A Scoop from the Golden Age

(Eddie's exterior. Image from Yelp.)

Occupying a beloved corner space on Metropolitan Avenue for over a century, Eddie’s Sweet Shop in Forest Hills maintains its reputation due to an old-fashioned approach to serving America’s favorite dessert. Antiquity radiates from within this ice-cream parlor, as everything from the marble countertop, to the homemade soda floats, to the vintage cash register seems embalmed in a long-gone era when sweets, prepared with a localized family-owned passion, felt equally splendid on the tongue and heart.

[Note: Let me acknowledge that the past, when viewed from posterity, always seems infinitely better than it in fact was. That’s beside the point here. When a store can in the present encapsulate the past’s ideal and keep it feeling genuine, it has inarguably achieved something great.]

But nostalgia for those chrome postwar years aside (how many Hollywood cameras have passed through its doors?), Eddie’s can still deliver on its renowned signature product. The ice-cream – and especially the beverages, be they milkshakes, malts or floats with the soda brewed right in front of you – is usually thick, rich, and poised to clean the most soiled pallet. Ice-cream scooped from a vat in a freezer, however, can be inconsistent no matter where it comes from, so I advise the uninitiated customer to stick with soft-serve. No other such shop in the immediate vicinity (read: all of New York City) could match it.

The milkshakes, though, hold a notable distinction among my taste buds. Every time, Eddie’s serves me what is easily the best milkshake I have ever tasted. I’ve slurped up some fine milkshakes in my day. A handful of anonymous diners come close. Marvel, a seasonal parlor out on Long Island, comes close. Larry’s, which I plan to profile once I return to Washington, can hold its own. But Eddie’s has invariably proven itself to reign high above the rest, and probably always will.

Rustic entities have a hard time avoiding obsolescence. Quite often they visibly decline, and the shop’s cracked floors and rickety metal stools might put off an unknowing patron. Admittedly, any old building comes afflicted with the petty nuisances of age. But should an ice-cream parlor that looks fit for James Dean appear pristine and squeaky-clean fifty years after the Eisenhower Age ended? For me, the shop’s archaic qualities, be they charming or inconvenient, validate its relevance and enhance the overall experience of frequenting it.

In a time when everything we eat and enjoy seems pre-prepared by dispassionate machines in a far-off factory, a taste of some down-home, simplistic, fundamentally humane ice-cream from a longtime local staple goes to show that we have done, and continue to do, better that what we are used to. Thankfully shops like Eddie’s, despite growing rarer with each passing year, are still around to remind us.

A Bistro at Once Cool and Unpretentious

(D.C. Bread & Brew exterior. Even the ampersand seems ingenuous. Image from dcbeer.)

The monoliths of Foggy Bottom start to give way to the smaller, more charming dwellings of Dupont Circle somewhere between M and N streets NW. It is amid this abrupt shift in architectural tone that a mesa-colored, one-story café called D.C. Bread & Brew appropriately cuts off the huge glass federal building preceding it on 20th Street, welcoming passersby going north to an altogether new neighborhood. Here, a government worker on lunch break can sit on the front deck or inside on leather chairs and sip coffee, eat sandwiches and temporally feel like a human being again. Or, Dupont Circle denizens can rendezvous and enjoy the cozy, conscientious atmosphere befitting to any good cosmopolitan.

Around noon on warmer days the few tables out front fill up quickly, but sitting inside when the fans run remains pleasant enough. Order at the counter choosing from a narrow selection of pizzas, paninis, quiche, salads, and a daily special or two priced around $12, the most expensive meal on the menu. A wider breadth of drink offerings boasts organic coffees, teas and wine along with some beers of varying obscurity. Depending on the order, a polite and obsequious server, who always addresses the customer using formal titles (my name was, a bit goofily, Mr. Matt) will carry out the dish anywhere from 5-10 minutes later. Some orders will take a while even with crowds absent.

The quiche, whether of meat or vegetables, is at least two-and-a-half inches thick with a firm crust and rich taste. Order sandwiches on crispy ciabatta bread and prepare to taste one of the better paninis in the District. A reasonable lunch special consists of half a sandwich and a salad with dressing temperately applied. Dishes come and go at a moderate pace, but rarely does one feel rushed by the staff. I’ve sat and read for hours at a small circular table in the dim corner without anyone trying to hurry me along, even after the plate before me had long since disappeared.

It’s not daunting task to find a cool, comfortable coffee shop in the area (see The District Java Roundup Parts I, II and III). Nor are locals hard-pressed for an organic eatery conducive to urbane time-wasting. But with superior food and a natural, welcoming aura, D.C. Bread & Brew rises to a higher level. It doesn’t seem to try in achieving sophistication. It simply achieves it, transcending expectations for an establishment of its sort in a neighborhood like its own. Anyone wandering up on the right street from the city’s financial district must get a fine impression.

The Entire World Stuffed Into a Truck

(The "Saucamobile," parked and ready to dish out the globe. Image from Sâuçá's website.)

A new addition to the fleet of mobile food vendors prowling the District for customers started its engines two months ago. Sâuçá, a yellowish truck with a rotating and ever-expanding menu pasted on its side, serves its sizable title dish – a flatbread wrap encircling world food from any of all six inhabitable continents – for less than $10 each. On a single day, Sâuçá can conceivably cook up pork banh mi from Vietnam, croque-monsieurs from France, fish tacos from Baja, and some old-time American BBQ beef, depending on which global region the customer craves a taste of.

The truck appeared with little flare on campus one day last week. Passers-by stopped to look, but this vendor has not yet amassed a following like the multitudes that flock whenever the purple tidings of Fojol Bros turn the corner. I placed my order after the state of propane availability became ambiguous (growing pains – we understand) and waited around for a short five minutes before carrying away a heavy container holding my beef shawarma, a Middle Eastern dish treated with Chimichurri and Tahini sauce.

An appropriate mélange of vegetables accompanied the tender meat. The seasoning gave character without immersing everything to unreasonable levels. Sâuçá claims that its food is exceptionally healthy – a singular quality that, if given the right attention while dining, one can usually taste. As a meat-eater who buys organic, grass-fed beef every chance he gets, I attest that the multicultural wraps from this vendor taste the way they’re marketed.

Finger foods can get messy, and the staff did not provide a biodegradable spork to fish up all the fallen bits from my order as the pita unraveled. (I didn’t see if any utensils were available at the window). But, after unashamedly using my hands, I devoured everything in the container, and it left me content. A partnering drink would have been nice, but the choices were few and prices somewhat steep ($2 for water, $1.75- $2.50 for tea or coffee). But a brand new urban food vendor can have its minute drawbacks so long as it delivers on what it promises – cheap, unique and appetizing delicacies, without which the city it serves would be a little blander.

Sâuçá delivers. I foresee it conquering this town, one avenue at a time.

An Orange Feeding Den in the EV

(At right: S'MAC's interior. Image from their website, http://www.smacnyc.com/home.html)

It was mid-afternoon on St. Patrick’s Day in New York, and we were getting agitated. Already an unmemorable uptown bar had denied us, presentable fakes notwithstanding. It played bad music anyhow. So we made the trying journey downtown, enduring a crowded subway and then block after block in the sun. Our breakfasts of hot toddies and car bombs steadily wore off. Hangovers started to set in. And we were hungry.

Some in our party just wanted to get to the next pub and put our setbacks behind us. But in others, hunger began to override even the anticipation of further bacchanalia. I thought and thought as we emerged in the East Village, my longtime stomping ground. Our situation demanded good drunk food – dishes that come in large quantities, are inexpensive, and are filling but not overwhelming. Then I remembered a very dear orange eatery over on 12th Street and First Avenue that sells macaroni and cheese.

S’MAC (short for Sarita’s Macaroni and Cheese) has beckoned to passers-by from adjacent dine-in and carryout storefronts since 2006. Therein, one finds a simple menu featuring 12 variations on the classic pasta/dairy mashup and little else. But no matter how peculiar (and they go pretty far out there), these renditions reign supreme in the New York area. Not many respectable establishments could pull off a mélange of the eponymous dish with buffalo chicken. But S’MAC does. And that warrants my utmost respect.

Should you choose to stick around, the staff will bring out your order in the skillet in which it was cooked, available in four sizes; I ordered the second-smallest ( Major Munch ) and it filled my famished stomach with ease. I couldn’t imagine what Partay, the largest, possibly looks like. A gargantuan pot, maybe, filled to the brim with cheesy elbow macaronis?

Reasonable orders don’t strain the wallet. Pasta can be normal, multigrain or gluten-free, according the company’s website. Additional shreds of cheese and, if you so choose, breadcrumb line the top with a crust in a serving style increasingly scarce. The staff wasted little time behind the counter, and prepared our order with remarkable speed considering the amount of other customers before us. On my last visit, at a time after lunch but not quite evening, the place was moderately full. I’ve seen nights when a line spills onto the street. Understand that this is a neighborhood favorite, and attracts a coinciding crowd.

My other companion who took a detour to S’MAC that day is now among that crowd. I was coming down from a St. Patrick’s Day reverie, he abstains from alcohol, and we both enjoyed our All-Americans (standard order – American and cheddar) on an equal level. No matter what sort of hunger afflicts you, S’MAC is here. It’s waiting.

Mobtown's Own Private Megastore

Note: College life can trap a student into a narrow geographical location for many weeks on end, so it is with pride that I present my first profile outside of Washington, D.C. More from other cities to come.

(Photo by Mike Unger at About.com. Available at http://baltimore.about.com/od/neighborhoods/ss/FellsWalk_3.htm)

Occupying a large storefront in one of Baltimore’s quaintest and most culturally immersive neighborhoods, The Sound Garden has been a Fells Point independent music bastion for over 15 years. Its name was the first music-related term I heard uttered upon my arrival in the city, and repeated suggestions made it seem inevitable that I would eventually visit this local treasure trove. So while strolling with friends on the cobblestone streets through a light rain, the taste of my first experience with Old Bay seasoning (it treats everything from eggs to crab cakes to chicken wings) lingering in my mouth, we took a detour down Thames Street, and entered the renowned enterprise.

Crowds welcomed us – unexpected sizable crowds of the sort I haven’t seen in music stores since the early aughts. Granted, it was Saturday night. But Virgin and FYE once drew crowds this big, not your esoteric music and video shops. In fact, The Sound Garden resembles the behemoths of the business far more than it does the nook-and-cranny reserves of obscure records that collectors hold dear.

It has an enormous interior – one huge room extends maybe 50 feet back, incorporating a stage for live performances and endless racks filled with CDs, DVDs, Blue-Rays and posters both generic and unique. In the front, to the left of the entrance, one finds a smaller space holding an extensive vinyl collection, among which I found albums of the highest caliber in rock, soul, R&B, hip-hop, psychedelic and folk. Their cost was the only setback – with a disappointingly miniscule used section, prices generally fell between $15 and $20. I haven’t paid that much for vinyl since I naively shopped in the megastores.

It matters little, though, because the Sound Garden doesn’t specialize in old-fashioned records. Uncharacteristically CD-based, this small business seems to support itself with an endless cache of the shiny discs. Many music stores that embraced CDs, including the most towering giants, could not survive into the Internet age (see a previous post discussing the issue here). Baltimore’s premier shop, however, with DVDs wholly lining an immense wall, and jewel cases arranged into entire archipelagos of shelves, soldiers on magnificently.

What’s responsible for its longevity? The CDs remain pricy – $8-$14, something I wouldn’t pay for an album with so many available alternative means of getting it. A few $1 bins up front and a decent deal on movies (two for $10) couldn’t possibly bear the continued success on their own.

No, the distinguishing factor here is content. Though the megastores boasted comparably vast CD collections, they also maintained mainstream pop sensibilities. They never took risks with arcane titles. One could conceivably scan the racks and name every artist listed on the narrow paper strips jutting above the cases. Such an unremarkable approach would fail to attract the favor of serious music fans, those customers who will provide much of the business.

But The Sound Garden could ensnare the snootiest hipster, the obsessive collector, or the cynical Gen-X pop culture nerd with the breadth of its offerings. Sure, The Beatles have a huge section allotted to them, but so do the indie bands that only a handful have heard about. Jazz, folk and country lovers have more options here than anywhere else. Completists could actually complete their many discography quests here.

What The Sound Garden has done is eliminate discriminatory stocking practices. The staff will put, it seems, literally anything on their shelves, refusing few based on popularity or standings in the charts. Employees who drink Jim Beam from the bottle while behind the counter and in full view of customers, as several did during my visit, probably don’t care much for mainline pretenses. If an album sounds good – if at least one person will listen – it’ll take its place somewhere on the racks. And the clientele, more diverse than lesser establishments would imagine, is thankful for that, and will express its gratitude with support.

Need No Carpets on the Floor

(Portrait of premier wordsmith, Baltimore native and acerbic harlequin H.L. Mencken.)


The sudden reality of spring break fell upon me like a welcome shower of golden ribbons: I was overjoyed, but motionless with shock. In my paralysis, a modest indecision appeared for all the petty nuisance it was. Should I return home immediately? The notion showed itself too quickly. I wasn't up to the task. I felt unprepared and sought a diversion.

And one arrived, in the form of old friends wishing to share my company. So, I will spend this weekend in Baltimore, stopping by to bid tidings to some old high school cohorts, and kill some time before I once more descend on my hometown most ambiguously. I trust my comapanions will provide stellar entertainment. Expect some posts detailing the landmarks of this port city in the near future.

Dining in Southwest

(Top-tier eating: City Zen's interior. Image from https://www.ewatravel.com/)

As I've indiscreetly mentioned (read: shamelessly prostituted) in the past, I intern as a copy editor for The Southwester, a monthly, all-volunteer community newspaper serving the District's smallest quadrant. This week, our belated February issue hits the stands, and therein one may find a comprehensive dining guide to eateries within the boundaries of Southwest and Capitol Riverfont (hitherto known as Near Southeast).

Since many of the entries profile establishments unique to the city and neighborhood - including the renowned City Zen and its newer, more casual counterpart, The Sou'Wester, both helmed by James Beard award-winner Eric Ziebold - I'd like to link to our latest issue here. It's in PDF format, so scroll down to pages 7-9 to read our short takes on all the area's fine restaurants:

The Southwester Dining Guide 2009

Happy browsing, and happy dining.

The District Java Roundup, Part III

(There's a new café in town. Image from the Washington City Paper.)

It felt good hiking down to the southern quadrants after the snow trapped me in my Foggy Bottom dorm for a week, fomenting cabin fever like I’ve never experienced before. Both Southeast and Southwest appear in this final post wrapping up the series (for now). The tea has been excellent, and the locales interesting. Hope I can repeat something of this sort in other cities after the semester ends.

Big Chair Coffee n’ Grill – 2122 Martin Luther King Jr. Ave. SE – With good reason, District press paid much attention to this café’s opening a month ago. Previously there had been no coffee shop anywhere east of the river, and on a main street dotted primarily with barber shops and bodegas, the community lacked an adequate space to gather, eat and socialize.
Big Chair assumed that role, and both neighbors and neighborhood leaders seem grateful for it. As I sat down to my tea and French fries (a better combination than you might believe), I saw the garrulous barista look towards the door and suddenly cry out:
“Mr. Mayor!”
Making his way to the counter was not our current triathlete, but a solemn, slow-moving Marion Barry. I never thought I’d sit less than five feet from the Ward 8 councilmember infamous former mayor, especially in such a modest room.
The storefront lacks any affectation whatsoever, save a few political posters, and the orange interior barely holds what’s more than necessary – two tables seating four each, a counter with several stools, and a television switched to CNN.
Food stays simple, too – American breakfast and lunch options, conventional coffee variations and about five or six teas. Beverages are quickly served in generously-sized mugs. Food takes some time, an apparent symptom of the new establishment’s growing pains. Many items listed on the menu were unavailable. I eventually settled on the aforementioned French fries, which turned out to be a crisp, greasy and completely inadvertent treat. At times, the vibe seemed to fluctuate between café and luncheonette.
Not bad for a newcomer, and already popular with the locals. Big Chair seems to have success cornered. All it needs to do is pounce.

Hogate's Café – 800 Water St. SW – Long before a bar named H2O impeded its quadrant’s continual development, or its owner was arrested for tax evasion, Hogate’s Restaurant stood as a classic staple on the Southwest Waterfront. Years later, it reopened with the same name in a larger space across the street, encompassing not just several dining areas but also a café on the southernmost side. This is the first location in many years where area residents can fetch a cup of coffee without trekking to another quadrant.
Many tables and narrow booths fill the dim interior and don’t fill up except on the busiest of occasions. A bar with sparse stools serves hard drinks, and numerous televisions are usually switched to sporting events (lots of Redskins). Overall a very relaxing aura. I could see it as a venue for pre-party cocktails.
The wait staff is friendly enough, but moves too leisurely too often. This is fine when a weekend needs to be killed, or mountains of work need to be completed. But distracting cravings usually return faster than a server. It would help if the food was exceptional, but it really isn’t – basic American cuisine, very typical, and slightly above par at best. I’m sure one would find higher-quality courses in the formal dining room, but for a quick bite Hogate’s has very little to offer.
Coffee, I’m told, is good. Tea selection isn’t bad – waitpersons will present the standard box with 6-8 choices. Wireless works well, and I’ve spend whole afternoons working with my editor. (Oh, be sure to pick up a copy of The Southwester off the stands outside. It’s free, and features my reportage.) The café is a decent place that would not have risen above mediocrity had the surrounding neighborhood not been screaming for such a coffee shop for ages. That alone demands my wishes for the best.

Bourbon Coffee – 2101 L St. NW – Dwarfed by federal buildings in one of the remotest, most anonymous areas just south of Dupont Circle, Bourbon’s storefront is easy to miss. Only a miniscule sign distinguishes it from the architectural monotony and less-than-stellar chains up 21st Street. Inattentive eyes wouldn’t penetrate the windows to make out the cozy décor within. An unknowing pedestrian might be inclined to just gravitate towards the familiar green Starbuck’s sign several blocks down.
But entering Bourbon is like stepping from the arctic into the tropics. Its windows look larger from the inside and let in enough sun to make it one of the most well-lit coffee shops I’ve ever frequented. Furniture consists principally of couches and padded chairs, assuring comfort. Rugs add a degree of homeliness, and coffee-themed paintings grace the walls. Jazz plays from a (somewhat out-of-place) flat-screen television switched to a music-only channel.
Bourbon serves Rwandan coffee, which means little to me but sure made the room smell rich. I believe it’s organic, and supports independent African farmers. I found the tea list impressive – a good mix of conventional blacks and herbals, as well as all sorts from eastern nations and three specially-listed organic flavors. I couldn’t imagine ordering anything larger than a 12-ounce cup, but the store offers 16-ounce servings and larger. The menu also lists cider, Mexican hot chocolate and horchata. Sandwiches and fruit salads seem pre-packaged and run-of-the-mill, but the baked goods are far superior. The croissant was the best I’ve had in the District so far.

Side note: A peculiar instance nearly soiled my exchange with the barista at Bourbon. I heard him say that my order came to about $2.60, so I handed him three singles. He looked at me dubiously, and asked for an additional 60 cents. He must be aching for exact change, I thought, but I didn’t have it, and told him so. “If you find 60 cents, let us know,” he said, and put my payment in the register and closed it up. Now I’m the passive type who wouldn’t raise a fuss over such a paltry amount, but thought it unprofessional – criminal, even – to deny me my change. Maybe five minutes later I realized that he must’ve said $3.60 , not $2.60. I apologized and made amends, but miscommunication really ruins server/patron encounters more than it should.

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Here the District Java Roundup series concludes temporarily. I’ll no longer seek out coffee shops to profile and review, since after these posts I have almost more options for hot drinks in this city than my mind can process. But I know I didn’t hit them all. If an assiduous reader wishes to alert me to a favorite shop I may have overlooked, forgotten or otherwise disregarded for any reason, leave a comment and I’ll seek it out. In the future I’ll make a post of reader suggestions that can grow gradually and continuously so long as I keep getting suggestions. Look for it in the future.

The District Java Roundup, Part II

(Sidamo's outdoor patio. Image, and frame, from http://www.sidamocoffeeandtea.com. One of these days I'll start taking my own pictures.)

Second installment in a series. I’ll probably tackle three more after this post, and temporarily wrap it up next time. But I certainly haven’t frequented every coffee shop in the District – I may have missed some well-renowned establishments – so I’m open to further suggestions, and can always resume Java Roundup whenever the opportunity arises. No reason why this can’t be a living document.

Everything mentioned in my introduction to Part I still rings true.

Sidamo Coffee and Tea – 417 H St. NE – Not far from the bridge, and before where the revitalized H Street Corridor really picks up, Sidamo beckons with a modest and fittingly slim façade. Inside looks like any other hip urban daytime joint, but something distinguishes this one from the rest. The fact that it is, to my knowledge, the only Ethiopian-style coffee shop in the District says something. (About Sidamo or the city? I’m not sure.) Coffee drinkers tell me that Ethiopian coffee is tasty coffee, Sidamo is number one on Yelp, and correlation does not imply causation, but we can probably make some connections here.
I last visited on a sweltering summer day (been awhile…) and bought a smoothie, which presumably makes me ill-equipped to provide an adequate review. But after I consume one of the most gratifying smoothies in recent memory, I feel compelled to throw in my two cents. There seemed to be very little seating inside, but I found a spot in the front without a problem. I later found out about a pleasant outdoor area. Décor was modest inside and out, but never lacking.
I need to frequent this shop, and much of H Street in general, far more often than I do. Though I may be late to the game, Sidamo and the neighborhood that houses it appear promising. Hope I haven’t missed much.

M. E. Swing Coffee Roasters – 1702 G St. NW – I’m sure countless State Department officials send their interns here on caffeine errands. This longtime community relic occupies a tight space beneath the Office of Thrift Supervision, on a corner directly opposite the White House portion of Pennsylvania Avenue, making it a prime destination for tourists and government workers alike. A rare nonagenarian business, Swing’s served the Penn Quarter beginning in 1916, bounced around the neighborhood in the latter part of last century, and appropriately wound up as close to the city’s symbolic heart as possible.
Most customers, I would wager, carry their beverages out, but one may sit down on antique-looking stools at the mahogany counter. The setup, along with the vintage photos on the walls, allow for an archaic air to emanate throughout, recalling a time when such family businesses dominated our cityscape (ah, nostalgia).
The coffee, I’m told, is some of the District’s best. The teas are standard middle-high-end brands, decent enough to spend money on if I were passing by. For all the sentimental rusticity, I couldn’t imagine getting too comfortable and working long hours inside, and only luck will assure a seat. You could settle on the metal chairs outside, amid the less-than-marvelous setting.
But the products should taste good. Not a hangout, surely, but a superior option to Starbuck’s for coffee on lunch break or during the commute.

Soho Tea & Coffee – 2150 P St. NW – A ways west from Dupont Circle on P Street, Soho boasts the roomiest shop, with the most seating, that I’ve visited so far. Interesting art and old Charlie Chaplin movie posters decorate the walls. There used to be couches in the corner, but more ordinary seating supplanted those, to accommodate more people – a bittersweet addendum, since the chairs are none too comfortable, but the place can crowd up on weekends.
To my knowledge, the best selection of teas, and by far the most multicultural in the city. Here I first tasted Assam and Zimbabwe, both excellent. Prices seem steep, but I couldn’t ask for more voluminous mugs. I haven’t yet tasted the sandwiches. The pastries and sweets are decent – once when I ordered two (cherry and lemon something-or-others), I found them difficult to finish. According to a sign at the counter, they demand a $5 minimum charge to use their wireless service. Understandable notion, but it seems pretty draconian. Yelp commentators are certainly unhappy about it.
Despite these minute shortcomings, Soho has become my regular haunt. Proximity helps, and as an unemployed college student I can settle there at times when it’s nearly empty. The staff stays warm and unobtrusive, and the music, ranging from jazz to 90s pop, never gets distracting. I’ve read, worked and met people here, and my taste buds have been satisfied. A fine environment all around.

Soon I’ll venture out of the northern quadrants, and hopefully across the river, to investigate two of three more coffee shops to wind up this series. Check back for write-ups two very new establishments in two promising neighborhoods.

Up next: Hogate’s Café, Big Chair and Bourbon

The District Java Roundup, Part I

(Tryst's interior, unusually empty. Image from purpleplaylist.wordpress.com)

The snowfall that indiscriminately blanketed the District these past few days got me to thinking about hot drinks. I’m not a coffee drinker, but I love tea and cocoa – beverages easy enough to prepare on my own, but nice to occasionally order in a cozy enclave surrounded by people my age.
Even though right now I’d have to traverse what looks like some post-apocalyptic landscape from Cormack McCarthy’s psyche to get to one, this city houses some top-rate coffee shops. After all, a metropolis saturated with youngsters demands environments where they may gather, loiter and lose themselves in their laptops. The following list comprises some popular District java cafés and their finest attributes.

It bears repeating that I am not a coffee drinker. I’ve never finished a full cup in my life, so for this list I judged more on price, comfort and ambiance – factors nearly as important, for these establishments, as the coffee itself. Though I suspect the selection and quality of teas and other hot drinks might reflect the selection and quality of the eponymous product.

Big Bear Café – 1700 First St. NW – Eckington, the neighborhood next up for gentrification and currently stuck in the checkerboard phase, saw its first visibly lucrative business open in 2006. Big Bear attracts young professionals and graduate students who’ve flocked to the area, and in its three-and-a-half years in operation grew from obscure hideout to neighborhood staple.
Inside, distorted Velvet Underground guitar riffs often ooze from the PA over abstract expressionist paintings, beneath which patrons sip Counter Culture Coffee, courtesy of a Nicaraguan-based company that stresses fair trade and sustainability. The staff serves drinks quickly and organic sandwiches slowly. If the tightly-packed tables crowd up, as they’ve been doing more and more frequently, one can sit outside where a housing development across Florida Avenue reminds anyone who cares to notice of the area’s quite recent indigent past.
Sometimes the staff will set up a project to play a film on the wall (camp horror on my Halloween visit). Servers are friendly but not garrulous. Generally customers will keep to themselves, either to spend hours talking within their own groups or working on their Macbooks. Five dollars can buy a sizeable pot of Chinese tea – very tasty tea that previously I had only bought in upscale Chinese restaurants – and all the time in the world to sit around doing whatever.
When no traffic impedes the view one may look across the street at locals sitting on benches before their federal housing. They’ll look right back at the young, more elegantly-dressed people relaxing in the coffee shop. The two parties will be spending the rest of their respective afternoons in vastly different ways.

Tryst – 2459 18th St. NW – The lounge that Big Bear usurped. Dim interior, bluish rectangles glowing on the cushioned seats haphazardly arranged around low tables. Loud jazz or indie music plays from the speakers. Or, on rare occasions, from a live group of musicians. It is difficult to find an empty seat – one must get close to one’s neighbors, even if they interact not once due to the loud music, stifling crowds, or work/studies to attend to.
Which is everything one seeks in their cool coffee shops, no? Up to the beholder, I presume. From behind the counter come moderately-priced drinks and pastries. A full bar goes into operation during the evenings (I believe that, after a certain hour on weekends, the staff begins carding at the door). It fits in marvelously into the Adams Morgan environment – busy into the morning hours, attracting its share of studious loners, rowdy carousers, and with-it scenesters. An ideal place to either begin or end an eventful evening.

Mid City Caffé – 1626 14th St. NW – I couldn’t begin to speculate as to what accounts for the two f’s. Marketing tactic suggesting distinction? Anyhow, this small space tucked above a modern furniture store filled a serious void in Logan Circle – Busboys and Poets would be the only comparable business close by, and I always considered that more a restaurant than a coffee shop.
Easy to miss, Mid City lies up a flight of bare steps, inside a bare room. It always elicited a somewhat incomplete aura for me – maybe it’s the white paint, white tiled floors or unadorned seating. It appears as if the contractors just left. Anyhow, it isn’t very bothersome. If you can find a seat in the two tiny rooms that quickly fill up, things are never all that uncomfortable.
I had only a small selection of teas to choose from, and when I ordered an additional cookie my bill got out of hand. But everything tasted delicious, and I could read undistracted on a seemingly foreboding, but actually rather pleasant, wooden bench. Indie folk music on the speakers never plays hard on the ears.
Not material for a regular haunt, but a place to go when in the neighborhood and seeking coffee, especially to spend time alone.

Well, I'm dead tired. Time to get away frrom the keyboard tonight. I still have many more coffeshops to profile, however, so check back soon.

Up next: Sidamo, Soho and M.E. Swings.