Cafés
The one from Colombia, the one without wifi, the one from Yemen, and the one that welcomed us to the neighborhood.
It was a cold Sunday morning. That year, 2018, was one of the coldest winters New York City has seen in the last few years. Biko suggested going to a café and I thought it was a good idea. I was visiting and hadn’t been to many cafés in the city yet.
When we got on the subway, he told me how many stops we had ahead and I hesitated. We were in Astoria, Queens, and the café was in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. An hour and two subway lines far. Maybe this was not such a great plan after all.
We arrived and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee was delightful. The back wall was covered with plants and the sun came in through a giant skylight on the ceiling. I ordered a latte and a croissant and my doubts were dispelled. The long trip had been worth it.
Devoción serves Colombian coffee. They have many locations in the city, but the one in Williamsburg is my favorite.
New York was slowly easing restrictions after the pandemic and the days were getting longer with the arrival of spring. I was going to university once a week to the only in-person class the department offered. Apart from that two-hour class, where we wore masks and sat at well-spaced desks, the rest of my academic (and personal) life took place mostly virtually.
The Hungarian was one of the first places I visited near campus. It was March 2021 and after so much isolation, it was shocking to see so many people together in one place. The smell of the baked pastries was enough to ease the tension in my body and I began to enjoy the murmur and intimacy strangers share at cafés with tables that are close together. A feeling I hadn’t realized I missed.
I always write notes about the places I visit on Google Maps. The one from that day says: “good pastries”. In what kind of a hurry must my past self have been to leave such a brief and useless note for my future self? I vaguely remember I had a hard time choosing what to order. They had an incredible variety of cakes, pastries, and sweets, and everything looked delicious. I think I decided on two things, but I didn’t take a picture and now I can’t remember what I got.
The Hungarian Pastry Shop is frequented by Columbia students, writers, and book and movie characters, who are encouraged to sit as long as they like and served bottomless cups of coffee. The café is proud to offer a no Wi-Fi experience. No doubt, a special place to sit and chat.
The first thing I saw was the wall. “Wow, what a beautiful map,” I thought.
It was a wooden world map that illustrated the journey of Arabica coffee from Yemen to the world. I stopped to enjoy it and Biko tried to explain. “The map of Yemen is not on scale. That province is actually smaller and this other one is (blah, blah, blah).”
I ignored him. I couldn’t care less about the accuracy of the map. He continued talking to himself while I listened to my own thoughts. “I love the warmth that the wood gives to the place. Oh, they have sabaya1 with honey! It seems like a very popular place, it’s packed. I like the big tables. The photos on the walls are beautiful.”
Biko kept saying things I couldn’t hear until the guy taking the orders interrupted us. It was our turn.
“Salam aleykum, we want Adeni tea and sabaya,” Biko said.
“Shukran,” I added to thank the guy on the other side of the counter and make some use of my limited Arabic repertoire.
The Adeni tea was not up to par with that of my sister-in-law, who makes the best Adeni tea in the universe according to the family’s opinion. But it was still delicious. We spent the afternoon talking about the history of coffee and the port of Mocha in Yemen, where coffee first started to be exported to the world.
We can’t go to Aden every afternoon to enjoy my sister-in-law’s tea, but we go to Qahwah House often. One of our little pieces of Yemen in New York.
We were apartment hunting in Brooklyn. We had to move at the beginning of September and the search for a new home in the heat of August was becoming exhausting.
We were walking through one of the neighborhoods in our search area when an email made me stop in my tracks.
“It’s from the building we applied to last week,” I told Biko. He froze, expectantly.
The email informed us our application was accepted and had the contract attached. We hugged in celebration and then reread the email more carefully. In the rush, we had ignored all the details of additional documents, steps to sign the contract, and possible dates to give us the keys.
We were a few blocks away and decided to explore the area again. We walked around, checked a few stores, and took a picture of the front door to share the news with our family.
On our way to the subway, we saw Ciao Bella Coffee. It seemed like a good place to celebrate that in 15 days we would have a new address. We ordered iced drinks and the barista welcomed us to the neighborhood. It was already late in the afternoon and there were not many people left. We sat at one of the outside tables and spent the evening imagining how we were going to arrange the furniture in the new place and decorate the living room.
Hi, how are you?
I’m enjoying the sunny weekend after ten straight days of rain.
Last week, I talked with Jessie from Bibliofilia about cafés and bookstores in New York. The exchange of recommendations reminded me of the first time I visited some of the cafés I like the most and I decided to share them with you this weekend.
Do you also have special memories of cafés in your area?
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Thank you for reading my stories today.
Until the next story!
(Maria) Pia
I told you about sabaya before in the Three-day Wedding: #1 Sunday story. It’s a type of bread that you must have with Yemeni honey on top. Here’s the recipe. Let me know if you’ve tried it!