Memorial Day 2012

Memorial Day is a day in which we honor the past, those who have fought for us, and paid days off of work(!).  Although last week I prepared by writing a truly thrilling recipe post for Memorial Day grilling on my work's blog (despite the fact that I had neither a grill nor an invitation to a barbecue), I am spending the afternoon in a coffee shop, catching up on some much-needed writing and other tasks.  Thus, I am memorializing days gone by of coffee shop grading days and pre-job coffee shop writing, job applying, and general dallying days.

The Stable House

 A recently opened coffee shop without too much traffic on the holiday, I am a fan of the Stable House so far because it is spacious, has a variety of seating with some available outlets, features a courteous and intriguing staff (thus far), has air conditioning, and miraculously stays open late during the week.

 

 

 

Free burger!

New York Babel, or the Multi-Lingual Hazards of Getting Coffee

You Know You're In New York When...
Getting coffee makes you seem like an insensitive ass.

I took a different subway route to work today just because I had a coffee craving.  I’m no coffee connoisseur, nor am I a coffee addict or even a regular coffee drinker.  BUT, on those early mornings when it was exceptionally difficult to make my way to Lenoir City to teach students who didn’t really want to discuss sentence structure, thesis statements, or William Faulkner, I would stop by the grand, classy establishment of Dunkin’ Donuts for some empowerment, courtesy of french vanilla coffee. 

On a drizzly New York morning, the fourth in a row of humid, depressing city mornings, I   wanted some warmth from nostalgia and coffee love. I rode the A all the way to the  Times Square stop, emerged in front of the New York Times building (for a moment, yes, pretending that I was important enough to enter and/or work there), then entered the combined Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins franchise on 40th.  Surprisingly, no line.

I walked up to the register and ordered my small coffee.

“Would you something something something something?” said the woman behind the register.

“Pardon me?”

The cashier looked at me reproachfully. “Words I don’t understand and many of them — many of them — all ending in a rise in pitch QUESTION?”

See, the cashier was a cute yet unhappy (unimaginable, right?  Seeing as how she worked at Dunkin’ Donuts during the morning rush hour...) Indian girl with an incredibly thick accent.  On top of that, however, she had a lisp.

With the proper amount of kindness, asking someone to repeat themselves once because they have a heavy accent is understandable and even, perhaps, considerate.  Asking more than once just makes you seem like an uneducated, isolated, “Amurica”-lovin’ fool.

So I decided to pretend I understood. “Yeah.”

She looked at me disgustedly.  Clearly answering in the affirmative was not an answer option. So she repeated herself again, very slowly, as if talking to the elderly or the mentally handicapped.  Or both.

I still didn’t get it.

Somehow, I managed to get my coffee (half-filled), feeling like a jerk while simultaneously being convicted that I need to travel more. While one of my absolute favorite aspects of New York City is the incredible diversity, its fascinating mix of people, culture, and language that somehow work together...it is also sometimes a hazard.

Of course, if I’m experiencing guilt over being an insensitive ass, then it probably reveals that I am not yet a New Yorker.

Bedford Hill Coffee Bar

I love the neighborhood feel of these places.  Here's some guys just in for a leisurely Saturday breakfast, some coffee, and some space to work on (and debate) the NYT Crossword puzzle.

I'm such a fan of the details: Here the floor and the contrast with the red stools.

 

Somebody should put my name on this board.

Coffee Shops in the City

One of the greatest benefits to filling my day wandering and writing* has been discovering coffee shops.  Although I have some Starbucks gift cards that I will take full advantage of, I prefer to support local coffee shops and try out their house blends.  (I’m trying my damnedest to be an astute coffee drinker because that’s the cheapest way to justify my extended presence in each shop.)

I’ve already mentioned The Daily Press because it’s so near to me and right in front of the entrance to the subway.  I started frequenting it not only for its convenience and simple charm (they play such an assortment of music, from Boston to hip-hop to jazz to a delightful hour of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours; they also have a projector, and they played a great jazz documentary in the background one afternoon); I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I’ve actually been mildly stalking the staff.  I want to establish familiarity and routine in my neighborhood, so I’m trying to make myself a regular.

The Daily Press Bed-Stuy

But I’ve also stopped in and visited other local shops and chains, some near me and some simply happened-upon in Manhattan.

Joe, Upper West Side

Cafe Grumpy, Greenpoint, Brooklyn

Here, at Cafe Grumpy, I struck up a relatively brief but interesting conversation with a regular, Antonio, who is Italian but grew up in Cleveland.

News Bar, Greenwich Village, Manhattan.  It caters to the NYU crowd, definitely. A nice place to leaf through magazines without even having to pretend that you'll eventually buy one.

At News Bar, I sat next to the most adorable old men, drinking their hot chocolate and turning on the old-school charm with the younger staff.

Ms. Dahlia's Cafe, right at the end of my block.

Very charming ladies.  And they were playing Natalie Cole's Unforgettable the whole time.

This is just a small representation, and I might share more about each later.  They all have different personalities, some friendlier than others, but I have always enjoyed the coffee shop atmosphere, especially when there are regulars.

On a run the other day, I haphazardly discovered my favorite coffee shop/bakery in Brooklyn yet: Urban Vintage.  The owners advertise it as a Boutique Café.  The décor is delightful (and for sale) – vintage and upcycled pieces of antique furniture.  The chairs are wonderfully rich yet mismatched, so each table has a unique flair, especially those tables that are hidden back by an armoire that holds great frames or soaps for sale.  Swirls on gilded wallpaper coexist easily with exposed brick painted in random squares of muted antique colors. The food is very affordable and looks delicious; the sandwiches come wrapped in little leaf bows, and the bread is obviously fresh.  For the ultimate treat, I heard the staff announce someone's order: "Nutella latte with almond milk!"  Yes, please. I will certainly visit again.

*I've discussed writing in a previous post.  It's actually become a pleasant and therapeutic hobby, which doesn't necessarily depend on talent or skill.  I've actually found myself writing not only in my journal and for these posts; I started working on a screenplay (say what?).  It's a "movie," a short film really, that's been "playing" over and over in my head and is intensely personal, which is ironic because movies in our culture are so communal.