The Coffeehouse Journey

Let’s jump right into this.

I had just left Daily Drip and was eager to explore the rest of the town. You can’t park anywhere downtown without ending up in front of a “Historical Site” or a plaque or statue of some kind. Such is the Pennsylvania/Maryland border. Nothing important, just the future of natural rights and civil society at stake in a war for the future trajectory of the Republic. McConnellsburg is very much a town where the voices of past and future blend into a fugue.

Throughout McConnellsburg, old buildings are repurposed for new uses, but I couldn’t find a case where tradition did not reassert itself, even in the most modern reuse. Case in point: Clugston’s Market and Cafe. I’m not sure about the market itself, but the coffee spot here opened in 2016. Clugston’s is a massive boon to the town. There’s a plethora of food there, and plenty of space to enjoy it. It’s an “everything-mart.” Clugston’s is attached to a larger building that apparently has some historic cachet (see below) and is adjacent to several other buildings with even more of it (see further below). The Antietam Iron Works itself is a functioning iron crafting business that uses domestic steel.

The cafe portion of Clugston’s Market and Cafe was another example of urban/rural collision. On the one hand, the market epitomizes small-town Pennsylvania. It’s local and agrarian to the core. On the other hand, it’s polished, elegant, and the decor has an artistic whimsy that really stuck in my mind long after McConnellsburg was in the rear view mirror. Here’s a little secret: People who care about the past also tend to care about the future. Studying the past in depth gives you perspective. Perspective lets you see past preconception and bias. When that happens, you take the lessons of the past and apply them to the future while accepting the best of modernity, because now you can tell the best from the worst. Perspective.

That brings us to my own perspective on the coffee: It comes courtesy of Omega Coffee Collective. It’s a startup located in nearby Chambersburg, just like the last coffee spot. It’s a boutique roaster that began operations on December 2nd, 2023. Actually, that’s when the store opened; they’ve been doing fairs and festivals since 2022. That’s how a lot of small coffee roasters get their start these days. The festival scene is booming.

I got the 12.02 blend. The name is a tribute to their opening date. It was a blend of South American “Washed Process” coffee and a “Natural Process” Ethiopian. In retrospect, that makes a lot of sense, given the flavor palette I was experiencing. There was an unmistakable chocolate flavor. There was also vanilla, though it didn’t present as vanilla on its own; rather, it mellowed the chocolate, which was otherwise quite pronounced. It was light but not too light; I’d say it was more robust than the previous offering, but it remained suitably jaunty for travelers on the go.

Go, I did. For a walk through history, I mean. There was a massive courthouse to the left as I walked back to my car, and I had to take a closer look. A war memorial overlooked a massive bandshell that was unfortunately unoccupied. Another thought quickly entered my mind: I want to see McConnellsburg at its most active. That wasn’t today. There are so many sites of interest here, but few seemed occupied at the moment, which left me wondering exactly when those moments might be. When does this town come alive? What do festivals look like here?

One lively location was a vintage store just starting to get settled. It’s called Guess Where Thrift, and there’s a manic assortment of clothes, books, old VHS tapes, DVDs, old bottles, and other interesting objects of the past kept safe for people like me who need a bit of that in our present. The Fulton County Chamber of Commerce advertised the grand opening on its Facebook page. I’ve never seen a town get behind a new business so actively. Sure, a CoC will often give a new place a shout-out, but there was actually an event: a Grand Opening on April 15th. The Facebook post for the event was full of comments from local people hoping to shop there soon. McConnellsburg isn’t just a small town; it’s small and close.

I’m writing this almost a month after my visit. April was busier than I’d thought it would be, and this adventure was far more involved than I’d assumed it would be when I started planning it. Clearly, the coffeehouse surge of 2020-2025 had a massive impact on Fulton County’s coffee culture. I hope there’s a festival around here soon. After all, May starts festival season, and events will be happening everywhere. Some have to be happening in or around Fulton County. In Bedford County, just to the west, a town called Everett looks promising. I’m not promising the next review will be there, but I should be traveling to festivals starting…well, starting now. That means more small towns, cultures, and coffees to explore over the next two months.

Until then, stay caffeinated!

the sign…

the plaque…

the place…

the menu…

the stuff…

the space…

the time…

the brew…

Two C’s. Two N’s. Two L’s. It’s hard enough to spell McConnellsburg. It’s even harder to get there, but I did exactly that on a cold April morning.

I took this trip right before the big heat wave hit Pennsylvania. As I type this, another freeze has replaced the heat. Neither will keep me from drinking coffee or going on a road trip, especially when it’s to a place I’ve long wanted to visit. I’ve had McConnellsburg on my mind for a while. It’s the county seat of Fulton County, PA. If you haven’t heard of it, I’m not surprised. It’s the fourth least populous county in the state. Known largely for its agriculture, Fulton County sits at the bottom of the state, surrounded by trees and mountains. It’s also filled with surprises.

The McConnellsburg Historic District was recognized in 1993 on the National Register of Historic Places. For a town of less than 1,200 people, that’s impressive. A staggering 144 structures make up the district, including Fulton House, a stone tavern constructed in 1793, and the log home of Daniel McConnell, built in 1760. There’s also a slew of Civil War markers and war memorial plaques, especially near the surprisingly large Fulton County Courthouse (which also sports a bandshell).

The ride into McConnelsburg was harrowing. You either have to take the Turnpike or head west from Chambersburg. Either way, you’re headed over the mountains and into an isolated valley, through either Cowans Gap State Park or past Tuscarora Summit. I would not want to drive through the latter in winter. Grades aren’t too steep, but the road is winding, and if you make the wrong move, the fall is, well, precipitous.

Amazingly, there wasn’t just one good coffeehouse here. There were two. The second deserves its own post, so hold yer horses, Pilgrims.

Only one showed up on Google Maps. It was The Daily Drip. From the name, I expected at least an approximation of bougie. I mean, it sounds a little hipstery, right? Wrong. The Daily Drip is high quality, but all business. It’s a drive-through coffeehouse. In operation since 2022 (please correct me if I’m wrong!), this location was at one time attached to Sister Suds, a local liquor shop, before moving to its current spot. It’s clearly a community staple; there was a line in the afternoon. There’s also a second location in Chambersburg, and Daily Drip was voted best coffeehouse in the Tri-State Area (I’m still trying to figure out which three states those are) in 2024 and 2025. It’s quietly a big deal here.

I didn’t know what to expect from the coffee. Naturally, the coffee wasn’t what I expected. I’ve no idea from where they source their coffee (they obviously have it roasted for them in specialty orders), and didn’t have time to ask because I was holding up the line, but now I want to know. It was smooth and leguminous from the outset. An almost peanutty taste and mouthfeel dominated, and although it was a lighter blend, there was nary a whiff of the astringency I expected. A really solid offering.

The only sad part was…no coffeehouse. At least, there was nowhere here to sit down, though I can see why nobody minds the lack. McConnellsburg is a crossroads for people heading through the mountainous south. Resorts abound in the Laurel Highlands far to the west, while farmers work fingers to bones in the fields between the ridgelines. Nature can be rough in Appalachia, especially when the seasons are confused in a Pennsylvania April. Hence, the need for coffee and for little towns like this to be centers of industry and community.

I’ll show two photos of the coffeehouse below. The rest will be of my walk around town. You might have noticed, I’ve started linking to sites of interest. I don’t think it detracts too much from the travelogue format and word flow. If it does, let me know. In another week or so (to let the post work its way through the algorithm), I’ll post the rest of this leg of the Journey. Until then, stay caffeinated!

the looming mountains…

the roadside history…

the welcoming sight…

the coffee shop…

the downtown street…

the cabin…

the courthouse…

the fulton house…

the story…

the history in paint…

It wasn’t just that there were two coffeehouses side by side. There were two magic-loving coffeehouses side by side.

After leaving the last coffee spot, I now had three beverages in my hands. One was my coffee from King Coal. Another, my hot chocolate from the same place. The third was, of course, the coffee I’d just bought at the wizardly place. That’s too many coffees and too few hands. I quickly chugged the cocoa, took two last, lingering sips of the coffee, and chucked the three cups into the nearest public trash can (of which there are many). Seriously, this town has Disney-level tourist infrastructure, down to a row of blue port-a-potties abutting one nearby alleyway. With only my backpack weighing me down, I began the long trek…next door.

As I said, two coffeehouses share the same half-block of space. I walked down a liminal alleyway between the two, and the preternatural appearance was prophetic: Curiosities Coffee and Ice House also has a magical ambience. Alright, they’re very distinct magical ambiences. The last was more of a wizardly den, while this one was more of a…Well, I don’t want to tempt copyright laws by saying it. Imagine rabbits. White ones. Think about tumbling down a ‘hole’ of sorts into a ‘wonderous land,’ if you will. It just gave that vibe.

It was also busy. I was second in line after a large group that just happened to order each dessert item (there is a large array of these) and every triple-dipper-mocha-choke-a-latte on the menu. A line rapidly formed behind me, but the staff handled it with aplomb. They’re probably used to it by now. It wasn’t even close to dinner at that time. It was barely three in the afternoon. I can see now how two coffeehouses can coexist in the same space: There’s indeed enough business for everyone.

The coffee was, appropriately enough, from Mauch Chunk Coffee Co. The roaster has been in operation since 2013. It’s nestled in the Pocono Mountains’ foothills and seems to be something of a local institution. I got the Honduran roast. Again, clearly small-batch-style craft coffee was in evidence here. It displayed the characteristic Honduran richness with subtle cocoa hints. They were very subtle in this case, with the coffee presenting itself as a lighter breakfast blend. I feel like I’m on repeat saying that. A lot of the coffee here in Jim Thorpe leaned light. Tourists on the go don’t need (or seem to want) the veritable meal that darker evening roasts can be.

With that last coffee in hand, I made my way up famous Broadway. The name is apt. There’s a gorgeous opera house (The equally well-known Mauch Chunk Opera House) on the way up the hill. I didn’t have time to catch a show, but there is a massive lineup of music planned for the spring and summer, including a bevy of tribute bands.

I kept walking for what seemed like forever, and finally, my last goal came into view: The Old Jail Museum. Finished in 1870, the jail was Carbon County’s prison until 1995. The Old Jail is most famous for its connection to the Molly Maguires, a band of Irish advocates for miners’ rights up here in coal country. Conditions were truly horrifying in those mines. Even so, debate rages as to whether the Molly Maguires were desperate, maligned freedom fighters or violent agrarian guerrillas. The truth is often somewhere in between and buried under the stones of history. “Self-help organizations” blurred into gangs, and the “businessmen” they confronted could be little more than parasitic robber barons. History is messy because the human mind and heart are.

Speaking of history’s stones, one stone in particular stands out here. Four men were hanged at the Old Jail on June 21st, 1877, known as the “Day of the Rope.” Before being executed, one of the men put his hand on the floor of Cell #17, stating: “This handprint will remain as proof of my innocence.” The handprint remains to this day, despite constant attempts to remove it. The Jail has become a pilgrimage site for paranormal investigators. No, I didn’t take a picture of it. I didn’t want to do that just for clicks, likes, and reportage. Reverence matters.

With that in my mind, I walked back down the hill, stopping at an art gallery (pictures weren’t allowed), then got back to my parents, who were having a grand time at the station. I wanted to savor the last few minutes in Jim Thorpe after waiting all winter to come here. That said, I also wanted to get home before the mad rush hour traffic on I-81 made dinner an iffy proposition. Getting out of town was fairly easy, but don’t try to cross two lanes of traffic to get going in the right direction. Go the wrong direction, then double back. Even the wrong direction is scenic here.

With that, our exploration of Northeast Pennsylvania is at an end (for now). So, what’s next? Is the blog ending? Oh, heck no. As Marine Corps General Oliver P. Smith once said, “We are not retreating. We are advancing in another direction.” The Journey is heading to a Pennsylvania county that few people have heard of, much less visited. I’m also going to start doing some new things here. All kinds of things.

Until then, stay caffeinated!

the coffee next door…

the liminal corridor…

the blue door…

the brews…

the seating and such…

that one roast…

that other roast (my roast)…

the walk…

the opera house…

the haunted (big) house…

The grade is steep. The learning curve isn’t.

Walking from the train station towards the attractions at the top of the hill on Broadway will give you a nice little exercise. It’s not too bad, really, as long as you walk a lot regularly; it’s more brisk than anything. And there’s the view. Jim Thorpe is a beautiful town. It’s a slice of Americana, a compactification of it into a few small city blocks. Brick buildings that have clearly stood since the 1800s mingle with newer residential spaces and shops geared towards the outdoorsy travelers taking advantage of the surrounding mountains and gorges.

When I said the space was compactified, I meant it. Shops are crammed into just about every building within a quarter mile of the train station. There are little plazas accessible only through alleyways. The sheer number of tourists ensures that they’ll never run out of business. I found two coffeehouses positioned right up against each other. I’ll tackle them one at a time.

The Coffee Shop. That’s what it’s called. Unofficially/officially. You see, this coffeehouse has a very specific theme. It has a wizardly theme. That theme could have been a bit more specific, but for copyright issues. As it stands, this coffee shop is generically wizardly. That’s actually a great thing. I like generally magical things, and magic itself lacks our mundane bounds.

The interior spoke to that magical tradition. Hard, dark wood and strung lights felt like a magician’s den. One aspect felt out of place: the big screen TV on the side wall. Granted, they were showing weird, fun movies, but still, a roaring fire might have been better. I must say, it did add to the ‘living room’ feeling I got when I walked in. I could play so much Dungeons & Dragons here. The folks at the counter gave off a ‘vibe’ of being a bit esoteric. Esoteric like me. As I alluded to in the last paragraph, I’m deeply into spirituality and philosophy, so this place felt like somewhere I belong. I wanted to spend longer there, but I also wanted to head further up the hill to see the famous Mauch Chunk Opera house, among other sites.

I got the house blend here, and it was Ethiopian. It came courtesy of Greenstreet Coffee Co. of Philadelphia. Eastern PA craft coffee once again finds itself in an Eastern PA coffeehouse. Interestingly, I didn’t get much citrus flavor. Rather, there were notes of bright fruit rounding out an otherwise smooth blend. It drank like a breakfast coffee, with a swift and airy feel. I wish I could have had more than a taste, but this was the second coffee I’d bought and the fourth I’d had since Friday morning. So it’s a sip only from now on, or I’ll be running in circles all night.

After spending far too little time at this shop, I headed up the street after asking one last question: Was that other coffeehouse next door part of this project? It wasn’t. My eyes had not deceived me; two coffee shops were housed in the same little block. I’d have to get one last sip of coffee before making the long walk to the opera house.

I’m typing this on Monday, and I’m running on maybe two hours of sleep. For some reason, it’s hard for me to come down from an active weekend. I lose track of the days, counting time in miles, and my brain keeps replaying everything that happened. In a week or so, I’ll post the third installment, which will take us not only to that one last coffee shop, but to a haunting story of Pennsylvania’s past.

Until then, stay tuned.

the downtown vista…

the monument…

the vague sign…

the mystery…

the cozy living room…

the mystical view…

the mystical brew…

You probably thought I fell off. You thought I’d never accomplish the mission. That northeastern Pennsylvania would never get the wrap-up it deserves.

Y’all thought wrong.

On a cold, blustery Friday following a major belt of overnight rain, my parents and I finally (after months of planning) set out on the road to the Ponono Mountains and the historic town of Jim Thorpe. Fun fact: The town was founded in 1818 as Mauch Chunk. It was only renamed to Jim Thorpe in 1954 after the famed Olympian was interred there. He had no connection to the town beforehand. Another fun fact: Mausch Unk means “Bear Place” in Lenape. They were one of the local Native groups.

Mauch Chunk was a coal town, pure and simple. Pennsylvania anthracite was shipped via the railway lines that form a core part of the region’s history. That history is too deep to give it justice in this space. From Molly Maguire hangings to unexplained hauntings, the town was a microcosm of eastern Pennsylvania’s heritage. Today’s Jim Thorpe is a tourist town.

The scenic splendor of railways and bridges between mountains and over gorges is the first thing you’ll notice on the ride into the little valley city. The second is the traffic. On a Friday, it wasn’t horrible, but I’d caution everyone: Don’t try to turn across two lanes of traffic. The stream of cars is constant in the southern part of town, where most of the tourist spots are.

One of those spots is the Lehigh Scenic Gorge Railway, a gorgeous steam-age passenger service. The Jim Thorpe Train Station is conveniently central. The cozy but bustling visitor’s center is adjacent to the ticket counter. Most importantly, a massive parking lot sprawls along the Lehigh River from the rail station back thousands of feet near the road we took to get in. The modest $8 they charge for a day of parking on Friday rises to $25 on weekends, but it’s still notably less expensive than in Harrisburg. The newfangled parking kiosks are absurdly complicated and sometimes faulty, but an attendant was on hand, and he proved to be far smarter than the ‘smart’ technology being deployed. Chalk up another win for analog.

King Coal Cafe is part of the railway attraction…an actual, physical component of it. It’s impossible to miss; a glossy, red, old-fashioned railcar sitting right across the tracks from the parking lot. A sign cautions people to go around to the front of the car, and a nice little stairway leads up into the car itself. Safety is really at the forefront here, and with the functioning trains constantly coming and going, that’s a good plan.

The railcar looks new and old at the same time. I discovered a reason for this: The cafe only opened last July. As historic as it is, there is still a “new house” feeling to the interior. Still, it’s plenty homey. Homey like “home,” not homey like your buddy. Or is that spelled homie? Anyhow, there’s a sprawl of comfort food available at the counter for those (like me) who are about to take a walking tour of the town or a train voyage. Burgers, kielbasa, and even Nathan’s hot dogs were on deck. There was plenty of coffee, too.

King Coal was serving Gerhart Coffee from Lancaster, PA. That’s an old roaster, in operation since 1880. That was a fun surprise; I have yet to really sample the Lancaster region (oh yes, that means we’ll get there eventually). Surprise: This isn’t going to be their coffee going forward. That honor will go to Firehouse Coffee of nearby Maxatawny. It was easy to tell that Gerhart was craft coffee. It was light, but it had backbone. I’m not sure what region mine hailed from, but there was a slightly flowery component to an otherwise nutty profile. Central American?

I also got a hot chocolate for myself and my parents (who footed the bill for the gas and drove). I have to say this was the standout. The coffee was good. The hot chocolate was phenomenal. I have no idea what they put in there besides extremely high-quality chocolate. It was only two dollars for a small one, which, again, is reverse sticker shock after paying capital city prices (I’m a resident, I can rag on it). It was like a savory milk chocolate right out of the Hershey factory. I’m plotzing, but for good reasons.

With coffee and cocoa in hand(s), we made our way to the visitor hub. My parents stayed there. They took one look at the enormous uphill grade that constitutes Broadway and noped out in favor of exploring the train area. I knew there was more coffee up that hill, so we split up, and I resolved to make the trek. That’s a story for next time. There was simply too much to pack into a single blog post without droning on, so you’ll be learning about Jim Thorpe and its oddly wondrous coffee culture in a series of installments. I’ll be posting something every other week.

Technically, there is no “until next time.” Next time has already happened; I simply haven’t written about it yet. So, just sit tight. The caffeiniation is coming your way.

the approach…

the car…

the all aboard…

the setup…

the view…

the hallway to somewhere…

the current roast…

the future…

I almost got to the Poconos this week. Oh, it’s still a go. The trip, I mean. I just ran into a little situation this month that commanded my attention. That situation was the beginning of festival season throughout Pennsylvania, but especially in populous Eastern Pennsylvania.

The Fire and Ice Festival happened on the 7th of March in Harrisburg. Ice sculptures lined the streets, and food trucks filled every closed-down roadway through the Capital. Thankfully, only a few roads had to be closed, most notably (in)famous Second Street. As you can see in the photos below, a spring thaw led to crowded streets and a need for caffeination.

One of those food trucks was actually a coffee truck…Hangar 33 Brew Collective from…well, that wasn’t entirely clear. What was clear was that this was an entirely new operation. Operations are nothing new to owner DJ, of the Pennsylvania Air National Guard. This one began late last year, and it’s still a small operation. DJ sells coffee roasted to order online (promising small batches and delivery in seven to ten days with free U.S. shipping) and has launched a massive food truck to bring coffee to the festival scene this spring. There’s another mission: to bring coffee to first responders.

The distribution company appears to be Temecula Coffee Roasters of California. I’ve heard of them. I’m not sure how much they’re doing for Hangar 33, but the connections in the coffee world are so interesting. Coffee businesses have to connect. Roasting is only the beginning, after all. There’s inventory storage, distribution, and overseas trade (because I’ve yet to see a coffee plant thrive in Pennsylvania).

I got a cold brew of their medium roast. They were only doing cold brews that day. I’ve no clue what was in the medium roast…OK, I have a set of forensic clues. A deep earthiness manifested as soon as I took a swig. To say “leguminous” would be selling it short. This was like baking cocoa, but without the distinct chocolate. Rather, it was distinct in its own regard for being so deeply loamy. It was probably Sumatran or Central American. Very satisfying on an afternoon when I shouldn’t have been drinking any coffee at all because I’d had some already.

Right now, I’m going through a terrible bout of insomnia. It lasts about a week and is horrifying. My brain doesn’t stop processing, and it’s hard to distract myself until the point of collapse comes, and I just give out, and finally get sleep. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. It’s part of the reason I didn’t get to the Poconos this week. If I don’t make much sense right now, that’s why.

I can only imagine how a neurological basket case like me would fare in the National Guard. Thanks to the folks who opt to serve of their own free will (like DJ), I probably won’t have to. I’m quite grateful. They deserve their lauds and success at home. I was proud to patronize this place.

Next month, if all goes as planned, we’re off to the Poconos. Until then, stay caffeinated. Or, maybe, don’t stay caffeinated if you need the sleep…

the festival…

the pleasant surprise…

the roast…

the oddly satisfying cup…

the ice…

Endless trees. Endless trucks. Northeast Pennsylvania (NEPA) is a land of stark contrast. Gorgeous, rolling mountains stand astride congested highways, moving people and goods from nearby New York City to everywhere else in the country. There’s little in between; nearly absent are the bucolic farms that characterize lands to the south. Instead, vast industrial centers cram themselves into gaps and pockets between the tall, rolling ridges. Emblematic of this demographic trend is the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton region.

Named after John Wilkes (not that one) and Isaac Barre, two Brits who supported colonial America, the history of Wilkes-Barre and the Wyoming Valley in which it sits is complex and sprawling, just like the city today. The Wyoming Valley was claimed by Pennsylvania and Connecticut at one point, based upon purchases they’d made from the local Delaware tribes. This eventually led to the Pennamite-Yankee war, settled only by the Decree of Trenton in 1782. Wyoming Valley would soon fill in with towns like Scranton, Wilkes-Barre, Nanticoke, and others, merging their geographies and histories.

Since then, the history of Northeast Pennsylvania has only gotten stranger. A UFO crash in Carbondale. A still-inexplicable haunting in Jim Thorpe. Spiritual encounters documented by dozens of witnesses. This is only a taste of the enigmatic events that make NEPA a center of paranormal research. And these are only a few of the preternatural tales told by the owner and customers who dwell within the uncanny walls of Haunt Coffee.

Haunt is located right off Route 81. It’s hard to find anything here that isn’t. 81 and 80 are two massive corridors crisscrossing the state. When I first spotted Haunt on the map, I saw it as little more than a refueling station for transient truckers trying desperately to stay awake on a long haul between Parsippany and Cleveland. Maybe the building was haunted, or the name was a campy allusion to the way we ‘haunt’ our favorite coffee spots. Nothing could have prepared me for what I’d find.

Full disclosure: I was a paranormal investigator. Part of a UFO-hunting group based in Harrisburg called SEARCH, I’ve spent many an hour in fields with an EMF meter hunting for the bosonic effluvium of some unearthly explorer. No, it wasn’t a failure. Anomalies were found. Stories were corroborated. Tenative answers opened a floodgate of questions. Jamie, the owner of Haunt, would know exactly what I’m talking about.

Two years ago, on this January Fourth, Haunt was founded as a monument to the paranormal history of the Wyoming Valley. Look below, and you’ll see a marble wall with headstones, each bearing the name of someone who made an otherworldly impact on the region. A funerary theme pervaded the entire cafe. On a TV screen near the coffee bar, a paranormal podcast played. The longest-running one, in fact: Jim Harold’s Campfire, in operation since 2005. Spooky paraphernalia adorned every nook and cranny, but it didn’t come off as campy, ‘spoopy,’ or ironic. Patrons are, by-and-large, researchers and enthusiasts. Serious about it, in other words.

Case in point, Jamie was a font of information. So was one of her customers who, taking a break from hand-making candles, took us (my Mom was with me again on this trip and got a well-earned coffee for her driving prowess) on a guided tour of the coffeehouse. There’s a bookstore, which, unsurprisingly, I went straight for. This one was packed with old and new paranormal books. The classics were my favorites; written in the midcentury by unorthodox scientists, they tend to have a rigor that later works lack.

I did notice one strange phenomenon while I was here. Just like in Hazleton, everyone was friendly and eager to share stories and experiences. OK, so maybe the metaphor I used earlier was pretty apt: This place is haunted. Souls of explorers tend linger here. That those souls are currently embodied is (appropriately) immaterial. There’s always an event here, too: True Crime Thursdays every other Thursday, book clubs, movie nights…everything a goth kid could want. On that note, there is an adult gothic craft night.

Oh, and coffee. There’s coffee, too. With the books, hauntings, and history lessons, I almost forgot. They have good coffee. Lavazza, in fact. I got the Perfetto House Blend. The smooth liquidity and absence of citrus say South American to me. The label mentioned caramel notes, but I couldn’t catch them. Instead, there were notes of unsweetened cocoa. Again, that’s indicative of South America, but since it’s a proprietary roast, we’ll probably never know.

Walking out of Haunt, my head was swimming with stories. One in particular mentioned a haunting at a prison in Jim Thorpe. That’s in the Poconos, and it was the next town on the list to visit. It remains to be seen whether that was kismet or a coincidence, but I at least hope it was a sign of Pocono-flavored adventures to come.

Until then, stay caffeinated.

the waterfalls…

the city and the mountain…

the cafe…

the coffin they carry you off in…

the departed but not forgotten…

the stores…

the stories…

the hallway…

the…vermeer…

the question i’ve been asking…

the plan, all right…

Happy New Year!

Normal is hard after the holidays. From the Solstice and Christmas Eve to the Monday after the weekend after New Year’s Day, the holiday season is a time out of time. It’s liminal. The week after, the adjustment to “normal life” was a challenge. After the next week began with the same inertia, I realized it was time to get back on the road. Time to head up to Wilkes-Barre.

Funny thing about the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton area: There are a lot of interesting stops on the way. Northeast PA (NEPA) covers a lot of territory. One of the southernmost towns is the sprawling Hazleton. Called The Mountain City, Hazleton fills a valley between ridgelines. My ears were popping as I headed up the long stretch of Route 81 that skirts the edge of downtown Hazleton.

Interestingly enough, it resembles a larger version of the coal country villages we’ve seen before. It reminded me of a mega-Pottsville. Hazleton truly felt like a small town writ large, in attitude and in scope. In scope, the town has a bounded feel, unsurprising as it’s surrounded by wilderness. Hazleton also gives industrial vibes, with factories and businesses just outside the city limits. About 30,000 people nestle into the compact city. In mentality, you get the feeling that everyone knows each other. When people are pulled out of anonymity, it paradoxically causes them to open up. Humans get kinder.

That neighborhood misericordia was on display at Trackside Coffee.

First, let’s clear up some confusion. When I read the phrase “Trackside Coffee” on my map, I automatically wondered whether it was part of a car racing setup or a horse track. It was neither. But if you come from a place like I do with a “gaming” culture, the only tracks are the kind you speed around atop an object or creature. Here, it referred to the train tracks you’ll see below. Railroads were critical in the coal-cracking days of eastern Pennsylvania, and these mountains are still replete with them.

Much like a train station, Trackside Coffee is a crossing of paths. The shop was busy, but everyone was friends (or at least acquaintances) with someone else. Reviews for Trackside used words like “adorable,” but they didn’t even do justice to the coziness of this little cafe. It is little, indeed. From the outside, it looked tiny and spare. Inside, the words changed to “snug” and “sheltered.” The ambience was so restful that I forgot my mission, neglecting to ask the standard questions about when the shop was founded or what events were held.

Another interesting aspect of Trackside that jibes with the community feel: It’s only one part of a complex that includes a laundromat and a salon. It’s all the same place, and people are invited to sit in the coffee shop while they wait for their clothes to be done. As you can see below, the coffeehouse looks nothing like the laundromat (which you can see peeking through the interior windows).

What of the coffee? Oh, that was interesting. I got two shocks to the system. Number one: The bags looked nondescript, so I thought it was probably mass-market diner coffee. Number two: They only had espresso-based fare, and Americanos can be weak if done wrong. I was the wrong one, on both counts. The coffee was actually their own roast. Yet another local, independent roaster has flown under my radar. It was also good. Dang good. The Americano wasn’t watered down at all. No bitterness. Instead, it had unexpected notes of butterscotch, as well as almond or hazelnut. This was a Honduran coffee, so you’d expect a rich nuttiness, but not in something like this. Stunning..

Did I mention the baristas were cool? I didn’t want to say “nice,” though they were, because it wasn’t the performative nice-nice you get in the service industry. This didn’t feel like an industry, and they didn’t feel like performers. Everyone felt so human. So too were the husband and wife who had journeyed north from nearby Tamaqua and saw fit to regale me with coffee suggestions and ask details about my travels. I even got a guided tour of the salon.

As much as the coffeehouse is an urban, philosophical institution, on a more fundamental level, the philosophical musings and cosmopolitan life are products of human commiseration. When a cafe succeeds at being that, it fuels the higher endeavor of connection on every level. It’s the foundation on which the rest rests.

Oh, I got a repeat business card. What do you call those? Rewards card? Anyway, when I come back through, I’ll be sure to stop by, though I’m not certain when that will be. After all, I still want to head north to Wilkes-Barre itself and then the Poconos. We’ll see if larger Wilkes-Barre feels anything like Hazleton.

Until next time, stay caffeinated!

the mountain city…

the entrance…

the seating…

the goodies…

the bona fides…

the merch…

the laundry…

the roast…

the farewell…

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my caffeinated friends in cyberspace! It’s been a minute since I posted, but that’s because the holiday season was rather unrelenting. It was joyful, no doubt. The preparations and family gatherings were a veritable marathon, though, and the wind is raging outside as I type this. Thankfully, we take peace pretty seriously around here. I unplugged from electronics and cozied up at home with my parents and about a metric ton of my mom’s cooking. Turkey was had, tryptophan was absorbed into the bloodstream, and the outside world was shut out to the point where I’ve been having a hard time readjusting.

It’s the most liminal time of the year.

What do we even call these odd days between Christmas and New Year’s Day? I don’t think it matters. It’s enough that some days just exist. In fact, I needed a few days lost in the fog to figure out what I was going to write here. Travel was out of the question, but my folks came to the rescue with more than just food: They came bearing coffee. Granted, I more than hint to my mom that new coffees are always a good gift idea. It’s good to be a spoiled brat.

So, without further ado, here are this year’s coffee randos from across the world:

First up is Bewley’s Rich Cafe Blend. Something tells me I had a Bewley’s on here last Christmas. It might not have been the rich roast. I suspect it was the dark blend. If it were the rich roast I reviewed last time, I wouldn’t be sorry. I needed to follow up on this one. Bewley’s is a hot beverage company from Ireland established in 1840. With all that experience, you’d think they’d put together a good blend. They do. It is, however, quintessentially British in a few key ways.

The flavor is delicate, almost a whisper. The label says “rich,” but that needs to be taken in context. To me, it was similar to a breakfast blend I had not too long ago in Maryland. It was airy and light. That’s not to say it was threadbare. It wasn’t anything of the sort. The full range of deep flavors one would expect from a medium blend of beans was there. The balance was lovely. The palette was subdued. I had to shovel a few extra spoonfuls into the brewer to bring it up to strength. A travesty to the British, I’m sure, where subtlety is part of the art.

The bag is small, and, really, that’s my only complaint. For the amount I need to use per cup, I need more. Again, though, I think that’s a cultural difference, and my chronic overpouring would probably be seen as garish in the extreme.

Now for something completely different. Siena Arte coffee is (unsurprisingly) based in Siena, Italy. It’s a moderately well-known coffee company, best remembered for its espressos. I received their Napoli roast. I’m honestly not sure what that means. Even odder is the fact that the package reads “Origin: Non-EU.” OK, maybe they’re talking about the beans themselves. Obviously, they have to be sourced from outside the European Union.

Siena Arte was unexpectedly inexpensive. It’s imported, so I’d assumed that would increase the cost tremendously. It also looks fancy, as you can see below. It costs less than the equivalent amount of coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. I’d wondered if that meant it was secretly Robusta. Robusta is normally used in the making of instant coffee. This didn’t taste like crystals. I forgot to mention, this is a whole-bean offering. It was difficult to even place the taste, except to relate it to a hefty Americano, which is diluted espresso. The bitter core and sharp acidity common to espresso-style coffee were immediately evident.

This was another coffee that I used massive amounts of to achieve a robust flavor. At least there was enough of it to do so! You know what this coffee is good for? Mixing it with another coffee to boost the raw power of a more refined roast. I’ll keep y’all apprised.

There are actually two Brady’s Coffees out there. One is in Tyler, Texas. The other is in Ireland. This is the Ireland one, and it turns everything I originally said about UK coffee on its head. I won’t equivocate here. This was my favorite of all four coffees I’ve sampled for this review. It was gorgeous. Alright, let’s back up for a second.

Brady’s Coffee is a newcomer to the otherwise venerable European coffee scene. It was founded in 2007 in County Wicklow as an artisan roasting company featuring barrel-aged coffee. A barrel-aged coffee is one in which the coffee beans (while still green, mind you) are left to sit for a few weeks in barrels that once contained whiskey or other spirits. Let me just say, that’s a fantastic idea. Old barrels add a bold, rich flavor to wine, and they do the same to coffee beans.

I’m not sure if that was specifically used on Brady’s Signature Blend. They were certainly slow-roasted by hand, and you could taste the care. Sure, Brady’s is a large company, but the artistry is still evident. The mouthfeel was liquid silk, the acidity was ideally balanced, and there was no astringency to speak of. As was the case with the first British coffee, I needed to use a little extra, but the result had a singular distinction. This is a new favorite.

Speaking of favorites, Zimmerman’s is one of my favorite companies. I reviewed a different coffee from them last year. At least, I think it was different. Both were “Rose Garden” coffees, but this one was a 100% pure Guatemalan, unlike the previous one. That featured a proprietary blend of (I think) South American beans.

Zimmerman’s is properly a candy shop. Their flagship store is only a few minutes from my house in the neighborhood of Penbrook, just east of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Penbrook used to be called East Harrisburg, but nowadays, it’s a borough of its own. Zimmerman’s has been around since 1915 and has barely changed. John Zimmerman started it. His grandson is continuing it. Stepping into the shop is an immersion in pure Americana.

This coffee was whole bean, and I did it a disservice by not grinding it long enough. It was the archetype of a Guatemalan coffee. There were deep chocolate notes all over the place, overlaid by a subtly leguminous series of flavors. That’s what I wanted when I deliberately picked up the Guatemalan. Once again, Zimmermans gave me exactly what I was looking for.

I’ll be on the road again soon. I mentioned the Poconos, and that’s still the goal, though the Journey might make a quick detour further to the northeast and take a look at what’s happening in the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton area these days. I want to get a good sampling of the Northeast PA (NEPA) region, and there’s way more to NEPA than the Poconos. That’ll be in about three weeks, weather permitting.

Until next time, stay caffeinated!

Danville.

Everyone in the Susquehanna River Valleys region has heard of Danville. So has everyone in Northeast PA (NEPA). This leaves us with a question: Where is Danville? It’s easy to find Danville on a map. Situating it within Pennsylvania’s cultural tapestry is more difficult. It’s roughly equidistant between Sunbury (a quintessential valley town) and Bloomsburg (clearly a product of northeastern Anthracite country). I’m calling this one for NEPA, but only just. I’ll explain below.

It’s the architecture. Danville has the feel of a coal town. It’s compact, with a defined downtown. Many villages in the valleys and western mountains of Pennsylvania are spread out, organic collections of houses and maybe a church or bar astride a main road. Danville, on the other hand, appears old and established, a place of stone, rather than wood. It reminds me of Pottsville or maybe Orwigsburg; both lie to the south, but the resemblance is uncanny.

Bison Coffee & More fits perfectly within the context of this town, artistically and as an institution. I must confess, I read the name as “Bison” and “Basin.” The word “Bason” doesn’t really work in my brain. I forgot to ask where the name “Bason” came from, because my journalistic skill evaporates after a few hours on the road. Their website revealed no answers, but gave insight into how Bason began.

Bason isn’t just a coffeehouse; it’s a roasting company. They specialize in small batch roasts, so if you haven’t heard of them, I’m not surprised. I hadn’t heard of them, either, which is odd given that they’ve been in business since 2011. Apparently, it all started with a conversation between the owners and a pastor who was passionate about coffee. That’s according to the website. I was told that the coffeehouse itself has only been open in this location for three years.

By the way, Bason is being modest. The addition of “& more” to their name is an understatement. The place is filled with knick-knacks, foodstuffs, and a vast array of local products. I saw the honey and ran directly to it. The honey deserves a review of its own. The taste of honey is a product of terroir every bit as much as wine is, and it’s a sum of the vagaries of life and growth, the way coffee is. The cafe was filled with arts and crafts, too, as well as cozy nooks. There was a calm here that warmed me after a long drive.

I ordered a typical roast called Farmhouse Blend. What a contrast it made to the coffee I had in Bloomsburg! Not in quality, but in character. Whereas the former was dense and dark, this blend was like a mouthful of breezy air. The package said, surprisingly, that this was a medium roast with a bit of dark added. It also advertised the roast as a breakfast blend. The latter description is more apt. There was barely a hint of astringency; only a general lightness pervaded the body of the product. A nuttiness of sorts manifested, but it was positively blithe, not earthy. The fact that they were able to do this with a medium roast speaks to a high level of care and sophistication from the roasters and brewers, likely due to a strong coordination between the two groups.

It’s odd in retrospect that I never visited Danville before. I’ve heard the name of the town all my life; my parents went to games here when they were in high school, and it’s mentioned in the context of everywhere else you might want to go around here. “Near Danville” is a phrase you’ll hear a lot. That means I’ll probably return, as I intend to explore this region further.

So, why did I pick Danville instead of finding another coffeehouse in or near Bloomsburg? It has to do with what I said beforehand about Danville seeming like a NEPA town. That comparison only goes so far. The architecture of Danville made that statement, but the town’s lifeways felt like a distinct offshoot of the rural sensibilities we’ve seen throughout the Valleys region and west in the mountains. Despite its proximity to Bloomsburg, Danville gave off a working-class vibe. Here’s another good example:

The Bason website makes it clear that coffee is the second priority for the owners. The first being Jesus. That would have been a bit surprising in Bloomsburg. Indeed, as I walked around Bloomsburg, I noticed a cultural consensus. The coffeehouses there were self-consciously postmodern, incredibly contemporary. Almost certainly the product of Bloomsburg being a college town, the shared cultural conceits nonetheless presented a challenge. If the coffee culture in Bloomsburg shares a zeitgeist, how distinct will the next shop be, even if it’s fantastic? I had to move on.

I’m glad I took that extra little jaunt back towards the Susquehanna River. Bason Coffee was distinct. Sure, there’s a ‘sameness’ to rurality, especially today. As much as postmodern liberalism has ossified and homogenized, rural culture has responded in kind, both sides defining themselves by what they are not. ‘Country’ culture sometimes achieves its own pastiche, almost camp value. That wasn’t the case here.

Not at all.

Bason didn’t lay a modern aesthetic atop a traditionalist spirit, nor did it lean into kitsch. We’ve seen that before, and although these approaches have obvious merit, Bason was a unique expression in its own right by being neither. It was just a coffeehouse. A classy place to congregate and commiserate. It didn’t wear its faith on its sleeve, unlike many others. The space was filled (to the brim, even) yet understated, sort of like a cottage in the woods (or the Hallmark Channel). If cottages were caffeinated, that is.

Here at The Coffeehouse Journey, we think that’s just how cottages ought to be.

I’m off to find a few more of those caffeinated cottages. I plan to move on to a more cosmopolitan place: The Poconos. Either that, or Scranton. Hey, if Dunder Mifflin calls it home, it’s worth a visit. Hopefully, Jim Thorpe will be on the list of places to visit on or right after Christmas/Yule/Solstice. If anyone has a suggestion regarding coffee culture in the far northeast of Pennsylvania, give a holler.

Until next time, stay caffeinated.

the street…

the town…

the church…

the edifice…

the entrance…

the stuff…

the seating…

the nook…

the machine…