Coffeehouse Then, Cafe Now

I've always loved coffeehouses. I've always loved the idea of a coffeehouse, but it was when I was a junior in college that a real-life, honest-to-god, locally-owned, pre-Starbucks coffeehouse opened in my sleepy little college town. It was the greatest coffeehouse, I am convinced, that the world has ever seen, and I am equally convinced that the world will never see anything like it, again.

First of all, they charged $1.33 for a bottomless cup of coffee. My friends and I abused this price, terribly. I would gather up my Norton Anthologies and haul them to Food For Thought at 2 pm and order a bottomless cup of coffee from Erin, the owner, and sit there in a corner booth and wait to see friend after college friend enter, and enjoy the luxury of talking and reading and drinking and talking and reading until they closed. And the entire day would cost you $1.33.

When I'd tell my mom of my days spent in the coffeehouse that had become more of a second home to me than my dorm room, she'd say, "Those owners must hate you. $1.33 for a whole day! I'll send you some mad money. Go buy yourself brunch there."

The owners, somehow, didn't hate me. Instead, they invited me over for dinners on the grill and independent movies and luxuries I couldn't yet imagine, but knew I wanted when I lived on my own in my imagined real world. Salmon on the grill! Jim Jarmusch movies! Red Wine! Adrienne Rich! Life!

That was, astonishingly, 15 years ago. Tonight I went to a different kind of coffeehouse.

At 10:30 am we took our daughter to her first memorable Easter egg hunt, only to find it was postponed because of gale-force winds. In a desperate attempt to appease our devastated daughter, I promised we'd do something else fun. She suggested a bookstore and "buying an iced tea at a restaurant" (regardless of the name or the menu, restaurants are her favorite place on earth). "How about we go to a coffeehouse after dinner?" I suggested. "Oh, I love coffeehouses," she replied with a confidence beyond her years.

After dinner I drove her down to Main Street, which she told me, as she put her hand in mine, that she loved. And she loved the coffeehouse, which she preferred to call a Cafe. And, being close to Easter, she ordered for herself a cupcake with a sparkly pink Peep on top, and chose a cranberry juice to accompany it. And as I was paying for my chai and her cranberry juice and her cupcake and a treat for her dad she asked me, "Why does that woman have a nose ring? And why do men wear earrings?"

We changed tables twice because she wanted to sit on high chairs once and on low chairs once. And we played dominoes, in our own way and by our own semi-logical rules. And when we finally gathered ourselves to leave the cafe and go home, we ran into a colleague of mine and his wife. After they asked my daughter polite questions about our night on the town she called out, after their retreating bodies, "Good bye! Take care!"

I knew, by the end of the tough week I'd had, that I'd needed a night out. I thought I needed a night out by myself. Turns out I was wrong.