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

Mario thought it would be nice to leave downtown behind and trek to the Upper East Side to visit Cafe Sabarsky, in the Neue Gallery Museum for German and Austrian Art. An espresso is $5, he explained, but it’s worth it for the atmosphere.

After a minor express train mishap that had us switching platforms at 125th Street, we got off the 4 train at 86th and walked west to Fifth Avenue. On the corner sits the squat, imposing museum, and just opening the huge iron door is enough to work up an appetite.

Neither of us had the patience for Austrian art at that moment — we were starving and culture was the last thing on our minds. The café itself is in a small room at the corner of the building, inside the lobby. I say small, but that’s only compared to the building, which is huge considering it was once some insanely rich family’s home. The room is clad floor to ceiling in ornate wood paneling, and packed with small marble-topped tables. Most had two old ladies each, sitting properly, sipping their coffees, nibbling their cakes. One woman, in an outfit that would look ridiculous anywhere outside of the UES, sat reading Die Welt alone at her table. They were the Ladies Who Lunch, and we were there to emulate them.

The service was as one should expect: gracious but to the point, and it’s appreciated. Who wants a goofy, sloppy waitress telling you about her day as if you care, anyhow? We first ordered lunch, which was very good for that area of Europe — not my favorite cuisine, but certainly edible. Come on, get that out of the way, bring the dessert! We were recommended some of the waitress’ favorites, none of which we ultimately chose…if the server tells you what’s good, listen to him. The chocolate-apricot cake I got could have been moister, and was maybe just a bit too subtle for my mood just then. Mario’s rhubarb-something-or-other cake was also just okay.

We ordered espressos, and they were good. I considered getting the kaffe créme, which is espresso with a bit of hot cream drizzled in, but I decided to stay simple, even above Mario’s recommendations. I guess I was in an independent mood that day.

And just in case you were wondering, yes, the staff speaks German.

Café Sabarsky, 1048 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan

Mon and Wed 9am-6pm | Thu-Sun 9am-9pm

Two photos above from the Cafe Sabarsky website.

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

Cookie image yoinked from gothamist — I couldn’t be bothered to take a picture of this dump myself.

There’s a reason we call this place Shitty Bakery. Mario’s office used to be around the corner, so it was a convenient place for us to meet when I lived on 23rd. There is rarely anywhere to sit and the obscenely high ceilings – or is it the annoyingly small tables? — give City Bakery an uncomfortable atmosphere. The coffee is solidly mediocre, the staff is impatient, and the ordering setup is confusing and a bit stressful. I hear the salad bar is $13/lb — that’s some expensive grilled asparagus. In fact, everything is expensive, especially their admittedly magnificent chocolate chip cookies. These cookies are the only reason to come to this dark, automatish place crammed to the gills with students pretending to study. They’re chewy and crispy at the same time, have just enough (read: a ton) chocolate chips, and are pretty big — but they are $3, so with a coffee don’t expect to leave here without dropping $6-7. I can get lunch for that if I’m creative. Big bucks to eat in the shadow of the ever-present siodewalk scaffolding.

The cookie — a “Good Thing” — saves this place from a “Not Good at All” rating. Ugh, even their website is annoying.

City Bakery, 3 W 18th Street, Manhattan

Mario heard about The Tasting Room from another publication last week, so he recommended we stop by, since we were in the EV anyhow to eat at Momofuku (drool). It’s not in the greatest location for aesthetics – I hate looking at the institutional primary hues of municipal playgrounds — and being more LES than EV, it’s not terribly convenient either. But if you’re an espresso buff, this is your place.

Yeah, it’s $2.50 a pop and the barista takes for, like, ever to serve the coffee, but it’s not without justification. With each order, she put the hopper on the grinder, and ground the beans fresh for our shots. She loaded the grounds and delicately placed small, thick ceramic tazzine under the spouts to catch the syrupy reddish strands of espresso. Then she actually served us at the table, demitasse spoons balanced on the little saucers, water on the side.

I haven’t had better espresso in Manhattan — this place is a close second only to Café al Mercato in The Bronx. It was bursting with a bittersweet orange undertaste I have never experienced, and I think it was all the barista’s doing — she mentioned that she had just been “tinkering with the blend.” She really knew her stuff, and was generous with information about the startlingly gorgeous machine: its origin, who made it, its inner workings and even its cost.

This is a place where a real art is practiced and perfected, and it should not go unnoticed. The warm, diminutive space (which actually seems to be primarily a wine tasting bar) should be a destination for the espresso obsessed.

-

The Tasting Room Wine Bar & Cafe, 72 East First Street, Manhattan

Mon-Fri 7am-12am | Sat-Sun 9am-12am

This sweet cluttered bakery in Nolita is everything French — even the service is, shall we say, laissez faire.

I knew that even though my feet may require amputation from pounding 30-plus blocks of frozen sidewalks (I have to remember to wear two pairs of socks!), it was worth finding this place where they cram the patrons into what should rightfully be the trash room. Don’t get me wrong — it’s a profoundly charming trash room. Glazed red brick walls, austere busts of unknown (to me) Frenchmen, and a jumble of tables and chairs make for a really nice place to sit. Unruly but plain and therefore dignified plants guard the alley-view windows.

The snotty waiter took our order — Mario had his usual espresso, but I spied a café au lait at the top of the menu and went for that. In between a regular coffee and a latte, it’s for times when you just can’t decide. I also ordered an almond croissant.

This dense, oven-fresh almond croissant might be one of the top ten best pieces of pastry I have ever consumed. The light pressure exerted to tear it in half (to share with Mario) forced the butter that saturated the pastry to well up in the indentation left by my thumb. It left my fingers pleasantly slick and marzipan-scented. This is such a “Good Thing.”

I would have ordered another coffee, which was very good, but the waiter was too busy not waiting on us. As it got later we both had to get back to work and chased him down for our check.

–

–

Ceci Cela Patisserie, 55 Spring Street (also 166 Chambers Street), Manhattan

Mon-Sat 7am-10pm | Sunday 8am-8pm

Sorry, but one can only gain entrance to the exclusive Cafe 2 by first purchasing a ticket to MoMA. Luckily, Luis’ job gets him free museum tickets for up to 6 companions. So my grandma and her roommate of 15 years, up from Florida babysitting my baby cousin in White Plains, came down to the City to scratch their heads at art with us. The Edvard Munch exhibit was taking up some gratuitously-large- for-Manhattan space on the top floor — you can see the sky through the glass roof! — so we started there. Wandering through the labyrinthine halls of museums gets me cranky real fast — I’m not at all the type to spend a whole day staring at depressing Le Corbusier city plans from the 1920s. So imagine my uncontainable delight at discovering the museum held a slick little bistro-y café right there on the second floor!

We were all having problems ordering from the menu because everything sounded and looked so good — huge glass deli cases hold the colorful food for all to see. Every item in the place, from the tables and benches to the flatware and salt shakers, was designed by what the Cafe 2 website assures me is an important designer.

We each got one of the paninis, which are served with a generous glob of caramelized onions. The sandwiches were the perfect size, had beautiful ingredients, and tasted great with the really good coffee. Here’s the part I’m confused about — is it good that you have to bring your coffee cup up to the refill station to get more? I mean, it’s free, sure…but it seems at best a pain and at worst dangerous to have tens of untrained patrons stumbling through a crowded café with hot coffee sloshing this way and that. Don’t worry, I heroically made it back to the table three times with my coffee, though maybe more of it was in the saucer than stayed in the cup.

Even if you don’t eat, do visit MoMA — after all, the Rockefellers went through the flamboyant trouble of demonstrating how deeply they care about art by bulldozing their mansion and building a museum on the site. The least you can do is ooh and ahh at their generous sacrifice.

Cafe 2, 11 West 53 St, Manhattan

Wed-Mon 11am-5pm | Closed Tue | Fri 11am-7:30p

It’s not just because I used to live so close to Irving Farm that I often insisted on meeting there. Irving Place is one of those city lanes small enough that you don’t have to dodge much traffic to cross it, but still public enough that you can stroll down it and not be glared at as an intruder by the residents. Well-kept brownstones, one of the oldest purpose-built parking garages I have ever encountered (1929!), 1950s coops, and numerous neighborhood businesses coexist on this 6-(short )block street. The crown jewel of Irving, of course, is the peaceful and immaculate Gramercy Park, which generously lends its name to the surrounding neighborhood (doubtlessly farther from the park than most key-holding residents would prefer). A stroll around the periphery of the park is one of my favorite detours when I’m in the area — sure, it takes 5-10 more minutes to get where you’re going, but all those ornate towers and mansions, steeped in history, make it worthwhile.

In the heart of the minihood of Irving Place is Irving Farm, on the garden level of a very old house. Walking in feels like a hug: the warm woods and décor put me at ease. An ease begging to be shattered by a big ass cup of Irving’s astoundingly good house coffee. It’s so good I don’t even put sugar in it, just cream (half and half in this case; it’s all they have). You can get the coffee served in a ceramic cup, which I like because I feel like I’m not being rushed out — instead of “here’s your paper cup, now scram” it’s “have some coffee, stay a while.”

Irving has a great little pastry case, some of which I noticed comes from Balthazar (that means it’s good). They also have a decent menu of salads, sandwiches, and soups. And though the prices on the food are a bit steep, the staff hands it to you with a smile.

Overall, Irving Farm is what I’ll be calling a “Haunt” — a place to visit time and again.

Irving Farm, 71 Irving Place, Manhattan

M-W 7am-11pm | Th-F 7am-12am | Sat 8am-12am | Sun 8am-11pm