Cafehop.com — Café hopping in New York City

Mario and I were walking down 13th Street looking for a place he vaguely remembered, but as usual, were sidetracked by something else along the way. We had found Thé Adoré, a tea house with a simple glass storefront, easy to miss from the street. At first glance, it looks a bit like a kitchen for a business that might be on the other side of the building, but as the menu was posted on the window, it made me stop. When I poked my head in, I realized it’s a tea house — excuse me, a salon de thé — and the all-Japanese staff is toiling away making tea, coffee, and French pastries.

We went inside and were directed up the stairs to a dining room that I am going to describe as unexpectedly rustic. We sat in the back of the room, and from my seat, I could see out the huge plate glass window that served up a snapshot view of trees and the buildings across the street.

I’ll tell you the truth — I am suspicious of Japanese places playing French. The East Village is full of bakeries that make creepy little pastries, and there’s always someting not quite… right. This was a lot more passable than those places. The apricot tart we got was okay — too eggy for my tastes, though Mario said it was fine.

It was hot out, but I figured that if we were in a tea house, I should have some. I got mint tea, and it was good, not much to screw up there, but I didn’t know how to use the straining contraption they gave me so I spilled a little.

The verdict: I’d come back, if someone else were paying. It’s a bit pricey, and the quality is good but not fantastic.

Thé Adore, 17 E 13 Street, Manhattan

Mon-Fri: 8am-6pm | Sat: 9am-5pm

It was a whirlwind day: we started at the Whole Foods and were working our way to the NYU student center cafeteria which Mario said had great views of Washington Square and the city. But along the way, we got sidetracked by La Lanterna di Vittorio — what idiot decided to go down MacDougal, street of irresistable delights?

I felt as if we were entering someone’s apartment, except that all it has is a giant counter with amazing pastries, various coffee machines, and beverage glasses. Toward the back is a patio covered with a massive iron structure that supports a single shred of canvas. Aside from the sort of gaudy iron tables, it has a nice ambience among the twisting vines and trees. There’s also something cozy about relaxing in the space behind clusters of old buildings.

Our waitress was very nice, but a bit…well, she was incompetent. She chattered too much, made fun of my making fun of the giant size of the menus, took way too long to bring out my raspberry tart which turned out not to be the raspberry thing I wanted (I had seen it in the pastry case upon walking in), brought our espressos after I had finished the tart, and then took another 10 minutes to get us two small glasses of water we requested. And when she brought the coffee, she mentioned that we should ask for money off for the wait! Mario reminded me that in Italy, one eats one’s pastry before coffee anyhow, so I should be grateful for the opportunity to be civilized.

Besides all that, the tart was excellent: the preserves base wasn’t too sweet and the fresh raspberries on top were perfect, unblemished and firm. The espresso was pretty good, nothing to write home about but hit the spot.

Despite the weird service — I hesitate to call it bad — I think I’ll come back, because the pastry case looks great and I really want to have that other raspberry thing I saw and didn’t get.

We eventually did get to the NYU cafeteria, and it did have amazing views.

La Lanterna di Vittorio, 129 MacDougal Street, Manhattan

Fri-Sat: 10am-4am | Sun-Thu: 10am-3am

It could be motor oil if it weren’t so thin.

The late 70s were a depressing time in New York, by almost anyone’s account. That’s why when Dean and DeLuca opened in the up-and-coming SoHo district, it must have been a bellwether moment for those New Yorkers who wanted more than what they could get at the corner store in those days. The market has always conjured not just images of luxury in food, but luxury in food shopping — a significant achievement.

But it’s now 30 years later, and we’re all a lot more sophisticated as a society. I remember the first time I walked into Dean and DeLuca a couple years ago — I shrugged. Okay, it’s nice. But I had seen better as a teenager in stripmalls in suburban South Florida. Sure I’d love to having something similar in Bushwick, don’t get me wrong — but as blow-your-mind, overwhelm-your-senses gourmet food scenes go these days, Dean and DeLuca doesn’t slice the speck quite so thin anymore.

So no surprise for me when I go to their café on University Place and get stared at like I’m a waste of time, have my total mumbled to me and my change all but tossed into my hand, and god forbid I or Mario ask a question — you’d think we were the most annoying people on the planet. Their sandwiches are consistently dry; I usually stop eating something bad after two tries, but for some reason I gave the mavens of gourmet three separate chances. The ginger cookie is really good — chewy and well, maybe a bit too much extra sugar on top but dunked in a latte it’s awesome. Too bad the lattes suck. The drip coffee is a bitter abomination and the espresso…

The espresso needs its own paragraph. It is the worst espresso I have had so far in New York City. The Archive in Bushwick, whose espresso is the absolute pits, at least has a pathetic attempt at crema on top. Dean and DeLuca’s product is served to you in a thin paper cup with the lid on — a good thing for the help because by the time you pull it off and realize the contents are jet black with no crema whatsoever, you are safely in the seating area on the other side of the wall. The only good result of gulping down such a horrific beverage is that I got a facial muscle workout from all the wincing I was doing. It’s one frickin ounce of liquid, and I still couldn’t bring myself to finish it.

Otherwise, the place is pretty okay for what it is — a nice old Village space for hanging out with your computer, especially if you’re a student at a nearby university. The ceiling is an awesome sight, and the floors are a beautiful, crumbly old mosaic. And any café is incomplete without marble-topped bistro tables. The location is perfect. It’s just too bad about the, uh, products and service.

Dean and DeLuca, 75 University Place, Manhattan

Mon-Fri 7am-10pm | Sat 8am-10pm | Sun 8am-8pm

One of my favorite places in all of New York City is French Roast in the Village on Sixth Avenue. My love affair with this café began a couple years ago when I was here visiting family at Thanksgiving. Luis and I stopped in for a sandwich and some coffee, and there, among the old French advertisements, weathered marble table tops, and deco chandeliers, we decided it would be our goal to move to New York.

I have been here countless times since, for late morning coffee, an afternoon croque monsieur, or a 1am dinner with wine. The atmosphere is perfect, though I admit to a bit of an obsession with the classic Parisian café theme — it relaxes me, and has that feeling like it’s smoke-filled, but of course is not. It’s (oh this is so lame) like I imagine an actual old Paris café or bistro to be. My only comparison from experience would be the 24-hour cafés of Buenos Aires — close enough, considering they (like nearly everything else in that city) were themselves modeled off those of 19th century Paris.

It’s always service with a smile here, and they never rush you from your table — I once spent 5 hours here with a visiting friend. The only complaint is the coffee cups are small, which wouldn’t be a problem if they filled them more often. Unfortunately, the lunchtime sandwiches, like the croque monsieur (definitely a Good Thing, best I have had), are not available after 10pm or so, when they bring out the dinner menu. Small quibbles.

Good coffee, decent espresso, great food, service, atmosphere — there’s nothing this place is missing. And it’s open 24 hours! Now you have no excuse but to visit.

French Roast, 78 W 11th Street, Manhattan

Open 24 Hours

We normally avoid this place even though it’s half a block from Mario’s office. Actually, maybe because it’s so close — it’s packed to the gills with NYU students on their laptops. The place even has a 15 foot long power strip so EVERYONE can plug their computers in. We walk in, look for two empty seats, and usually finding none we head out. This time we stopped in, only because it was cold out and we wanted to warm up.

I ordered two espressos as Mario sat down. I also grabbed a peanut butter cookie and a cider. I brought all our goodies to the table, and knowing Mario would be offended by the irreverent light blue of the demitasse cup I held in my left hand, gave him the off white one in my right. Sure enough, when I mentioned I liked the blue, and it was like my light green set at home, he said something to the effect that he thought it too untraditional. Standard white for him, thanks, or a slight variation thereof. In keeping with ettiquette, Mario showed off his refined “Saddam pose” — holding the cup by the handle while making sure to keep his palm-down hand underneath.

The espresso at Think is good. The cookie, not so good. Very, very dry; not very peanut-buttery. Cider, fine. It’s a cool place to hang out, but everyone else thinks so, too, so good luck grabbing a spot.

Think,  248 Mercer Street, Manhattan

Mon-Fri 7am-12am | Sat-Sun 8:30am-12am

The reason I go to Caffe Reggio is, unfortunately, not the coffee. Or the service. Also, the furniture…not so comfy. No, I go because my friends ask to meet me there. But I like going. The location is great, right on MacDougal and 3rd in the old heart of the Village. The coffee (they only have espresso — if you’re looking for regular coffee, you get an americano) is passable, nothing to write home…or a great review…about. And you might die of old age waiting for someone to wait on you — at least your back will hurt from the springy wire-backed chairs by the time you consume what you ordered and pay.

But look up from your meh beverage: Reggio’s interiors are a time capsule from at least 1927, though it’s possible the sagging tin ceilings, among other ancient bits and pieces, could have been there from whatever long-forgotten business previously occupied the storefront. Dark, heavy, and ornate wood benches, marble-topped tables weathered by the forearms of a million java-juiced patrons over the decades, and dim lighting evocative of old gas lamps make the place feel frozen in time.

Reggio inside (from the café’s website)

But what’s with the creepily bottomless sugar bowl — can that hold an entire five-pound Domino bag? Yet it’s reassuring at the same time — at Reggio I’ll never run out of sugar, like I do when I have to rely on unreliably-filled tabletop sweetener boxes.

But the centerpiece of Reggio’s decor is its magnificent and massive old espresso machine, sadly no longer in use. A Herald Tribune snippet from 1945 wants us to “look again, what’s that nickel-plated monster lording over the room? That’s the espresso machine, that’s the business-getting partner of the firm…[it] represents the life savings of Dominic Parisi, it’s his pride, his occupation…” Ol’ Dominic’s macchina must have made some killer espresso in its day — good enough to keep the “firm” around long after the founder’s own crema faded.

Dominic Parisi and his espresso machine (from the café’s website)

The greatest thing about Caffe Reggio is I know that when I pound the table and speak a political opinion far too loudly for the comfort of my neighbors, that I am following in the footsteps of a long line of fiery Greenwich Villagers of eras long past.

Overall rating is just “Okay,” but the place has to be seen and experienced at least once. My recommendation is get a latte — the milk will hide the mediocrity of the espresso. And sit up straight.

Caffe Reggio, 119 MacDougal, Manhattan