Cafehop.com — Café hopping in New York City

A fellow Bushwicker recommended Dora’s Coffee Shop and Creperie just across the borough border in Ridgewood, Queens, and since Bushwick has a notable deficit of…let’s say European food, I was determined to make the two-mile journey down Myrtle Avenue and check the place out. Ridgewood is only a different neighborhood politically — it’s just a continuation of Bushwick to the northeast, the main difference being half of it didn’t burn down in the 70s. It also has a significant Polish population, as opposed to Bushwick’s Puerto Rican majority. How this spawned a crepe café, I’m not sure, but no matter, Polish-staffed Dora’s serves up crepes so hot they will melt the end of your plastic fork.

The crepes are cheap, and they make them right there at the counter in front of you. I was there with my whole Miami crew — Yury, Liz, and Luis walked the two miles with me, complaining all the way of the humidity and distance. Everyone but Luis had iced coffee, which we all for some reason found overly sweet even though it was only sweetened by what we each added. I had a cup of regular hot coffee after my ham- mozzarella-mushroom crepe, and it was soldily good joe.

The atmosphere was less than pleasant, not because of what was in there, but because of what wasn’t — it felt too sparse. Maybe it could do with one more row of café tables to make it a bit cozier. Some art on the walls would help, too.

I give it an overall thumbs up, even though the sugar and butter crepe we shared for dessert didn’t have sugar inside and the sugar on top was powdered as opposed to granulated… not a complete disaster. If it weren’t so far, we’d certainly go back often. Since it closes bafflingly early, it’s only a lunchtime place.

Dora’s Coffee Shop and Creperie, 60-50 Myrtle Avenue, Queens

Open until 8pm, 7pm on Sunday

That’s right, my first Bushwick review. I was on my way home from Allen Supply (100 feet over the border in Queens) to buy spackling paste for my new money pit, when I decided to stop in at Wyckoff Starr, a tiny coffee shop at the other end of the block from the best restaurant in the ‘hood, Northeast Kingdom. The guy in front of me had apparently ordered a latte a minute or so before I walked in…and it was another 2-3 minutes before it was my turn to ask for a humble coffee. The latte did look very good. I pulled $3 out of my wallet before I ordered, just to be ready, but I wasn’t ready for the oddly cheap price of $1.10. I paid the man, dumped sugar and cream in my cup and sat down for a minute. It’s too bad I didn’t have my camera as the place is very cute, a sweet place to cheer up even the most depressed denizen of the Bushwick Jefferson-L-Stop area. I’ll update with a pic soon.

Wyckoff Starr, 30 Wyckoff Ave, Brooklyn

from VirtualTourist.com

Egidio’s flaunts its history and pedigree to all who walk in its front door. Maps of obscure Italian subregions and a giant newspaper clipping about the founders cover the walls. It’s one of The Bronx’s old Italian bakeries, one of those places that Connecticut and Long Island and Jersey families still get their big basket of cookies from for Christmas, even though half the cookies they get are not good, nobody ever liked them, and they never get eaten, but you get them because that’s what you always get at Christmas.

My dad first took me here last year when he came up to visit. We had a few pastries and coffee at the formica tables. The nice Mexican ladies behind the counter took care of us. The cannoli are good, the banana boats are good. The coffee was okay. The bakery, like the leftover half of those dry, weird-tasting cookies at Christmas, retains a place in his heart born more of tradition and memory than the quality of its products. I came again the other day with Mario on our Arthur Avenue adventure, and it was the same thing. It’s really too bad, but the bright side is that this is the absolute worst part of the Arthur Avenue food experience, and it still rates an “Okay.”

Egidio’s Pastry, 622 E 187 Street, The Bronx

Going to The Bronx’s Little Italy is an adventure. For Italian-Americans in the tri-state area, it’s also a tradition. The neighborhood of Belmont, known simply as “Arthur Avenue” for its main drag, is packed with decades-old stores established to serve the local Italian population early last century. No-nonsense bakeries (bread ONLY) and legendary pastry shops (sweets ONLY) are found on every block. Meat markets display a horror movie’s worth of butchered carcasses in the windows (some still with fur!). Pizza places serve the best pizza in the city (not an exaggeration). And at the Casa della Mozzarella, you can buy magnificent knots of fresh mutz scooped right out of a big bowl of salted water — biting into a fresh chunk sends whey squirting all over the place. You could stock a whole pantry with one visit to the many Italian imports shops.

I’m in love with this place. This is my family’s New York “old country” — my father was baptized at the cathedral on 187th; my great-grandmother paid $75 a month for a 3-bedroom apartment on Crotona Av, just 5 blocks to the east. As much as I would love to go on and on about the neighborhood, this is a blog about cafés and so I’ll cut this short with one exhortation — that you, and every New Yorker, discover this time capsule of this city’s Italian heritage.

The star of the show is the Café al Mercato, a corner stall in the Arthur Avenue Market, built in 1940 by the hamfisted authoritarian LaGuardia administration to give neighborhood street vendors a place to make a living and feed their families. Of course, if they hadn’t been banned from the streets to begin with, the city wouldn’t have had to spend taxpayer money on such a building, but I digress. The café is no-frills — you order your food and coffee at the counter and bring it to your table and consume it. If you get the espresso, do yourself a favor and get a single shot and down it immediately at the counter. For $1.50, you have never had a sweeter, silkier pop of joe.

Plan to spend a sunny summer afternoon here. Stock up on caponata, soppressata, and giant cans of olive oil. Hear some Italian. And if all the shopping bags you will without doubt acquire start to wear you out, stop by the café at the back corner of the Arthur Avenue Market to refuel.

Café al Mercato, Arthur Avenue Market, 2344 Arthur Avenue, The Bronx

There are a lot of these guys around the city, manning little carts and kiosks, serving us all sorts of delicious halal cuisine and their own special coffee brew. One day I was heading for an appointment on 28th and Madison, and as I turned the corner I saw a Pakistani guy shut away in his tiny coffee and bagel cart. It was freezing — around 20 — and I could smell his coffee from down the block, so I went up to him and asked for one.

“Two sugars?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Milk?”

“Cream if you have it.”

“Yes, here you go.” He popped the top onto the paper cup and handed it to me. I snatched it greedily, more for the warmth — which had suddenly become its own commodity worth paying for — than the beverage itself. “One dollar.”

I handed him the dollar and ambled west on 28th Street. That was the best cart coffee I had ever had. Better than any $4 piece of burnt Starbucks crap, I was convinced. It could have been the bitter cold that contributed to my appreciation, but I swear that little guy took time and care in crafting the cups of joe that came from his diminutive trailery hut.

I’m rarely in that area anymore, so I’m not sure if he’s still there. I don’t know how he did it for a buck.

28th and Madison Av, Manhattan