Cafehop.com — Café hopping in New York City

On a super cozy corner of the West Village sits Doma, a small but popular café. My first visit here was with my friend Tony, about a year ago. I have come back several times since for good coffee, good company, and good atmosphere. They have all kinds of pastries: you could be “good” and just have an almond croissant, or you could be evil and have a rich, dense lemon bar. I usually get a cookie, a regular coffee and grab one of the tables — quickly, they fill up fast.

The last time I was here was with Mario, and it was hot enough out that we needed a pit stop. It was cool inside and not too crowded — we got espressos and I got a peanut butter cookie. You pay for your items at the counter and carefully walk them to a table, if you can get one; we got one. It’s sort of libraryish in there, so I’m never sure if any amount of talking is too much talking… but thinking back, it seems like we were the only ones talking at all. Everyone else was toying with a laptop or reading. The atmosphere is kind of like a rustic old elementary school classroom, but one you don’t have terrible flashbacks in; I don’t feel schooled.

The coffee here is always good, but this was the first time I had the espresso, and while it was pulled long, it was still very flavorful and not terribly bitter. The cookie was like hard-packed mud in texture — so much peanut butter was in the dough that it flaked apart in chunks. Really sweet and spot-hitting. When we had had enough feeling like the only people talking, we left. I think I might have even said, “Okay, I think we’ve annoyed these people long enough.”

Doma, 17 Perry Street, Manhattan

daily 7:30am-12am

Continuing our aimless wanderings in the West Village yesterday, we came upon an unassuming place that at first glance seemed to be called Tea, but it turns out that was just a sign advertising that the place sold tea. Grounded, as the place is called, has a tiny storefront that feeds a huge warehouse-like space inside. Actually, forget warehouse-like, it’s a warehouse. When you walk in, to the left is a long counter with cookies and cakes, the register, and the giant Rancilio espresso machine. Standard. A courteous staff took our orders and money, and we went to grab a seat at the bar, which in this (rare) case struck me as a more comfortable spot than the tables.

I went to retrieve our espressos, and expressed relief to the girl at the counter that she was giving me one completely white set of cup and saucer, as Mario is offended by the less-dignified sight of quirkily-colored dishware. I took the one with the green saucer. I’m kooky like that.

Kooky, left; dignified, right.

The espresso was solidly good, nothing sensational but totally drinkable. The chocolate-chunk banana bread was awesome, really dense with bananas and not overloaded with chocolate. The bar did end up being a great place to sit, though even speaking with low voices we felt like we were disturbing the other patrons who were busy furrowing their brows at their computer screens or scrawling in notepads. Something about the jumbly, haphazard decoration of the place, including a few plants of tropical origin fed by the giant skylight, made this place really comfortable. As we walked out, Mario remarked that the place reminded him of something he might see in Brooklyn. I’m with him on that, though how would he know — the born-and-bred Manhattanite might be in Brooklyn once a decade.

Grounded, 28 Jane Street, Manhattan

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

It started out as a weird day: we had resolved to do a West Village outdoor café tour, but for some reason we couldn’t find any. A friend of mine calls the WV the “Bermuda Triangle” for the ease in which one can get lost wandering its streets. Am I going North or South, up or down? Today, we kept missing all the places we knew existed, couldn’t recall their exact locations.

Finally, after 30 minutes of walking around and around, we were hot and sticky and opted for an attractive little Mexican themed café called Condesa. The waiter gave us a menu with some pricey items on it, yet when we asked if it was okay to just order coffee, he enthusiastically said “of course!” He took our orders and came back within seconds with two glasses of cold water — just what we needed right that second.

The interiors were rustic yet modern; I think it was an attempt at a contemporary Mexican look and it seemed to work. I particularly liked the art.

My regular coffee was a solidly good cup, and a large one at that. Mario says the espresso was good — from my seat it looked like it had some heavy crema on top. I would have liked to have ordered one for myself, but the waiter never came back…so when we finally saw him again I was ready to move on. We paid and took off.

Cafe Condesa, 183 W 10th Street, Manhattan

I was first here months ago, one day when Mario suddenly recalled its existence and steered us over. This place is saturated with the feeling of the 1920s (or at least as I imagine it) — the streamlined pre-deco radiators, the octagon-tiled floors, and the period iron and wood of the storefront itself. The huge plate-glass windows make the place a scintillating box of sunlight on almost any day. The quaintness of it all, even the tight arrangement of the tables and chairs make me happy just opening the door. There are always newspapers and magazines strewn about random tables, just in case you forgot your own and plan to stay a while.

The coffee doesn’t stand up to the atmosphere, unfortunately. It’s very acidic and has an odd flavor — nothing a bunch of cream and sugar can’t drown out but not the most pleasant experience. It is, however, served with a little piece of chocolate on the saucer, a touch I appreciate even when I really don’t feel like mucking my mouth up with a fat wad of candy. In January, Mario got me a piece of cake to celebrate my 27th birthday — chocolate mousse. He promised he’d eat more than he did and I of course ended up eating most of it. It was great but once we left it felt like a bomb had been dropped in my belly.

I once had a ham and cheese croissant that was pretty good.

It seems the place is owned by Israelis — there are burekas and shakshuka on the menu, and often a few of the patrons are speaking Hebrew.

It rates only a “Decent” because while the atmosphere is great, the food is pretty good, and the service is also great, the coffee is frankly crap and this is a café blog. It’s also a place I’d consider a “Haunt” if I lived within a block, if just because it’s so nice to just sit there and read the paper in the sun.

Café Angelique, 49 Grove Street (also 68 Bleecker St), Manhattan