The Girlfriend treats this place like a second home. When she's not answering her phone I can usually find her at a table here, halfway through a cappuccino served in a unique mug with her papers spread everywhere and her laptop open and her phone connected to the usb, charging and playing music that connects to her bluetooth headphones.
The seating here is laid out in a very European fashion, meaning the tables sit close together for a more intimate and lively setting, though I can understand if people who are unaccustomed to this arrangement or have never been to a cafe in Paris (like me) find the spaces cramped and uncomfortable. Their milk based coffees are always the perfect ratio of foam and cream, creating a full bodied experience without much bite from the lightly roasted coffee beans. That being said, I usually get their Mexican hot chocolate. You can tell it's house made here, given that the cinnamon and vanilla accents compliment the melted semi-sweet chocolate that serves as the foundation of this sugary dream. It's so good that once it's ready and I sit with The Girlfriend neither of us talk, her nose deep into her work and me blowing on the hot chocolate, my breath creating temporary craters on the drink's surface, it's that thick. She's comparing U of C and Northwestern before transferring for her doctorate and researching the presidential candidates and deciding which health care plan is right for her.
The atmosphere has such a neighborhood quality to it that hours go by before you're ready to go. We compare cell phone providers and the benefits packages in her open enrollment. She's fretting over what option to go with now that they've split the HMO. She asks me what's my level of deductible and I panic for a second because I don't even know. I ask can't she change plans if she doesn't like it, and she nearly spits out her cappuccino ("Not after open enrollment!"). She sounds so shocked by my question that I wonder what am I actually covered by. When did I make these choices? I assume if I did, I researched every option thoroughly to make sure I didn't pick the wrong one. But this still doesn't comfort me (Read: more hot chocolate).
The crowd ranges from hipsters to blue collar to families. The interior is decorated in vibrant colors. This must be what it's like to live in a Crayola box, I'm thinking while staring out the window at gridlock and the pacing teens dancing under the bus stop canopy, swinging their braids while music plays off someone's phone as the others record all this and share online. There's gang graffiti on the stop sign that no one seems to notice.
I can tell by her eyes this is not The Girlfriend's first cappuccino. I myself am swimming in a chocolate wonderland. Seriously, get the hot chocolate. I'm practically a pool of satisfaction when I realize The Girlfriend's talking and saying how you have to have coffee flowing through your veins, get through days on 4 hours sleep, just to maintain. Just to keep the plates from spinning on the poles. Forget improving. Forget changing. I tell her not to worry so much. ("All high cognitive mammals display the capacity to worry," she says. "Worrying is a sign of intelligence."). It sounds like we're not going anywhere for a while so I order the mollete. It's served on sliced pieces of fresh bread, though bolio would be much preferred, with a thick layer of oaxacan cheese that they toast to a perfect gold tinge, leaving the outer rim of the melted cheese white and creamy. The black bean spread is seasoned with a house blend that gives the sandwich a meaty flavor even without the ham. I don't think I can finish it and before I know it it's gone. I look at my phone and three hours have passed by. How? The girlfriend is nowhere near ready to go, already ordering another cappuccino. Three hot chocolates? Don't judge. read more