The light lull of jazz lures you in as you are embraced by a warm orange glow and a comfortable atmosphere. The air smells lightly of coffee and cream and the temperature is a sort of lukewarm, cool, but not cold, warm, but not hot. From the ceiling hangs about a dozen lights, some curved glass sculptures and others discs, reminiscent of UFOs. Above the counter there is a curved sort of overhang, below which all-black dressed workers scurry about, taking orders, making drinks, and preparing desserts and small lunches.
I approach the counter, knowing exactly what I want. What I want is called 20 Degrees Below, and it is a chocolate sort of smoothie meant to taste like hot chocolate if it were cold. I ask for whipped cream with it, of course, because it is absurd to refuse whipped cream on any sort of coffee shop beverage. I also order a small cup of cookie dough, an exquisite sort of creamy cookie tasting dough with lightly sweet chocolate chips sprinkled within it. I swipe my card, and accept the little plastic cup of cookie dough, complete with spoon, and walk into the dining area.
I almost never get to sit where I’d like to; booths lining either side of the dining room, slightly above the rest of the area. People with laptops almost always beat me to them. Instead, I end up sitting at one of the tables lining the back wall, each one with a small silk flower arrangement. In front of the tables, perfect for a cold day, there are cushy chairs and a fireplace, beside which is a rack of news papers. Small tables sit beside each chair and each is adorned with a small lamp.
The dining area is quiet, with only hushed murmurs, or small talk between the customers. It is similar to a library, where no one is loud, but none are silent. The counter is loud, the near constant roar of coffee making machinery. One of the workers brings me my beverage in a clear plastic cup, save for the Coffeesmiths logo and a small marking that says “20◦”. The straw tip is covered by part of the wrapper, a nice but small touch, much like hotels where the toilet paper is folded in a triangle at the end.
It is as though time stands still in the Coffeesmiths, you could stay the whole day and not be kicked out until close. It is a sort of peace, knowing that there is a place where the world moves slowly and there is no sense of rush, no need to return to your life until you decide you should do so. It is the same feeling as a free Saturday, where you wake up late, and breakfast lasts all of the morning, until you decide to go out for exploration and later lunch. Life is easy there, and slow. There isn’t a waiter or waitress who will check on you, waiting for you to ask for your check and leave. There is only you, and when you decide to leave.
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