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.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
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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