I just wanted to say, how lovely it is to be able to see this every day where I live. My non-gay friends take this simple thing for granted in life, but it always touches me to be somewhere that you can be who you are in whatever sense that takes. This is why I am beginning to love New York.
I moved to New York on July 31, only to discover that the passion we have for coffee in New Zealand is not a universal love. I spent many days and nights lamenting everything that coffee had meant to me back in Kiwiland. The ritual (yes, yes … I am big on ritual as well, you will hear this lots) of having a coffee made in front of you, the creama, the aroma, the whizzing of grinders, the modern-day sanctuary away from an insane world, the coffee art on top to remind you how beautifully simple life can be.
And all I found was Starbucks, lattes that were pumped out of a hot pot and topped with warm milk, coffee shops that sold more things that started with “Frap” that was healthy. Mass-produced by people who seriously could not give a brass razoo (dont be asking me - google it). It was utter disbelief that propelled me on a pilgrimage to find the best coffee in the city. You will recall that I found Dean and Deluca, for intoxicatingly strong espresso … and yes that was good, but life is always a journey, it next rests and stops in one place.
Now I know I have mentioned it before, but today it deserves some special attention. Joe the Art of Coffee has won me over. I love it because it has its idiocyncracies, its not the quickest, and if you arrive anywhere near subway peak hour there is a queue out the door that the staff are oblivious to, the chairs are aluminium (which while a large export for New Zealand,I have a problem with - I always think I am about to get Alzheimers from sitting on it), and its crowded. But then there is the charm, the walk down the tree lined street, the fact that it is on the corner of Gay Street (seriously how could you forget that name hahaha), the smell of the coffee, the wooden floors, the coffee art that almost brings a tear to your eye because it has our kiwi silver-fern, the little pink coconut snowballs (not for breakfast, I promise, honestly, well only if I am feeling down, then only one, kept for play-lunch later on!), oh and the blackboard outside with a daily little quote - you are all too sweet. Oh and the fact that people can bring their dogs in, means you get to have a pat and a tickle without any responsibility (especially good if they are a little incontinent eeek - the dogs that is).
So, Mr Joe, here has been my unpaid advert to you (and sorry for borrowing the photos off your site, but I suspect that I would barely have room to pull out a camera at 8.30 am when I am there). You have filled a little warm space that had been on the verge of becoming tepid.
And for anyone that is interested, I see that next Saturday they are holding a “how to pull an espresso” training event ($10 - yell out if you want to go!)
I am pleased to advise that I took the next official step in becoming a New Yorker yesterday. My first rite of initiation - the Laundry Lady remembered my name. This seminal experience means I should now be blessed with the skill of socialisation that has to date escaped me when venturing into bars alone. My flacid tongue will be transformed.
(Yes ok, and still if nobody talks to me, at least I have clean clothes from where Everyone Knows Your Name - rock on Laundry Lady)
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