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

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 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

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

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

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