Coffee, Café Reggio, and What the Village is All About

(Reggio's exterior at night. Image from FLIPIX.)

Greenwich Village reached its zenith as an artistic, intellectual and progressive hub decades ago, and has since met the fate common to many urban neighborhoods of similar character. Traces of its onetime bohemia – notably its dingy taverns and cafés, where coffee and beer were cheap, performers made a living off tips, and oddballs and eccentrics chatted uninterrupted far into the morning hours – have largely disappeared, making way for condos and chain stores and high-end retail.

With the Gaslight gone, the White Horse pricey, and Bleecker Street filled with irksome out-of-towners – not to mention a cost of living unaccommodating to most young artist types – a sad void emerged in the area, though some entrepreneurs have tried their hand at filling it. They open new venues and taverns on the spots where Bob Dylan strummed and Dylan Thomas drank. They try to recall the intensely literate 50s, the fiercely left-wing 60s, the gritty 70s.

Frequently they fail, succeeding in only capturing an ersatz forgery of what the Village once was. The prices just seem too high, the patronage too run-of-the-mill, the bohemianism too contrived.

They cannot compare to the few longstanding Village staples left, like Café Reggio, a European-style coffee shop and eatery on MacDougal Street now nearly 85 years old. Amid the cacophony of bar-hopping tourists, Reggio stands out as a quiet haven with pastries, paninis, and late hours, making coffee in a style predating the ubiquitous assembly-line service popularized by Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts.

The goods here hearken to the area’s past as a settlement for Italian immigrants in New York. Not until Mulberry Street can one find cannolis and sfogliatella like these. A cup of the myriad of teas and coffees (not all of which are European) can cost anywhere from $3-$5 – granted, it’s a comparatively steep price for a single serving. But the fresh paninis don’t run much higher than that, and as a heavy tea drinker, I’ve refilled my cup a gratifying number of times from one order. With both food and drink offerings being top-notch, one can find a satisfying meal with a hot beverage for about $10 or less, and spend hours loitering in an unobtrusive environment besides.

Stepping past the sidewalk tables and quiet green storefront into the dim interior feels like stepping through a time warp to the Jazz Age. Busts of philosophers, composers and other historical figures line the walls along with busy Renaissance paintings. Antiques like a mammoth espresso machine, garish benches and a rustic cash register still in use delight even before any food arrives.

And it may take a while before it does. The one factor that some might consider a drawback is that an old-fashioned European café moves at an old-fashioned European pace – tantalizingly slow. But while the waitresses take their time, they also never hurry their customers through anything, be it a daytime meal or midnight cup of tea. The ambiance remains conducive to lengthy socializing or private thought, to group discussion or solitary time with a laptop and book. Don’t come to Reggio seeking a quick bite at lunch. Expect to linger and relax with an accordingly laid-back staff.

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.

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.