There was a time (a *dark* time, mind you, one that makes you grit your teeth and get that steely look in your eyes when people ask about it) when I spent more time on the porch at Bongo Java than in my living room. That was, like, three years ago, though, so the useful bits of this review have to be sorted out of the larger legacy of secrets and shame.
Let's get the boring stuff out of the way first: Bongo Java is a perfectly competent coffeehouse. They serve a very nice sweet iced tea (get the fruit tea if they have it), an excellent "basic breakfast" for a reasonable price, and some kind of insane coffee that I suspect is spiked with PCP or goofballs or Guatemalan Insanity Peppers or something because whenever I drink it I feel like I need to get into a shouting match with a hobo or wrestle a raccoon for ham scraps or something (no, I'm not a coffee wimp, you jerk, I drink the stuff as if the cold hand of Death itself was tugging at my laptop bag--but I swear there's some sort of bad juju in that coffee). They have wifi and places to sit and terrible music and snotty baristas, so yeah, it's a coffeehouse. Don't go on Saturday or Sunday mornings unless you're fond of waiting in line forever.
What sets BJ (lord that's an unfortunate acronym) from other coffeehouses is the massive and well-populated porch, for which I forgive them most of their offenses. As others have noted, the patrons are mostly college-aged hipsters, as you might expect, but there's actually much more variance than that. There's a significant population of chess players who show up every so often to chain-smoke and punch the clock, providing a hypnotic ballet of strategy and vicarious nicotine intake. There are Vanderbilt grad students staring at their laptops in a concerted psychic effort to make their dissertations write themselves. There are off-duty baristas slouching about. And there's always one or two old guys hovering over the whole business. Given the general youth of the clientele, it's a bit strange to see them there all the time.
Which leads me to my final point: Bongo Java, despite seeming to be an innocuous, inoffensive coffeehouse, is actually more similar to some kind of monstrous, kelp-besmirched sea creature that, krakenlike, winds its horrible tentacles around you and drags you down into its inky lair. Bongo Java doesn't want your money; it wants your SOUL. It wants you to remain on the porch forever, swilling coffee and talking about obscure movies. The signs are all there:
Exhibit A) The business primarily serves an addictive substance (coffee)
Exhibit B) This substance is commonly consumed with an additional addictive substance (nicotine)
Exhibit C) The coffeeshop is a self-contained unit: since it serves food and drink, and since I suspect that the second floor of the converted house that contains it is still... a house, you could theoretically remain there indefinitely
Exhibit D) You can find the same cast of characters there on any day of the week, at any time of the day or night
Exhibit E) I strongly suspect that the old folks who can be found at all times on the porch are people who were lured in by Bongo Java and NEVER LEFT
So anyway, yeah. You should probably still go here, because the porch is nice and sunny and sometimes the cats from the neighboring houses come and visit. But don't fall for it if someone offers you some low-protein gruel and a place to crash while you're there. read more