confused with looking like a nine because I was still generously applying makeup to pass as what I felt was a six.

With a large airy space filled with big windows, an open kitchen and large oak tables, this café felt like the screened-in breakfast nook of your dreams. My friends and I tiptoed to the back of the café where we snagged a table outside in the four table sized alley with lights up above and plants as well as paintings scaling the brick walls. I squealed countless times in delight only stopping when our waitress popped up behind us. Thus beginning the coffee. I branched out as I often do on vacation and got a cappuccino. Maybe it was because the roasted bean color of the mug complimented my nails, or because the cappuccino actually was life changing, but listen up people, this cappuccino had me reaching nirvana. After about two hours curled up at our small table we hit the road mainly to get fish thrown over our heads. CAUTION: Fishes will sometimes be thrown too low and hit you in the head (wipes fish off my own hair). I’m still having dreams about The Oddfellow Café and ya’ll should be too because its ambiance is, dare I say, the best I’ve ever experienced.

Somewhere along the Oregon Coast: Espress(o) yo self with an Espresso Hut, east coast. It’s a drive through hut that has more promise to make me happy than any man ever will and for that reason the east coast has got to get a hold of one of these ASAP. I had a chai that was so good I nearly died. Thanks hut, for helping three girls with a mid-day sugar rut.

Bend: Bend felt like the city in “The Truman Show” and I’m still slightly convinced that it is. Everyone was attractive, almost a little too nice and somewhat doing well. It could be because if you didn’t want Starbucks or Dunkin which were right there, then you could go to any of the 4,254,689 little mom and pop coffee shops that were around town and if you really didn’t want that, today you could stop at a nearby espresso hut or by simply getting caffeine injected straight into your veins on the street corner down by the park. (The latter is of course a joke but if there is a thriving market for that, someone please let me know).

            Needless to say it was an amazing trip out west. Thanks for the memories, West, keep a mug of coffee waiting cause I’ll certainly be back. 

Blue Bottle Coffee: Brooklyn, NY

               Blue Bottle Coffee. Was I disappointed my coffee didn't come in a blue bottle? Maybe a little if I'm being honest but after my first sip of the dear-God-how-is-this-heaven-legal-to-sell coffee, all those thoughts were gone. But I’m a bit ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning of my day.

It was a Sunday, so Brooklyn was a bit sleepy. At 2 o'clock families and hipsters, which are seemingly interchangeable, began their day or so it seemed. My party of four grabbed a table at Juliette on North 5th Street. We happened to be surrounded by French natives, although we enjoyed this, by the end of the meal we felt rather ashamed at knowing only one language. Unless you count knowing how to say "I cry and drink wine" in French then I do admit I am only fluent in English. So off we went to get a cup of coffee, American coffee that would or would not come in a blue bottle. Two steps, a skip and a hop around the corner and we were there. No flashy sign to be seen, just a simple chalkboard out front causally hinting that something life changing is right inside. 

             Blue Bottle Coffee is one for the books. It started out in California but I found its delight right here on Berry Street. It has expanded in the last ten years to cover multiple cities on the west and east coasts and somehow I swear I can taste that growth, success, and community right there in the coffee. There was a bit of a line as we entered but it moved at a slow-down-you're-in-Brooklyn-now-not-Manhattan pace. As the line died down and I was getting closer and closer to the barista, I began to panic. Who did I think I was walking into the infamous Blue Bottle Coffee and assuming I knew how to order? I didn't. I was a deer in the headlights who was trying to focus but there were too many attractive Brooklyn men around, too many little hipster children dressed better than I. I tried desperately to push my brother ahead of me in line but Clark is nearly 6'6” and the shove would not have been discrete. I considered crying, a logical option. Walking up to them and just crying. Crying until they assumed I needed a drip coffee, or maybe the cure was a mocha, or a flat white. Who knows? Not me, that's for sure. Although at this point I had thought through several grand ideas, I settled for the act-normal-confident-and-order-the-first-thing-your-eyes-fall-on attempt. This attempt brought about me ordering a mocha. And just like that, the stress was gone. I could again take in my surroundings and think about if we would be so lucky as to find a spot to sit with their two long tables surrounded by stools. As I waited for my mocha and Clark waited for his cappuccino, we observed the openness of the back room. We saw the shelves of coffee sitting in their warehouse. Only a simple half wall between us and all the coffee our hearts could desire. We pondered the thought of jumping over the half wall but my legs are rather short. (This was the only reason we did not do such a thing.)

                They are open from 7am to 7pm everyday (open until 8pm Saturday because falling asleep at a bar isn't as high class and safe as it sounds) so there really isn't a reason why you can't swing by and grab a cup of coffee, and since there are seven locations in New York City alone I really see no excuses that are relevant at this point. The price of Starbucks but with actual freshness and taste. I'll pay for that. Maybe it was the mocha going to my head or the crowded tables, line out the door, but I like when my coffee is an event. I felt as though I had been awarded a Golden Globe. Getting in line was like being nominated and then there I was accepting, being quickly cut off by the next person in line as I tried to give my acceptance speech. And I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say there is a large chance getting and enjoying a cup of Blue Bottle Coffee will in fact feel just as good as accepting a Golden Globe. And the nominees are...

Blue State Coffee: New Haven, CT

            Did the coffee taste better because it was on Yale University’s campus? Yes, yes it did and I won’t let anyone convince me otherwise. But with that being said, the coffee was well above par, as were their lattes that came holding a newly created masterpiece right there in the foam. 

            With two Blue State Coffee locations nestled on either side of the campus, Yale students have the perfect study rooms. Although it was Yale’s spring break, the café was still jam packed with local coffee addicts, granola-eating-anti-bathing ex-peace core members, and the occasional Dr-to-be, I'd-save-your-life-Sophie-but-I-know-you-don't-actually-need-CPR Yale student. My group and I slid right in with the other wallflowers perfectly. So much so that I found myself quickly morphing into the Yale student world. I began talking to my friends as if I attended the school. "Yes, well if you turn left out of here you're gonna be on Yale's campus. It's just simply beautiful and if you take a right out of here believe it or not you're gonna be right there on Yale's campus. There are buildings, and other buildings all of which are Yale. Those brick and stone things, Yale. Beautiful, I know." Adapting into unknown cultures is kind of a gift of mine. 

        With a part of their profit going to charity and their mission overall rather “green,” do you really need another reason to stop by Blue State Coffee? If so, I’d say the boy at the window is personally enough of one for me. Or possibly the twenty-one year old girl with brown curly hair sitting with a few of her friends waiting for the perfect Yale boy to come in, swoop her into his arms and carry her into the sunset whispering “I’ll pay off your college debt.” But then again, I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic.

        With locations ranging from Yale’s campus to Rhode Island to Boston, you've got to be here on the East Coast to grab a sip of this heavenly delight in one of their shops.  Luckily you can still have their coffee at home by ordering it off their website. Please note that the beautifully perfected foam masterpieces are not included with the online models. Nor are the attractive male baristas. You wouldn't want to miss out on a chance to embarrass yourself like I do everywhere I go. So why not make the trip to go to the cafe in person. Maybe I dropped most/all of the change from my change purse on to the counter  when paying. Maybe I couldn't find where the milk was for the coffee and wandered around like a lost (21 year old) child until someone else with coffee led me to the source. Maybe.

         With sandwiches, lattes, coffees, and teas, there really isn't anything else you’ll need while studying, reading, or catching up with friends. After the coffee reached all the darkest parts of my soul which is indeed hard to do, it was time to say goodbye. With most shops open around 7 am and closing around midnight, you simply have no excuse to pass by this place. With a polished look, inspirational quotes written on every large open surface and enough tables to satisfy even the most stressful of midterm seasons, it’s a great coffee rest stop.  It was a pleasure mixing into the Yale students’ world if only for an hour or two. Will I randomly be hanging out on Yale’s campus even though I don’t go there, Blue State Coffee in hand? Yes, how else does one meet their soul mate? Give to charity, help local farmers, and get energized for the day all by simply making your morning cup a Blue State one. 

Piccolo Cafe: New York, New York

              It’s not all commercial coffee for Midtown West here in NYC.  Settled on West 40^th Street between illuminated metal buildings and the sounds of a 9 to 5 work day, Piccolo Café leaves you with a different taste in your mouth. Having won the 2011 Craved Award by Seamless for Best just-like-mom’s food, you can be assured that the commercial atmosphere of Midtown West stops on the street. The exterior, a seemingly hand crafted wood appeal leaves you wanting to see more. Although there isn't much more to see as you walk into the tiny café you find yourself just as satisfied. Six seats in total, I was overjoyed as I snagged one for myself. Although their drinks and food options were endless, I stuck to a small coffee needing an extra kick to keep me up to speed with my NYC surroundings. The man behind me, who looked dashing in his business attire, seemed to be just off the work day, settling down for a unique “just-like-mom’s food” dish from Piccolo. I promptly noticed his wedding ring and thought to keep to myself, also my lack of self-confidence may have helped in this matter but we will keep the blame on the wedding ring.     

                  Although I sat in a corner staring out at the NYC streets, I felt very much on my own. My coffee equal parts bitter and sweet, equal parts logo free, plain white cup and high end coffee taste. With aged tin on the wall to my left and a collage of Italian papers plastered on the wall to my right I felt perfectly content. Their door stayed open during my visit, leaving their music mixed with a bit of the sounds of NYC that people over pay for daily, myself included. Being that the first song that began playing as I sat down was “Gold on the Ceiling” by the Black Keys, I’d say the mix of the “streets of New York” was a perfect fit. I’ll admit even as I sit here in this café attempting to write this review I find myself attempting to figure it all out. Figure out their unique combinations of food, the simplicity of their coffee why the only guy in here without a wedding ring isn't hitting on me and what exactly these Italian newspapers say. (So far I can read “Jazz” which in Italian is “Jazz.” Inside look at how well polished my Italian is folks.) If you find yourself stuck in the commercial badger of Midtown West, find your peace in Piccolo. Open Monday through Friday 7:30am to 8:00pm and 10:00am to 8:00pm on Saturday and Sunday at four different locations, I’d say you have a vast opportunity to make it down to this café at some point within your hectic work week. With frayed ropes, vintage décor and wooden stools I felt as if I was in a small mountain town’s corner store. The corner store feel, with the wood accents, personable employees, slowed down time but with the upbeat nature of the city which at the end of the day is all we need in a city. It looks as though it has been finally figured out “How to slow down time.” All you need is $1.50 for a coffee, a good book, and a few slowed down hours. 274 West 40^th Street, make a trip, read Italian, eat good food. (Oh and “Questa Settimana” means this week. Find it on the wall. You’re welcome for the Italian lesson. I charge by the hour.)

Mudhouse: Charlottesville, Virginia

             

Situated at the end of a row of cute outdoor dining, locally owned shops, and mingling young adults is the Mudhouse. Charlottesville Virginia was the perfect stop for my family and I as we looked for a break from driving. Grace Potter was signing at the music venue over the water, providing us with background music as we walked down the main strip of shops and restaurants. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in a movie. I would have felt rather ambiguous had this been true because my hair just simply wasn't up to par compared to the plentiful Southern hipsters that lined the streets. Everyone was sitting outside, drink in hand, enjoying the evening breeze. As we began to lose the sound of Grace Potter and the sun was dimming, we reached

the quaint sign of the Mudhouse. Had it not been for my dramatic stopping-dead-in-my-tracks turn around, my family would have passed right on by. Within moments we were inside breathing it all in. Local students from the University of Virginia filled a few of the seats, middle aged adults preoccupying the rest. Everyone had a well-rested look to them as if the cafe was also a well prescribed anti-aging cream (if only). But alas I had to go keep on aging leaving with a few pictures on my phone and a chai in my hand.    

                The staff was quick to help me as soon as I entered. They didn't ask me if it was my first time there, making me feel self-conscious, they just welcomed me with a smile and let me fall in place where my feet met the counter. Their drink menu was simple. Nothing over the top, nothing new, just classic coffee drinks made well. The walls were a stripped down look giving the overall appearance of just that-- a stripped down coffee escape in the middle of a young town. The colors were dark enough to keep you in the dark roast altered mood of your cup of Joe but lined with windows to keep your day dreaming active for hours to come.

                The menu was simple. Simply coffee, because who needs strange flavors and strange names when a simple latte or cappuccino, when made right, is all you need to lift your mood. If you find yourself in the quaint town of Charlottesville Virginia you would be doing a disservice to yourself if you skipped a coffee break at the Mudhouse.