Cafehop.com — Café hopping in New York City

This story begins about two years ago, when Luis and I first moved to New York. We were in a sublet in the East Village and were beginning to explore the city, to decide in which neighborhoods we would like to find apartments. We spent one completely frigid day in Tribeca — I particularly remember my feet hurting badly from the cold, made all the worse by the neighborhood’s stone slab sidewalks.

Desperate to find some place warm (and even open, in the desolate section we were in), we were relieved to find Pécan, a gorgeous brick-and-glass-walled café at the flatirony corner of Franklin, Varick, and West Broadway. Sleek cafeteria-style community seating makes sure everyone is always in each other’s business — this is always an idea good in theory but terrible in practice, especially because people tend to leave one seat between parties and then a couple can’t sit with each other if it’s busy. Despite this minor problem and the overall modern aesthetic, the place actually comes off as quite cozy.

We ordered hot chocolates, and they were merely okay, considering that they were nearly $5 each. We enjoyed them much more than we normally would: the warmth was giving us more pleasure than the flavor.

Since that cold day, I returned with Mario on one of our outings. We sat at one of those long tables and annoyed those sitting near us with all our chatter as they tried to work on their laptops. We enjoyed our $4 espressos, if I recall, even if the staff is a bit snotty.

Though Tribeca is New York’s big-bucksiest neighborhood, it is still a bit rough around some remaining edges, and because of the types of commercial spaces there (cavernous and industrial), limited in café options. Pécan is still going strong and will likely be around at least until there is some more competition.

Pécan, 130 Franklin St, Manhattan

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

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.

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

Now that I’m done laboring on my house, I have free time once again. Last Thursday Mario and I met up for our weekly coffee outing, and this week he wanted to venture east.

The first thing to note, of course, is that Ninth Street Espresso is not on 9th Street, it’s on 13th. The first time I passed it I was worried because I thought I was further south than I actually was. The original is on 13th between Crazy and Dead. Mario and I walked in as we passed by after mistakenly eating at the crumbling, filthy Blue 9 Burger on 3rd. This was Blue 9’s polar opposite: monochrome, clean, bright, and comfortable.

They serve their espresso triple ristretto — you get a little cup 1/3 full with thick, reddish dark coffee. I find this is the way I prefer my espresso. It’s less bitter because it doesn’t extract too much from the beans. Mario disagrees, but what does he know — besides, he’s a terrorist.

We also got a little chocolate petit four thing, and it was gooood. With this, Mario agrees. Even though this place is close to Union Square, it’s not crowded, and conversation can be made in a normal voice.

Ninth Street Espresso, 136 E 13th Street, Manhattan

7am-8pm daily

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.

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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.

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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

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