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

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

One of my favorite places in all of New York City is French Roast in the Village on Sixth Avenue. My love affair with this café began a couple years ago when I was here visiting family at Thanksgiving. Luis and I stopped in for a sandwich and some coffee, and there, among the old French advertisements, weathered marble table tops, and deco chandeliers, we decided it would be our goal to move to New York.

I have been here countless times since, for late morning coffee, an afternoon croque monsieur, or a 1am dinner with wine. The atmosphere is perfect, though I admit to a bit of an obsession with the classic Parisian café theme — it relaxes me, and has that feeling like it’s smoke-filled, but of course is not. It’s (oh this is so lame) like I imagine an actual old Paris café or bistro to be. My only comparison from experience would be the 24-hour cafés of Buenos Aires — close enough, considering they (like nearly everything else in that city) were themselves modeled off those of 19th century Paris.

It’s always service with a smile here, and they never rush you from your table — I once spent 5 hours here with a visiting friend. The only complaint is the coffee cups are small, which wouldn’t be a problem if they filled them more often. Unfortunately, the lunchtime sandwiches, like the croque monsieur (definitely a Good Thing, best I have had), are not available after 10pm or so, when they bring out the dinner menu. Small quibbles.

Good coffee, decent espresso, great food, service, atmosphere — there’s nothing this place is missing. And it’s open 24 hours! Now you have no excuse but to visit.

French Roast, 78 W 11th Street, Manhattan

Open 24 Hours

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

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

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

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

The lesson here might be to start with low expectations. Mario took me to the Alessi store in Soho to show me just how undrinkable the espresso at their in-store café, Joe, was. The wispy shred of boy (how do his organs fit in a six-inch-wide torso!?) that manned (I use this word loosely) the machine made art of twirling back and forth from his coffee contraption to the counter where he assembled our coffee setup, and placed our tiny espresso spoons just so. I particularly liked the spoons.

The café is not comfortable — it’s too ultramodern and slick and bright and smooth to be able to chill out and drink your joe. As a store selling weird-looking Italian kitchen items and objets, the aesthetic is great. As we sat, backs rigid, on the shiny recessed benches and drank our coffee — which turned out, despite Mario’s previous experience, to be pretty good — another mop-headed attendant waited to recover our empty cups. When Mario explained he still had a little left, Mophead lectured him on the importance of drinking freshly-pulled espresso in three hot gulps. I wasn’t looking but I’m sure Mario made a face.

This is not a place to visit unless it’s bitterly cold outside and you’re within 100 feet. Or maybe if you absolutely have to have coffee and you can’t wait another 2 minutes to find another café. The espresso is fine but no better than any other decent place, the atmosphere rates our first “depressing,” and please, I do not need to be talked down to by the help.

Joe, the Art of Coffee at Alessi, 130 Greene Street, Manhattan

Mon-Fri 7am-7pm | Sat 8am-7pm | Sun 8am-6pm

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