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.