Sidamo Café

I rode and I rode and I rode. With no specific destination in mind, I rode down Telegraph Avenue, from 51st toward the center of town. And I rode, and I rode. But alas, there were no coffee shops.

It wasn’t until just past 37th St. that I found Sidamo (3624 Telegraph), a what a welcome place to rest my tired and thirsty head. For all the talk, Telegraph has no coffee shops along that 15 block stretch. Ok, I’m over it. What I’m not over is the big smile and warm greeting I got from Mimi, proprietor of the 2 month old shop. I ordered a cup of the Ethiopian sidamo blend, which was dark and smooth and just what I needed. “Ethiopia is the birthplace of coffee,” she told me with a knowing smile, “and Sidamo, Ethiopia is where good coffee comes from.” And that’s where she gets hers, as evidenced by the bean-skins under the counter display. After a good talk, I sat down to enjoy the coffee, the free WiFi, the jazz on the speakers, and the cushions (in addition to tables inside and out front). I felt comfortable and welcome in the understated mix of African decorations and community flyers. Everyone who came in seemed to know Mimi: there were as many smiles and waves as there were customers, and I even got to meet her beautiful daughter. Open Monday through Saturday from 7 to 7 with a great selection of coffees, pastries, smoothies, and a few well-chosen sandwiches (all under $5), she had my whole morning taken care of.

Reading the headlines today, it seems like the reporters wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote until they found something they could underline. Some rather ho-hum articles about the governent: “Governor orders layoffs, heavy paycuts” and “SF mayor proposes fines for unsorted trash.” What!?! Government workers milk the overtime payscale? When did this start and why wasn’t I told? And people put trash in the recycling bin? Those fascists. I propose that everyone getting laid off by Arnold move to San Francisco and become a trash cop. I’m sure there will be plenty of overtime if Newsom tries to make an actual go at that. Rounding out the front page are articles about the Xtreme Country Make-Over! that is happening in Beijing to prepare for the Olympic crowds. It sounds like the front page took this summer day off and took out the microscope to burn some ant-like stories. At least my scope was macro-enjoyable at Sidamo, where I recommend you take a break from the news when you can.

Enjoy your break slow, dear reader. After all, if the front page microscopes our summer, I’ll be watching reporters throw water balloons at each other with watermelon juice dripping down their keyboards.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

Nomad Cafe

Ah, what a beautiful day of surprises and a day of synchronicity. Jerked awake by a call for work, I walked the dog and inhaled the sunlight. Very domestic, and a perfect segue to the headlines: “The plunge in the price of homes gets worse.” Wow. Am I the only one who wants to reread 1984 lately to see if we’re doing it word for word? It seems like I’m riding a news see-saw between statistics and charts saying the American Dream is foreclosing and the politicians saying we’re all going to be fine, just keep the faith. Makes me want to go to one of the “Extreme Fighting” matches that are “…taking Stockton by storm.” Ok, not really. The looming picture is of the Yosemite fire, reported to be only 15% contained. Group these with a dramatic overstatement, “Last Words: Popular online scrabble knockoff erased” and the lead headline, “Death row cost overrun: $40 million,” and you’ve got the standard apocalyptic cover page: A nineteen-eighty-foreclosure on our sense of safety and belief in happy endings. But wait, what’s that headline tucked gently away in the bottom right corner? No, there’s no smoke in your eyes: “In surprising turn, McCain praises Pelosi and Gore.” Take a moment to sip your coffee. In a political firestorm that is less than 1% contained and has already seen candidates using extreme tactics, from kindness to belittlement, now McCain is pledging to work with Pelosi, someone he says, “…has been an inspiration” and, “in many ways more powerful than the president.” Wasn’t there a book by some guy that talked about how all government figures are really on the same side, manufacturing battles or something… Maybe there’s room on the McCain ticket for a VP…

All of this before I stepped into the Nomad Café, bastion of clarity burning at 6500 Shattuck (at 65th) in Berkeley. For just a few dollars I was able to sit down in a comfortable chair, read the rest of the paper to some amazingly synchronistic symphonic music, plug in, and enjoy what I can only call the American office dream. It seemed like everyone there was working on a laptop, sipping good coffee (I had the Nomad Blend: strong and solid), and wearing flip-flops and either stubble (the well-groomed, 3 day look) or a pony-tail (the I look good even when I act like I don’t care look). If 1984 is the bleak, ashen version of the future, the Nomad Café’s casual business for the entrepreneurial spirit has the sharp yellow-jacketed wave of the future that could put it out. I loved it, and if you need to get out of the house and find a place to work, read, or just enjoy the basic but reasonable menu of coffee to lunches, you will too.

Enjoy your break slow, dear reader. After all, if the front page lights our days on fire, we’ll be out of our homes and switching sides, but it won’t matter who has the last (erased) word when we’re all nomads, walking caffeinated into the 21st century.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

Mokka

I enter the headlines of Monday morning with a head refreshed and fingers decaffeinated. For me, the weekend was spent in the Desolation Wilderness, where I enjoyed the silences of the Sierras instead of the bustling of coffee shops – and didn’t enjoy the lack of coffee at all on my final morning. But, that’s what happens when you don’t bring along enough fuel. That, and your girlfriend, with a caffeine headache of her own, gets to say “I told you so” for the 4.3 mile hike back to Echo Lake.

And then the front page shook my hand: “Foreclosures hit a 20-year high.” A friend of mine actually moved to the Bay to work with people in that situation, and it’s no secret that balloon mortgages are popping in everyone’s faces, but the map crowning the front page seems to echo my girlfriend’s headshake. I can’t help but feel like a genius for not buying a house lately… The other headlines look to foreclose on some familiar institutions as well: “Judge hands Cal a big win in athletic center fight” and “Suicide barrier: Emotions high.” That judge’s decision is carried out, the almost mythic tree-sitters of Berkeley campus will have to come down – or get cut down. The suicide barrier debate sounds like it falls into two camps: everyone who has had someone jump or try to jump off the bridge vying for added protection and everyone else saying leave it alone. Behind all of these is the battle for control, and the entire front page seems to yearn for an answer, something or someone to tell us that everything will be ok, that we haven’t run out of fuel and that we can get one more lift in the morning of the 21st century. Perhaps.

Looking to foreclose on my own caffeine headache, I arrive at Mokka, an understated coffee shop at the corner of Telegraph and Dowling in south Berkeley. The simple act of waking up in the asphalt grid was made simpler by their décor: decidedly Japanese in its art and entirely Berkeley-esque in its delivery. Simple, curved stools at a narrow rectangular bar, two-seated round tables out front. A menu that offers sincere, satisfying options: breakfast, coffee, tea and gelato. They do not overwhelm, and they do deliver. With each cup drip-crafted fresh, the large-mouth mug made up for missing Sunday morning. People from all backgrounds lounged, and I was struck by how many smiles and old friends seemed to be enjoying the start of the week together. No bustling business or blue-collar crowd here – it seems that the united populace of retired, vacationing, and underemployed (me?) have found a simple spot to sip their soul-juice with jazz in the ears and bamboo art for the eyes. With coffee, music, and space all this strong and simple, I know I’ll be back. And just before I finished typing, in walked an older woman who seemed to know her coffee. She strolled up to the counter and said, “I get a mocha at Starbucks and I’m thinking, ‘ehhhh’ (her hand tilting back and forth), but yours is great.” It’s that simple.

Enjoy your break slow, dear reader. After all, if the front page forecloses our future, we’ll have nowhere to drink our coffee, and my little trip to the wilderness may be a bit more permanent!

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

Away

Breakfast in the Bay will not be published for the remainder of this week. I wish you all pleasant mornings and strong coffee...

Mama Buzz Café

“Coastal Oil: Deep Mystery.” Splashed across the front page, the dark, murky tease of a headline makes a huge deal out of our uncertainty about oil reserves around U.S. shores. It feels like I’m watching Fox News. Are we seriously talking about where to find more oil? Tell me this is a joke… not some slick, twisted joke.

Also slick and twisted is Mama Buzz Café, at 2318 Telegraph, where I drilled for my coffee this morning. Entering to smooth Roots beats, I pumped out Tiger by the Tail coffee (don’t know what that is but it muddy and does the trick). Mama Buzz is exactly that, the mother of a buzz in Oakland. This is a tangible nexus for the Art Murmur crowd, and I pecked at my laptop with gutter punks, hipsters, artists in stained pants, and felt like I was sitting in the secret breakfast spot of every good pulp novel detective. Free wifi, plug-ins galore (you mean a place that actually wants me to sit here as long as I want???), and a back porch if you want to breath fresh air (or smoke) while you dig into the latest zine. The girl next to me brought in a whole box of blueberries to go with her coffee. As I sat, the music flowed smoothly from Roots to Talib Kweli to Arrested Development. The dining room, with its hipster survey of seats from church pews to 50’s diner chairs, doubles as an art gallery, and the walls are lovingly covered by some of the best, unframed art that Oakland has to offer. Want to know what the scene is producing these days? Come get your buzz on right here.

As for the headlines, there are some amazing stories about eradicating child slavery in Nepal and drug firm buyouts. I can’t take the headlines today. They don’t make sense. “I read the news today, oh boy…” sang those Beatles, and that’s kind of how the morning went. Luckily, Mama Buzz was there to rub the aching head.

Enjoy your break slow, dear reader. After all, if the front page is our mother, we’ll be sliding through the morning on oil, spending our energy pondering corporate takeover ethic. Mama!!!

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

SufficientGrounds

Navigating the obligatory parade of Volvo and Saab wagons, my morning bike ride is a smooth sail through islands of free tabloid newspapers and flyers. Where else could I be but Berkeley campus, searching for the little piece of hope that just may wander between the students in hoodies, coffee-sipping professors with tucked-in bellies, and somehow constantly stunned, ethereally dirty homeless guy with the endless cigarette butt. It’s like caffeine for the eyes. I lose myself in the random reading, both my feet and my eyes wandering for a while.

Evetually I wandered into Sufficient Grounds on Durant. You’ll find the basics: coffee, muffins, fruit -- how is it that bananas are ever-present in North America again? Maybe it’s Obama’s fault, like gas prices – (a short article about a weird ad campaign from McCain’s new commercial, somehow blaming Obama for the rising oil prices..). They’ve got WiFi, and you can plug in, which is a must to keep yourself entertained. The best thing about this place is the jabber-jabber (ok, maybe the coffee is better than I thought…) of the barista, a goofy house dj who spent most of the morning introducing himself to everyone who came in (“I’m really bad with names, but…), pouring dance music knowledge into every cup free of charge, and giving a heart to an otherwise sterile room. If you need a pick me up in the morning, this place is sufficient. If you’ve graduated from college, or just from wearing hooded sweatshirts, you may want to seek new ground.

As for the headlines, it’s like listening to a promotional mix-tape a la People’s Park: “Promoting Racial Harmony” and “Ending Urban Renewal.” Is there a link? We’ll have to ask the wandering professors and homeless. Somewhere between harmony and renewal brews the truth, and it just may come from a dance party run by today’s barista.

Dance on, everyone, and enjoy your break slow. After all, if the front page dj’s the next party, it’ll be finger pointing and broken hope. Perhaps the barista has some ideas where I should wander next…

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

EspressoRoma

Apparently I am living Italian week, as this morning I found my boots walking up to Espresso Roma, at the corner of Ashby and College. Weaving my way through morning, I brought the sun out with a little caffeine. Outside: two men sat silently staring at the street with their old man eyes, a slight, model looking girl with sunglasses bigger than her face painted her nails bright orange, and three women crowded around a table scribbling business-plans and copiously nodding at each other, emphasizing words with seeming randomness. I sort of loved it. Like yesterday, the people-watching was a highlight, but, unlike yesterday, the coffee wasn’t. Dark, yes, but not smooth. Smoother, though, than the guy at the next table who spent five minutes explaining the intricacies of his master’s program to his date. It’s the best place I’ve been in a while to sit down and enjoy a long breakfast. If you’ve got a friend in from out of town, it’s perfect.

The headlines today felt disjointed: “24% likely to drop out at state’s high school” and “Newfound genetic clue to HIV rate among blacks” both point to major issues in the black community: dropping out (it’s 24% overall, but 42% of African-American students) and a theory that says there is a gene that makes people of African descent more susceptible to AIDS. Early 1900’s eugenics comes to mind, but who knows where the front page is coming from. Stuck into the bottom corner is San Francisco’s #1 ranking as the “most walkable” city in the country. With that, I’m off to walk myself home.

Enjoy your break slow, dear readers. After all, if the front page sets our route, we’ll be walking around talking about drop-outs and disease, chaos and fiscal crisis. Something good to have coffee to.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

EmporioRuilli

When I emerged from the Powell BART stop I was glad to have my peacoat, but the clouds seemed to march away with each step as my search for Union Square got warmer and warmer in all ways. It was a treat to take a coat and a load off at the Emporio Ruilli’s, a bustling coffee stop literally in Union Square. It was like stumbling into a small Italian town, from the accent of my barista to the Mediterranean beauty of my latte. And there was a sea of fine pastries to boot! It was, above all, great people watching. Seeing the morning crowd of people is caffeine for a thousand books a day, and for this writer, it was hard to find time to sip I was taking so many notes. From tourists in awkward shorts with flashy bags to retail girls with flashy skirts and designer bags, it was a parade of stories. The service was great, the latte thick, and the sun shining: hard to decide what to talk about first!

When I finally settled into the Chronicle’s front page, I found it was also riddled with decisions. Looming large across the entire page: “Clash on Iraq defines differences.” Obama thinks we need to leave and McCain thinks we need to stay. Now there’s a decision. It seemed like the headlines descended from national to local, the others outlining how “Yahoo and Google go to Congress on ad deal,” and the “Firing up attack on S.F. smokers.” Before I go any further: are the two internet advertising and search giants, the two facilitators of the electronic age, really called Yahoo and Google? [insert baby-talk joke here]. And is it possible to seem imposing in a suit if you are representing a company called Microsoft? [insert size does matter joke here]. Clearly I was in the mood for a good laugh, and any anti-trust case in Congress is always good for that. As for the smoking bans, the list of proposed bans is long, and the changes would be significant. Not in bars, not in line, not in public areas inside or out, etc. I’ll just say it was beyond great sitting outside the Emporio Ruilli with lots of sun and no smoke.

Enjoy your break slow, dear readers. After all, if the front page makes our decisions, we’ll be arguing about everything, and that just ruins a good coffee break.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

Mudrakers Cafe

Ah, control. When I was a teenager I had this great T-shirt with kitschy adolescent quote on the back: Control is an Illusion. Picking up the newspaper today, it seems, as Bob Dylan said, “I was so much older then/ I’m younger than that now.” The first is, “Fed ‘difficulties’ abound.” The first notch in my T-shirt’s sleeve, this article bemoans the inability of our government to control the current financial crisis. I am still baffled by the media’s belief, apparently shared by politicians, that they can somehow “solve” America’s financial difficulties. Didn’t they read my T-shirt? Next is, “Techie with a grudge,” an article about a somehow endearingly defiant SF employee making six figures who decided to hack the city’s payroll and communications network, denying access to all officials. Underneath those, I read about national furor over The New Yorker’s impending Obama cover and the possibility of Belgium’s breakup as a country. I mean, governments seem to be having a rough time with their image today. The illusion dissolves.

At one point, journalists prided themselves on being “muckrakers.” Riffing on this idea, today’s coffee destination calls itself Mudrakers. Mudrakers Café, at the corner of Telegraph and Stewart in Berkeley, has fantastic pleather chairs, cafeteria-style tables, and the strangest 80’s rock grooving through the morning. I got the feeling I was back in college, stopping in for a slice of pizza between classes. A sign on their window boasts organic, fair trade coffee, but beyond that I had no idea what it was. It was tasty, but even though I drank it in-house I had to use this styrofoam cup. The coffee cake, however, was moist and rewarding. There is a lot of well-lit space, free Wi-fi, and a fun display of Arab-American art on the walls, but somehow I couldn’t shake the cafeteria feeling, so it was hard to be comfortable or stimulated. Folks came in and out without much fanfare, and it felt like a good place to stop in for a break from work. If someone would please turn off that pop-jazz saxophone. But then, control is an illusion.

Enjoy your break slow. After all, if the front page tries to control our morning we’ll be broke, stolen, misrepresented, and maybe, if Belgium is any flagship, without government. Perhaps control is an illusion…

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

Awaken Cafe

It’s a grey Monday in sky and head, and my mind is mumbly-laughing over the “Somebody’s got a case of the Mondays” line from Office Space. I step into Awaken Café as Beck sings, “…guess I’m doin’ fine.”

From there, it only gets better. The anonymous hums of downtown Oakland dissolve the sky and street behind me like dust… Baristas and customers alike say, “Hey, good morning!” and I’m pretty sure they mean it. There is this immediate sense of community that actually throws me off a little it was so palpable. A steady stream of locals and regulars stop in on their way to work, and I hear both sides of the counter using first names. A few folks ask about their hours, getting a feel for the place. I read the sign next door about how I can become a “member.” It’s only a few months old but feels like a part of Oakland, like people who stop through had been waiting for it to show up for a long time. And the people who stopped through are pure Oakland – blue collars and business casual, burners off the playa and hipsters. We all miss our bed on the way to work, but I felt like Awaken let me trade my sheets for a blanket of smiling banter and warm feelings on my grind toward the grind. What else?: my cup is 100% compostable: “Paper with BioPlastic Lining.” They had the paper waiting; Local art on the walls; Free internet; Good coffee; And bumper stickers. It felt like stopping by my friend’s living room to get my morning fluid, that is, if my friend had a great selection of teas, espressos, and pastries (even Vegan doughnuts! In downtown Oakland!). Oh, and did I mention that it’s a quick walk from the 12th St/ City Center BART stop in Oakland? It was great to have Beck on the soundtrack, but he was wrong: I was doin’ great, not fine. I can’t think of a better way to Awaken.

I was in such a rush to put all of this down that I skipped the headlines. A testament to the fact that a friendly hand to hold your caffeine in the morning goes a long way. The headlines present their standard split: The top half spotlights Silicon Valley volunteers in Kenya and Obama tells us that “I am my brother’s keeper,” but when I flip to the bottom I find Spanish news anchors with unfair pay and the Beijing Olympics steals water from local farmers. Today they feel distant in the flow of people.

Go. Awaken. Check them out at 414 Fourth Street (just East of Broadway) and at www.awakencafe.com. But enjoy your break slow, dear reader, and appreciate the smiles when they come. If the front page tells our stories, hopefully we can Awaken from unfair pay and government theft to the spirit of “La Raza,” and, like today’s coffee spot, act like the keepers of sisters and brothers that we are.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

CollegePointCafe

Since Independence Day the sun has beaten clouds back from the sky’s shores. This week feels like the summer of memory, the summer of movies, the summer of archetypes. I pick up the front page and my smile is struck with yet another memory, another archetype: “Two airplanes left the same airport traveling in opposite directions. If one airplane averages 400 miles per hour and the other…” And so the morning began. Two directions, too much to think about… the 8th grade algebra problem looming as large as the other disintegrative issues shining off the front page: “10,000 flee racing fire,” “Fiorina fights off campaign criticism,” and “Smelt’s survival in delta nears a new low.” So which will go best with coffee? Algebra? Natural disasters? Sexism? Environmental destruction? Or should I just nuzzle up to the headline in the corner: “Bears bite the market… some wonder if Wall Street has hit bottom yet.” Maybe I can stop an 8th grader to see what the algebra says. What about the simpler times, when I could go to a movie and forget about all this? According to the front page, “Hellboy 2: (is) hip mayhem.” Ah-hem (eyes looking side to side).

So I’m reminiscing as I wander into College Point Café, an almost hidden locale at 5248 College Avenue, at the intersection of College and Broadway. It aspires to be the quintessential corner store, packing in all manner of snacks and drinks (my favorite being the perfect-amounts of zip-locked mango slices for $1), flanked by a tasty looking deli, and rounded out by the standard coffee bar dispensers. Having already ordered, I decided to stick with my Ethiopian coffee. It was surprisingly good, though not reminiscent of Café Colluci. There are tables both inside and out (where did that space come from?), and I sat, as always, on the outside. I was the only one there. Pleasant breezes battled constant traffic, and I got a whiff of what it may feel like to be one of the firefighters along the coast, or perhaps an 8th grader taking an algebra exam early in the morning. Overall, a good place to stop in on your way to work, though not the best place to sit with a friend or your breakfast.

Enjoy your break slow. After all, if the front page does the math, we’ll be thrust in both directions, disintegrating toward some unknown variable. At least we’ll have coffee.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

Betty's Bakery

Ironing boards. Kitchen appliances. 70’s dance funk. Am I watching Alice on an episode of the Brady Bunch? No! I’m getting breakfast at Betty’s Bakery! I forgot to get the news first I was having so much fun ordering my coffee (don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s strong and dark) and dancing with the dozen bakers behind the counter. There were so many people working the kitchen it looked like a keg party. I’ve biked past so many times but never stopped; what a loss! It’s that busy corner of Telegraph and 51st St, just south of Claremont where one side of the street seductively boasts an amazing video store, Betty’s, an Aikido studio, and Asmara’s Ethiopian food, while the other side languishes under the behemoth eyesores of Walgreen’s and Check Cashing. In many ways, such is Oakland, straddling its two sides, such is breakfast at Betty’s, and such is the front page today. The state’s “decision makers” (emphasize your fingers as you make the air-quotation marks) argue over who is responsible for migrant criminals, each seeming to comfortably deny any ownership. On the other side, the headline refreshingly makes a declarative statement: “Obama opposes ban on gay marriage.” This is as exciting as breakfasting at an ironing board for most of us in the Bay, but anyone who brushes morning shoulders with politics, agree or disagree, has to appreciate this guy for not acting like Newsom and pretending like everything is somebody else’s problem. And, tucked away in the bottom corner, “Starbucks to cut back.” I will not comment. As Mr. Newsom said, “I don’t have the authority here.”

Sitting on my stool at my ironing board, out walked an endless stream of hipsters: girls in striped leggings and sweaters, dudes in sweatshirts and mustaches. When I felt myself mellowing out a bit, out walks a mom with neon blue hair and a baby strapped to her chest. The only thing that didn’t happen was someone using an ironing board for their laundry. On the great side, I got to dance while I ordered, sip my coffee feeling like a piece of installation art, and smile at the eclectic crowd of customers going in and out. On the other side, there was nowhere to sit inside and most tables were in the shade early, no WiFi, and there is a lot of noisy, dirty traffic stopping at that light. That’s the straddling part. Here’s the straight ride: Betty’s is at the corner of Oakland’s heart and soul. Go there, get a pastry (all freshly baked and looking on the A+ side of Amazing), sip some coffee, and enjoy a place that takes responsibility for a good breakfast. And while you’re there you can finish your laundry.

Enjoy your break slow and with artistic flare, dear readers. After all, if the front page takes charge of our morning, nobody but Obama will be responsible for anything. I’ll be ironing my breakfast.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

ACuppaTea

Breakfast in the Bay is one week old, and perhaps the candles on the cake can serve as both light and warmth for the morning. Far below an overcast sky, one perhaps asked to act too much in these days of fires and warming and wireless connections, I greet July in my pea coat, nuzzling between the gentle traffic of College and Alcatraz toward A Cuppa Tea. I step in to get the paper, but Safeway is out. Not so safe. I circle the block and all of the Chronicle stands are empty. Some strange vacancy of words, as if the news wanders lost in the clouds. So, for the first time, I find my news on the internet: “S.F.’s Crack Dealer Snafu.” Perhaps I am living a front page metaphor, feeling much like the San Francisco authorities when they checked in on the illegal immigrant drug dealers they placed in a group home rather than turn them over to federal authorities. The news and the offenders have both disappeared from the morning. Other headlines like, “Baron Davis Shockeroo,” “Oakland’s Outpouring of Grief,” and “Battling Bin Bandits” speak for a front page clouded by disappearances, perhaps also of deft linguistics. A Warriors player walks away from $17 million, unexpected airplane deaths, and networks of quick-fingered recycling bin sifters: can we count on anything in this cold, harsh world?

I lean back into my lush cushion and drift with the symphonic music at today’s breakfast spot, A Cuppa Tea. If nothing else, this place is comfortable. The crowd is 30 and over, hunching over laptops or whispering into cell phones. There are an incredible number of signs reminding me that the seating is only for customers. They seem to encourage the disappearance of those unwanted. My coffee, the organic house French roast, appears from the pump, and will not substitute for the sun. The walls are full of art, from electronic fountains and tea sets to flyers and calligraphy. My favorite muses that, “Three days without food is better than one without tea.” If our food supply starts to act like the front page, we may be testing out that ancient sage. Overall, A Cuppa Tea is a great place to grab just that, relax on a comfortable chair, and think about the world without feeling pressured to solve its problems or reclaim its disappearances. While I won’t go there again for breakfast, I will take my mother there for an afternoon “talk.”

Enjoy your break slow, dear readers. After all, if the front page holds on to our tomorrow, it may be gone before we get there…

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

NotesFromUnderground

It’s a beautiful morning... as I read the front page’s corner: “Motto Mania.” A good reminder to all of us just how funny it is to be alive. Apparently, some state employees are making over $100,000 in overtime, making me wish I had taken that job at the prison a few years back… And then, as if coming out after out storm of fires and ash, the PRIDE rainbow speeds across the front page on a motorcycle. Book-ended by verticals about how presidential candidates are marketed and about how the zoo still reels from the tiger attack, I’d say the motto of the front page could easily be, “San Francisco: A sense for the sensational.” It would be easy to miss the words touting how the “Slow Food Nation tries to woo diners away from Big Macs.” In September a menu of seminars and samples around the concept of preparing and eating food slowly will come to San Francisco. Slow Food, an Italian born reaction to American fast-food culture, sounds wonderful. I wonder what will happen when the conference organizers feel crunched for time as Labor Day approaches? Can you skip lunch or grab a “quick bite” if you’re an organizer of Slow Food Nation? I’ll chew on that…

Waiting patiently and motto-less, Notes from Underground, at the corner of Van Ness and Green, makes an understated nod to Dostoevsky, who certainly took his time with everything, filling its walls and surfaces with words, flyers, and books. I enjoyed the house blend, a tasty but unremarkable dark roast. Hopefully the Slow Food organizers will take the time to unearth this corner spot, where they serve a copious array of breakfasts, sandwiches, wraps, and more. They offer free WiFi and desktop internet access for 12 cents/ minute. There was a happy, familiar vibe through the café. You want it to be your corner café. OK, I want it to be my corner café. When I go there I want to sing, “Sometimes I wanna go… where everybody knows my name…” OK, enough. If you want somewhere to get your basic coffee and lunch, this is your spot. It’s a sunny day somewhere over the rainbow weekend, and I’m smiling.

Enjoy your break slow. After all, if the front page writes today’s motto, we’ll be eating slowly enough to make enough overtime cash to afford a good costume for next year’s PRIDE. Which would actually be great!

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

Lyon Cafe

The screeching BART mixes with chirping birds beneath an ominous, ashen sun. The headlines today are simple: “Plea for help as the bees disappear,” “Ruling’s Ricochet: A right to own guns,” and “Widow pleads for death penalty.” Our habits of pesticides and farming monocultures may be the smoking guns as the population decline. The Supreme Court interprets the 2nd Amendment for the first time in history, affirming the right of every American to own a gun. I can’t help but scratch beyond the front page to the movie Wanted, where the main character is liberated from his desk job to become an assassin, or to any story my students would tell of daily life in East Oakland, where guns and violence are social currency. While we may have the right to own them, do we know what to do with them? Crunched between the horrifying story of a woman whose family was killed and the massive disappearance of our bees, it is hard to watch the sun burn behind the ash without thinking that Charon is driving the trains all those people are buzzing to.

If there is a cinder of apocalyptic fatalism in this Friday air, it disappears when I sit down at the Lyon Café, which blooms across from the Rockridge BART at the corner of College and Miles. The house coffee, an organic Sumatra, warded off the morning headache but could have been stronger. Most of the folks walking in are picking up coffee on their way to or from the BART, and as only one or two take the time to sit down I find myself sipping with the traffic outside. The constant stream of commuters is great people-watching (even if most are skirt-suited women and sleeveless-fleeced men), but leaves me feeling like I should be doing something more active to keep up with all the bees… like fighting global warming, or at least contributing to it. For my ears, a pleasant mix of quiet chatter and low music that somehow all sounds like Paul Simon’s greatest hits. The café is decorated simply, with a modernist feel and paintings on the walls. You’ll find the BART schedule on a monitor, flyers, newspapers, and WiFi available. The counter offers a standard selection of pastries and croissants. Overall, it’s a great spot to reload on your way to take the BART and do your part to fight global warming, hopefully unarmed.

Enjoy your break slow, dear reader. After all, if the front page pollinates our courtrooms we’ll be vigorously pursuing the death penalty for anyone who uses the gun we’ve vigorously protected their right to own.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

JumpNJava

I enter to Bob Dylan, slow and low in the background. By the time I get my cup of Max’s Blend, Hendrix cries, “Well I stand up next to a mountain/ Chop it down with the edge of my hand.” An apt soundtrack for reading the headline, “Up for a climbing record,” which outlines LaFayette climber’s plan to stand up on the mountain of Yosemite’s El Capitan Nose route and chop down the 2900 foot climb in under 3 hours. If I started now I could be done before noon. Plenty of time to scale the heights held on the rest of the front page, where presidential candidates “pitch hard to win (the) coveted Latino vote,” film crews document “Abandoned kids with AIDS in China,” police arrest MS-13 family men, the California government starts a “war on (global) warming, and scientist reveal “Ancient Gator-like fish.” Too much to hold on my climb up the morning.

Luckily, Jump’N Java, waiting at 6606 Shattuck on the southern edge of Berkeley, knows how to brew a boost. The house coffee today is Max’s Blend, named after the much renowned Royal Coffee Bean founder’s son, and combining Indonesian and African coffees. On their chalkboard it says, “We brew our coffee to maximum strength – ask us to dilute it if it’s too strong for you!” and they aren’t kidding. Their coffee may be just what those scientists need to bring the gator-like fish back to help fight global warming or curb gang violence. The tables are small and mostly taken by solo sippers with laptops, newspapers, or books. I take my seat under a palm tree, one of many that grace the walls in a mural by local legend, Peter Lee. The vibe is silent and sparse, with people in and out without a word beyond their orders. The music like an Ipod on random, jumping from punk to opera to sixties rock without warning, somehow a perfect complement to today’s cover stories. Offering all manner of coffee drinks and the basics in pastries and bagels, this spot feels a bit like climbing a long, windy climbing pitch. In the end, it’s a good place to fuel up and take in the news or check your email, but not to discuss it. As Jimi’s front-page voodoo children push pins into the comfort zones of breakfast reading, my brain is safely belayed by Jump’N Java.

Enjoy your break slow, dear readers. If this front page sets our route, we’ll be saving the world, climbing its mountains, and demystifying evolution all before lunch.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

ColeCoffee

The sky is confused. Can I trust the calendar saying the solstice just passed, or do I admit the clouds make me think I’ve left my pillow only in theory? Picking up the Chronicle from a Safeway across the street and feeling sleepily ironic, I read that “Bay Area home prices take new hit.” With the next headline speculating that rising temperatures give us a “Grim look at state’s plant life,” I nod as the uncertainty rains beyond the sky. Just as conventional calendar wisdom weathers this morning uncertainty, so, too, the face of the Chronicle begins to look more like the traditional theatre mask. The other headlines scratch their heads as Edgerly, Oakland’s city manager, retires in her own cloud of corruption, and Scott McClellan, Bush’s former aide, hints that he may vote Democrat in 2008, depending on which candidate is the most straightforward. When even the politicians are looking for truth, which face should I make?

With all of these faces dancing behind my own, I cross the street to Cole Coffee. Nestled into the gentle corner of College and 63rd in Oakland’s Rockridge District, Cole lets the hipster, the family, the homeless, and the businessman all sip their morning together without contradiction or confusion. To my left, two suits discuss the “typical corporate game,” while to my right a family sings whimsical happy birthdays to their baby. Two sophisticated ladies reminisce about Eleanor Roosevelt’s voice. The rest of us read our papers or peck away at our laptops with our own versions of theatre faces. Inside, the baristas brew up a stunning array of specialty coffees from around the world. You can even watch your fuel drip from their subtly placed waiting couch. Each cup is freshly made for each customer, beans ground and hot water poured, using the Melitta filter drip method for a seductively graceful cup of strong and satisfying coffee. Perfect for slow sipping and conversation, which is easy with the welcome absence of background music. Most take their cups to benches and tables curved around the outside, while a few remain inside, sitting in cozy corner tables. Small display cases offer croissants and vegan donuts, and there are a few well-chosen menu items if you want a hot breakfast. I recommend the poached egg with toast. There are actually two counters pouring coffee, allowing us our choices, not unlike the front page. One door over is a second Cole, where a rotating roster of the specialty coffees is brewed in a large batch, ready for a quick fill. Today’s was the Nicaraguan Organic, and it was strong like Ortega and smooth like a Caribbean sunset. In the end, Cole is a breakfast experience worthy of the truest theatre smile.

Dear readers, enjoy your break slow. After all, if the front page keeps playing truth or dare, we will all have to choose sides while there are still sides to choose.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.

Ritual

Breakfast in the Bay is a Tuesday’s child. Full of words, full of caffeine, and full of grace.

Is that fog or ash in the air? Emerging from the underworld of Bart, the Chronicle’s lead corner warns me that California is “on pace for (a) record fire year.” Two other headlines preach: “‘Americans reshape religion’ and ‘Satire at the S.F. ballot box in drive to ‘honor’ president.’ In the first I read that 70% of Americans believe multiple religions can lead to salvation, and that 21% of self-defined atheists believe in God. You’ve got to love a god buffet. The second article outlines a grave plot to rename a pollution control center the “George W. Bush Sewage Plant.” I read, too, that today in history, the U.S. Air Force dismissed any claims of UFO’s at Roswell. God bless the democratic process of belief.

With all of this pounding gentle nails into my head, I believe it is time for coffee. I enter Ritual to the beat of Tuesday drumming. Think stimulus. From the vibe of it, there could very well be a clandestine ritual occurring in the back room, a sacrificial roasting of Starbucks’ over-logisticised coffee siren. The menu is simple in the right way: Coffee, cappuccino, and French press ready to be poured, smoothly mixed hip-hop for ears too full of the Mission’s beeps and clunks, deftly sweetened still-soft chocolate croissants and pastel vegan donuts waiting for a tired head. Ritual, located in the Mission district at 21st and Valencia, helped me believe in the redemptive power of breakfast again. Which is important.

Enjoy your break slow. After all, if the front page blesses our dead, we’ll be flushing god down a toilet to a purgatory christened for our president.

Breakfast in the Bay: Making sense of waking up since Tuesday, 2008.