Cafehop.com — Café hopping in New York City

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

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