Hello, all.
Last Monday I woke up to the usual Shapiro family voicemail message:
"Justin, it's [family member's name]. Call me."
First, I absolutely hate when people leave voicemails. It's not like I can ignore the little gray bar at the bottom of my screen, and when I attempt to delete the message I'm forced to listen to the same instructions I've heard for the past three years. It's a lot like the SATs; being fond of cheating the system I wouldn't read the directions aloud when the proctor read them to me!
And another brick in the Berlin Wall of academic bureaucracy tumbles!
My point is that it's a huge process for such a pointless message. It's much like traveling hundreds of miles into an evil domain just to destroy a little gold ring! In fact, it's exactly like that, except all the physical exertion is channeled into fingers pressing tiny buttons.
In an age of globalization, is there room for an all-powerful evil ruler? Stay tuned as downtotheground goes Tolkien!
Kidding, unfortunately. Sorry to let you down, me.
Anyway, I called [family member's name] and was told that my mother, father, brother, and sister would be traveling to Florida for a week while I had impending biology and Indian history tests. [family member's name] went on to say that they needed a ride home from the airport Saturday night. I responded:
"Okay."
Of course, I was chosen to pick them up- and not the good kind of chosen, Chiam, but the type of chosen that necessitates finding a ride to the Rochester Greyhound station, taking the bus to Buffalo, and then taking the metro to my house. To make a meta-reference, I now find myself sitting alone in my house, drowning my troubles in coffee and MGMT, wishing I was in my dorm room, drowning my troubles in lesser-quality coffee and MGMT.
So, where is this coffee from? Why it's Buffalo's own Spot Coffee! Ay, there's his point!
Spot (or the oft-typed SPoT) is a local chain, with locations in Buffalo, Rochester, Toronto, and weirdly enough: Delray Beach, Florida. The interior of these local coffee shops resemble the interior of most Urban Outfitters, in that there appears to be an intentional disarray. Various draperies and stacks of local newspapers and magazines (generally dedicated to the art scene of the locale) lend a degree of comfort and familiarity.
Continuing with the Urban Outfitters theme, the furniture is almost definitely second-hand, without the distinctive marking of couches and armchairs built to look decrepit (as can be found in the hipster's hangout that is Urban). Despite the wear and tear that years of loft lifestyles wrecked on these seats, they are quite comfortable (albeit I can't speak for the Spots yet unvisited).
If the reader couldn't tell from the preceding two paragraphs, Spot most definitely caters to a specific clientele; those that wear tight red pants and cardigans are most welcome, yet Spot does its best to accommodate those that may not be down with Passion Pit. Spot's roots are on a community level in that they actively promote the art and culture of the city in which they are located, an all-important facet of coffee shops in Rust Belt America. Everyone, from the elderly couple who have lived on Cleveland since the 1950s to the person whose presence provides the most handy example of gentrification, is welcome in Spot. Unfortunately (or fortunately for the author) it has been branded with a sense of hipsterdom.
The coffee itself... rates a seven out of ten. Since I've apparently adopted arbitrary scales, it ranks closer to Sweetness 7, far from Au Bon Pain (continuing the theme!). It's by no means exceptional, but is more than adequate. Unfortunately, I didn't ask whether the coffee was free trade or who the distributor was, but 'twould be a good question for my return, which I expect will occur tomorrow night.
But fear not, readers! With a wide variety of food and drink choices this cafe more than makes up for its mediocre coffee. I shudder to think of cafes becoming so "hipsterized" that the actual coffee is done away with for weird drinks (albeit this would eventually result in coffee becoming ironic, thus kitsch and welcomed into the beverage fold as "retro") but most of them are actually quite delicious. If I may make a recommendation, the cinco shake is refreshing, from what I hear (it's only coffee for me, otherwise what kind of blogger would I be?).
And the sandwiches! I would highly recommend the spicy tuna focaccia, seeing as it's the only sandwich I ever order. It goes really well with the only drink I ever order, a grande house with no room for cream (in the same vein as Colonel Aureliano Buendia... I'm really digging for these annoying references). The sandwiches are delicious though- much better than the Geneseo campus focaccias, but so is play-dough.
This blogger definitely thinks Spot is worth checking out. The coffee requires some sort of accoutrement, but overlooking that Spot has an exceptional amount to offer. It's beneficial for both extended encounters and a quick bite. Yes, if one were to stay until midnight on a Sunday, one may meet a fair number of fixed-gear cycle enthusiasts, but Spot does maintain a core dedication to each and every customer, much like Sauron maintained a dedication to finding his ring before Kay Jewelers closed.
One day people may realize I try to add lots of filler. Oh, wait...
Friday, April 9, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sweetness 7, Grant Street, Buffalo NY
It's no small secret that this author holds a special affinity for Buffalo, New York. Besides my adoration of the run-down skyscrapers and dystopian structures of an Ayn Rand-influenced dream, my hometown recently moved from the second to third-poorest city in the United States, go Buffalo (now one step better than Cleveland)!
It's easy to overlook many of the bad aspects of Buffalo when one actually visits this unique city. Community advocacy has rejuvenated some of the older, more run-down neighborhoods. Chippewa is no longer the unsavory street of the 1980s (if you're under 21 it's now the unsavory street of the 2010s), the waterfront is no longer a dockyard of rusting memories, and Grant street is quickly being revitalized with new, unique establishments.
Actually, the Grant-Elmwood neighborhood isn't the only place being infused with cash and development... the signs are obvious throughout the city. You see new lofts, studio apartments, and office buildings as frequently as you come across twenty-somethings wearing thick-framed glasses, skin-tight pants, giant headphones, and a look of smug self-satisfaction.
Portrait of the blogger as a young man, sorry.
Anyway, I quite enjoy the Buffalo renaissance- my semester breaks always provide new places to sample food and coffee in the nickel city, and my last return gave me the opportunity to sample the coffee, and culture, of a uniquely "Buffalonian" cafe on Grant street.
Sweetness 7 was opened by Prish Moran in a former pharmacy. The building itself was constructed at the turn of the century and still bears the pressed tin ceiling, masonry, and expectations of its original proprietors. Hipsters take the 1990s and add contemporary culture, Buffalo takes the 1890s and does the same- this cafe is a prime example of the city's foundations and its future.
Onto the brew!
The coffee was served in a City Honors mug; since most people who read my articles at this point are probably familiar with the author's background, it's hopefully assumed that I found this most inviting. Actually, it was quite a change of pace to see that the mugs provided to customers weren't from Sweetness 7, but from various establishments around the city. It's as though there was a subliminal drive to promote the community of Buffalo.
The coffee was delicious, and washed the bitter taste of Au Bon Pain from my mouth (recurring theme!). I was pleased to see that Sweetness 7 didn't promote its potential for pretentiousness by labeling its coffee with the titles that elicit memories of Italian villas swarming with devoted fans of Passion Pit and Animal Collective (I'm sure every hipster feels a certain comradery with the poor Columbian farmer who has never left his hometown, let alone dreamt that his/her life's work would become fodder for delusions of Euro-American cultural unity... but I digress).
Another point: Sweetness 7 carries only fair trade coffee, while promoting local entrepeneurs. All coffee served in this cafe comes from a local vendor, and by simply requesting economically responsible coffee from this distributor Prish Moran has secured the patronage of socially-considerate customers.
With a jovial atmosphere, great coffee, and a developing locale, Sweetness 7 is certainly a place to try if (God knows why) you find yourself in the Buffalo area. It seems as though the citizens of Buffalo certainly support this establishment, as there are rumors of plans to open another branch on th' other side o' town. For my part, I look forward to joining a few of my fixed-gear friends the morning after midnight bike rides for a cup of some of the most conscience-pleasing coffee in Buffalo.
It tastes great too.
It's easy to overlook many of the bad aspects of Buffalo when one actually visits this unique city. Community advocacy has rejuvenated some of the older, more run-down neighborhoods. Chippewa is no longer the unsavory street of the 1980s (if you're under 21 it's now the unsavory street of the 2010s), the waterfront is no longer a dockyard of rusting memories, and Grant street is quickly being revitalized with new, unique establishments.
Actually, the Grant-Elmwood neighborhood isn't the only place being infused with cash and development... the signs are obvious throughout the city. You see new lofts, studio apartments, and office buildings as frequently as you come across twenty-somethings wearing thick-framed glasses, skin-tight pants, giant headphones, and a look of smug self-satisfaction.
Portrait of the blogger as a young man, sorry.
Anyway, I quite enjoy the Buffalo renaissance- my semester breaks always provide new places to sample food and coffee in the nickel city, and my last return gave me the opportunity to sample the coffee, and culture, of a uniquely "Buffalonian" cafe on Grant street.
Sweetness 7 was opened by Prish Moran in a former pharmacy. The building itself was constructed at the turn of the century and still bears the pressed tin ceiling, masonry, and expectations of its original proprietors. Hipsters take the 1990s and add contemporary culture, Buffalo takes the 1890s and does the same- this cafe is a prime example of the city's foundations and its future.
Onto the brew!
The coffee was served in a City Honors mug; since most people who read my articles at this point are probably familiar with the author's background, it's hopefully assumed that I found this most inviting. Actually, it was quite a change of pace to see that the mugs provided to customers weren't from Sweetness 7, but from various establishments around the city. It's as though there was a subliminal drive to promote the community of Buffalo.
The coffee was delicious, and washed the bitter taste of Au Bon Pain from my mouth (recurring theme!). I was pleased to see that Sweetness 7 didn't promote its potential for pretentiousness by labeling its coffee with the titles that elicit memories of Italian villas swarming with devoted fans of Passion Pit and Animal Collective (I'm sure every hipster feels a certain comradery with the poor Columbian farmer who has never left his hometown, let alone dreamt that his/her life's work would become fodder for delusions of Euro-American cultural unity... but I digress).
Another point: Sweetness 7 carries only fair trade coffee, while promoting local entrepeneurs. All coffee served in this cafe comes from a local vendor, and by simply requesting economically responsible coffee from this distributor Prish Moran has secured the patronage of socially-considerate customers.
With a jovial atmosphere, great coffee, and a developing locale, Sweetness 7 is certainly a place to try if (God knows why) you find yourself in the Buffalo area. It seems as though the citizens of Buffalo certainly support this establishment, as there are rumors of plans to open another branch on th' other side o' town. For my part, I look forward to joining a few of my fixed-gear friends the morning after midnight bike rides for a cup of some of the most conscience-pleasing coffee in Buffalo.
It tastes great too.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Au Bon Pain, Harvard Square
Ah, yes. College. Four years surrounded by your peers; laughing, crying, remaining stationary in your room meticulously arranging sentences to make them appealing to readers, all factor into the best four years of your life. As I type this I sit in the College Union sipping on Paul DeLima's "Burnt Sienna" blend. It makes me glad I had the opportunity (during a Model UN trip) to experience the variety of cafes offered by Cambridge, Massachusetts.
God, did I mess that up.
At eleven at night, disoriented by the shaking and quaking of the T, I stumbled into the only open cafe in Cambridge (unless one considers "Qdobas" a viable alternative) within immediate walking distance: Au Bon Pain. Hungry and confused, I walked up to the cashier and ordered a pastrami sandwich and a medium coffee.
That's where the "fun" and "excitement" of my cafe sampling ended.
After ten minutes there, I had difficulty maintaining my neutrality towards this establishment- call the Swiss delegate off-position, but a motion to adjourn wouldn't be ruled dilatory (I really hope the readers participated in Model UN). Sitting in committee for six hours was more pleasurable than sitting in Au Bon Pain for six minutes, convenient because the first detail of this cafe that I noticed was a sign that read: "Please limit seating to thirty minutes". This ambassador was more than happy to oblige.
As I took my time-metered seat, I realized the customers to my right had food from other restaurants. As I bit into my sandwich, I understood why. As I shook my head in disappointment, I wondered how this meal could violate a physical constant- it had been toasted, five minutes before I bit into it yet the bread, meat, and condiments were still cold. Bravo, ABP... if only you focused your magic on making customers want to stay past your arbitrary measurement of "appropriate eating-time" rather than altering the temperature of sandwiches I would've found this experience more enjoyable.
On to the coffee:
You know a cafe is high-end when they have all three flavors from which to choose: House, French Roast, and Hazelnut. Not trusting the house, I stuck to my Swiss roots and went with the French.
Those peculiar Western Europeans are known for their tastes in wine, cheese, and coffee (Model UN can lend to cultural insensitivity, sorry); they would have been deeply offended to know that their name was lent to such a lifeless, bland and unspectacular coffee.
This was a coffee meant for accoutrement- it needed cream, sugar, milk, a shock- anything to raise this Frankenstein from the operating table. It needed life! The one characteristic abounding in my cup was the lack of an edge. Sure it tasted enough like coffee, bitter at first and, well, hot. Yet it didn't leave my pallet with a distinctive mark. Essentially this was coffee with only a denouement, in a literary sense. Dry and bitter before descending into an abyss of blandness and conformity.
I'm used to coffee that ends in a bite; coffee should leave a taste behind to mark its presence, to reaffirm its existence. This drink did no such thing. It's the same cup you unthinkingly grab from the office counter or the dorm lounge.
Buy it in bulk, label it with a hint of exoticism, serve it to the customers. ABP's recipe for success and coffee.
Fear not, readers! I left that establishment before a potential clash with management, promptly exiting with ten minutes left in my cafe-sanctioned dining time. Wandering around the Harvard campus I pondered the existence of this distinctly out-of-place restaurant in Harvard square. A mystery for the ages...
God, did I mess that up.
At eleven at night, disoriented by the shaking and quaking of the T, I stumbled into the only open cafe in Cambridge (unless one considers "Qdobas" a viable alternative) within immediate walking distance: Au Bon Pain. Hungry and confused, I walked up to the cashier and ordered a pastrami sandwich and a medium coffee.
That's where the "fun" and "excitement" of my cafe sampling ended.
After ten minutes there, I had difficulty maintaining my neutrality towards this establishment- call the Swiss delegate off-position, but a motion to adjourn wouldn't be ruled dilatory (I really hope the readers participated in Model UN). Sitting in committee for six hours was more pleasurable than sitting in Au Bon Pain for six minutes, convenient because the first detail of this cafe that I noticed was a sign that read: "Please limit seating to thirty minutes". This ambassador was more than happy to oblige.
As I took my time-metered seat, I realized the customers to my right had food from other restaurants. As I bit into my sandwich, I understood why. As I shook my head in disappointment, I wondered how this meal could violate a physical constant- it had been toasted, five minutes before I bit into it yet the bread, meat, and condiments were still cold. Bravo, ABP... if only you focused your magic on making customers want to stay past your arbitrary measurement of "appropriate eating-time" rather than altering the temperature of sandwiches I would've found this experience more enjoyable.
On to the coffee:
You know a cafe is high-end when they have all three flavors from which to choose: House, French Roast, and Hazelnut. Not trusting the house, I stuck to my Swiss roots and went with the French.
Those peculiar Western Europeans are known for their tastes in wine, cheese, and coffee (Model UN can lend to cultural insensitivity, sorry); they would have been deeply offended to know that their name was lent to such a lifeless, bland and unspectacular coffee.
This was a coffee meant for accoutrement- it needed cream, sugar, milk, a shock- anything to raise this Frankenstein from the operating table. It needed life! The one characteristic abounding in my cup was the lack of an edge. Sure it tasted enough like coffee, bitter at first and, well, hot. Yet it didn't leave my pallet with a distinctive mark. Essentially this was coffee with only a denouement, in a literary sense. Dry and bitter before descending into an abyss of blandness and conformity.
I'm used to coffee that ends in a bite; coffee should leave a taste behind to mark its presence, to reaffirm its existence. This drink did no such thing. It's the same cup you unthinkingly grab from the office counter or the dorm lounge.
Buy it in bulk, label it with a hint of exoticism, serve it to the customers. ABP's recipe for success and coffee.
Fear not, readers! I left that establishment before a potential clash with management, promptly exiting with ten minutes left in my cafe-sanctioned dining time. Wandering around the Harvard campus I pondered the existence of this distinctly out-of-place restaurant in Harvard square. A mystery for the ages...
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