The Coffeehouse Journey

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…

It’s funny, whenever I send a link to this blog to a prospective employer as a sample of my work, it rarely bodes well. There are no negative comments. There aren’t any comments at all, nor responses to my humble interview requests. My writing style isn’t conversational. I don’t write the way people talk because people write the way they think, and I don’t think the way many people do. I imagine that most professional writers would find this blog somewhat childish. I hope so.

I feel thirty years evaporate when I hit the road. 

I need to remember that. Maybe then, I’ll drive off into the countryside more often. If I do that, you’ll learn about more coffee, and so will I. In my defense, road trips are becoming increasingly challenging as autumn gives way to winter. Already, the ridgelines in northeastern Pennsylvania are capped with snow. A few thousand feet of extra elevation makes all the difference this time of year. Northeast PA (NEPA) is exactly where we’re heading on this leg of the Journey.

This entire adventure will be divided into two parts because I visited two distinct towns on the same trip through the mountains. Those mountains are a huge part of the draw, the story, and the history of this region of Pennsylvania. NEPA is just to the north of the Coal Region we visited before. It’s a continuation of the same belts of terrain, though, and the entire Anthracite region of Pennsylvania shares a stratum. Rocks here date mostly from Carboniferous times. From 350 to 300 million years ago, this area was home to dense rainforests that would transform into the coal we mine.

I should have said “mined.” The coal days are largely in the past, and this area is reinventing itself rapidly following a long period of middling survival and gradual decline. What remains are reminders of that past and hints of a transformative future. The Poconos are a great example of prosperity in northeast Pennsylvania, but the town of Bloomsburg is emblematic of small-town Pennsylvania’s embrace of change.

The sprawling town of Bloomsburg is notably home to Bloomsburg University. Called “Commonwealth University-Bloomsburg” since the year 2022, when it merged with Lock Haven University and Mansfield University, the institution has a history dating back to 1839, when it was known as Bloomsburg Academy. Since then, the name has undergone several changes, but the goal of education has been the same. That mission is written all over the town.

Walking down the main street, the horizon curves upwards to the front of Carver Hall. Flanked by trees with flame-colored autumn leaves, it’s archetypally collegiate. Student housing is advertised along Main Street, a bustling avenue lined with shops clearly catering to students. A library, theater, and post office are arranged in a line, as is a bevy of restaurants, pubs, and coffee shops. One of those establishments is Martha’s Cafe.

The coffee shop was known as Fog and Flame for over a decade until January of this year. That’s what Google Maps still calls it, as do the slowly fading letters above the large, beckoning windows. “Beckoning” may sound like florid prose, but take a look at the photo below. Now, imagine yourself as a student, not just falling in love with academia, but suffused with it. If you could see my bedroom and its ring of bookshelves, you’d know I didn’t have to imagine what that feels like. I am that person. Martha’s is very clearly engineered for people like me. From the bookshelf along the wall to the hardwood accents, it…Yeah, I’m sticking with “beckons.”

The coffee is locally roasted. Oh, yes, I’m getting right down to brass tacks. The coffee gets an immediate shout-out for being a local brew. Bellus Coffee is roasted in Bloomsburg. If you haven’t heard of it, that’s because it’s specifically a small-batch specialty roaster. Boy, are they serious! Listen to this quote from their website:

“Bellus” comes from Latin roots meaning “beautiful” or “to do”. It is our firm belief that we are not meant to sit idle but to act with faith to be a part of something beautiful. 

You know someone’s serious when they get philosophical. Describing what good and bad coffee tastes like on that same first page was a bold move, but it signalled a large measure of passion on their part. Really, though, half of the taste is in the preparation. The roaster has to be skilled, but so does the brewer. In the case of Martha’s, both “ends” of the coffee process were on point.

“Martha’s Blend” was a Latin American mixture, specifically. Almond, chocolate, and caramel notes were all advertised, and they were there; still, the most prominent of these was the caramel, which manifested as a mouth-watering smoky hint at the end of a buttery smoothness born of balanced acidity that stood out. It’s sometimes hard to make rich coffee “drinkable” for casual imbibers; however, everyone involved here did a noteworthy job.

Here’s another interesting thing about Martha’s that’s also true of many other Bloomsburg operations: It reflects the intellectual current of academic culture as it stands now. A prominent Pride flag was displayed, along with more subtle “tells” of a postmodern, countercultural vibe. Though if it’s the prevailing culture of a place, is it still a counterculture? That conundrum deserves its own post; what’s important here is the mood of consensus among growing minds as they ask the big questions.

Throughout this blog, we’ve seen the urban institution of the coffeehouse assimilated by a prevailing rural culture. Here, we experience the opposite: a reiteration of urban intellectual cultural motifs in a setting that might not be accurately described as “rural” at this point in history. In other words, Bloomsburg is a college town, through and through.

On the topic of history, the last photo in the set provides a glimpse into the past I mentioned. On the way here, the road was closed to let a train chug past. It was brief, and it was certainly not hauling coal. There were passengers. They waved gleefully at the folks like me who got out of our cars to snap pictures of the passing. We waved back, like we would have when we were children, and all the little joys seemed magnified by the compressed years of so-far brief lives. Daring to still feel that way is a counterculture.

I imagine we’ll see more reminders of Pennsylvania’s past at nearby Danville. I made an unexpected stop there on the way back from Bloomsburg. In that post, I’ll tell you why. I’m not sure if Danville counts as NEPA. Less than ten miles from Bloomsburg, it feels like a transitional species between coal country and the Susquehanna River valleys. We’ll see what that unique region has to offer. I’ll be writing that entry in about a week.

Until then, stay caffeinated.

the college…

the heritage…

the town…

the cafe…

the ambience…

the art…

the stuff…

the roast…

the road in…

the train…

Work sucks. Not just mine, either. Work has the tendency to interfere with good times all around. This coffeehouse was recommended to me by a dear friend. My plan for the past several weeks had been to come up here and go with her. A few weeks ago, her car broke down. Then, I got swamped with work. Then, her commitments resurfaced again. Finally, I decided to just make the run myself…and dedicate this post to her. Not giving her name unless she wants me to. So, here it is, my long-planned Pottsville coffee run.

Pottsville is one of those towns in northeast Pennsylvania that really wears its coal-mining heritage on its sleeve. The Journey has taken us to towns in the coal region before, but never so far north into the heart of it. Here, ‘Central’ Pennsylvania merges with the ‘Upstate’ region made famous by The Office. Like its cousin, Scranton, Pottsville is a post-coal-boom town. Unlike Scranton, it’s nestled into a cozy valley between ridge upon ridge of anthracite-laden mountains.

All of this gives Pottsville a character both familiar and unique. There’s no mistaking its heritage. There’s copious infrastructure for a town of Pottsville’s population. The small city has a compact and urban feel. There’s a thriving downtown mixed with more hardbitten streets. Pottsville sits at the junction of several roads. Traffic is atrocious, as is the cost of parking (likely needed to keep those roads maintained). There are also a lot of places to go; as stated, the main drag is thriving, even as the cars are somehow more numerous than the pedestrians. I got the impression that there’s a light and dark side to this city, much as the encroaching autumn itself is bright and shadowy at once.

A definite bright spot in Pottsville is Pressed Coffee & Books. It’s been here for a long time (about seven years, I was told), but it’s not that well-known outside the Pottsville area. That needs to change. Pottsville is far more famous for being the home of Yuengling, a massive brewery that sells its beer nationwide. Yuengling is known as a working-class beer in a town of working-class folk. It’s down-to-earth, and, in some ways, a bit conservative.

None of those monikers apply to Pressed. The word I would choose is ‘cozy.’ Another good word is ‘academic.’ Bright, light, airy. Stars Hollow. That’s what I’m thinking of. Did anyone watch Gilmore Girls? Remember the town of Stars Hollow and the ivy-decked halls of Yale? That’s what Pressed made me think of immediately. Long before I spotted the sign pointing to books, a feel of autumn at college permeated the cafe. If you know, you know.

Oh, but of course I did follow that sign. My bedroom is a library. When I see a book that I really like, there’s this nagging voice in the back of my head warning me that if I don’t buy it, I may never see it again. That’s led to books being piled under my bed, in my car, etc., on numerous occasions simply for lack of shelf space. I arrived just as the last of the first batch of coffee had been sold, and new coffee needed to be brewed, so I wasted none of that time.

Thankfully, for what should be empty crawlspaces in my house, I resisted the urge to buy any of these. A lot were romantic, or fantasy, or romantic fantasy. Few were the sciencey works I normally crave (though there were some venerable classics on the shelves), so I could take a breath and put the wallet down…at least for now.

Something else I spotted: A large machine in the corner. Apparently, Pressed has an electronic coffee roaster. It is among the first of its kind, and I’ve never seen another in all my travels around the area. The times, they are a-changin’ indeed. I wasn’t entirely sure at the outset whether they bring in their coffee from elsewhere or roast it themselves. It was the name that threw me off: Downtown Roasters. Downtown could be anywhere, so I had to make sure it was a local creation. It is.

I got “The Coaltown.” It was a blend of African and Central American roasts; Ethiopian and Guatemalan, specifically. I imagine you’re thinking the same thing I am: What an odd brew. Ethiopian coffee tends to have a sharp, citrus flavor. Guatemalans are the opposite in most respects, manifesting a rich chocolate or even earthy palette.

I had no idea what to expect with this. As it turned out, Coaltown was exactly what I should have expected: a total blend of both regions. I described it in my head as a maelstrom. Constituent flavors duked it out with each other in a hurricane of juxtaposed notes. Surprise: It actually worked. The Guatemalan mellowed out the harshness of the Ethiopian, and the Ethiopian contributed zest to what would otherwise have been a full-bodied mouthfeel exclusively.

It wasn’t just the shop itself exuding an erudite serenity. The staff all had that air about them. Realistically, it’s probably more accurate to say that the shop embodied the kind attitudes of the people who own it, began it, and staff it. This coffeehouse is obviously a labor of love. Finding places like this is mine.

Until next time, stay caffeinated.

the town…

the statuary…

the entrance (and construction)…

the goodies…

the window seating…

the machine…

the beans…

the promise…

the delivery…

the autumn bliss…

I always have a backup plan. Whether I’m packing extra clothes in the trunk ‘just in case,’ or I’m stuffing extra precharged batteries in my pocket to stave off the consequences of a phone losing charge at exactly the wrong moment, I like to take a cue from Odysseus and never be at a loss. Sometimes, that looks like choosing a contingency coffee shop.

When I planned the trip to Cafe Luli, I wasn’t sure there was a Cafe Luli. The website hadn’t been updated, and Google Maps couldn’t produce their hours. I wanted to plunge that deep into the Baltimore countryside, but I didn’t want to waste gas if there was nothing there. I had to find a place that looked promising, but which wasn’t too far off the Beltway. That place was the Stone Mill Cafe and Bakery just outside Timonium.

The name alone sounded auspicious. Stone mills are where you make craft bread. They’re historic. The image of a stone mill easily dovetails with the thought of sitting by a window with a steaming cup of coffee and contemplating things. Assuming that was the intent, I screenshotted the directions and set off. Cut to a few hours later, the entire exercise was unnecessary. Cafe Luli was there, and it was fabulous. But that left me wondering: What about the other place? It was on my way home, and I couldn’t just do one coffeehouse when two on the same stretch of highway were viable options. So, I decided to stop by Stone Mill after all. I’m glad I did.

Oddly enough, this was yet another coffeehouse in a plaza. The plaza can’t possibly be new, since I’d learn that the Stone Mill Cafe has been here for over thirty years now. It sits along famous Falls Road, as does the plaza. Falls Road is a major thoroughfare in suburban Baltimore, connecting a multitude of similar shopping malls, service plazas, train stations, and hotels that cater to the thousands of travelers who pass through the region every day.

The Stone Mill, in this context, is something of an oasis. You’ll see what I mean if you look at the photos below. The building is trying its level best to be cozy, and it does as well as a tall brick edifice can. The garden and archway help. Oh, yes, there’s an arch leading through a green space strewn with seating; the path leads to the entrance of the coffeehouse proper.

The interior was not at all what I had been expecting. I don’t even know what to call it. It was a hodgepodge of features. There were tables beneath fascinating works of art. There was a busy counter fit for mass coffee production. Then, I found a large, circular window looking out over the green space I’d just come from. Dreamlike. That’s the word I’m looking for. You know those dreams you can’t forget because they’re such a bewildering combination of images that they stay in your waking memory? That’s Stone Mill.

Regarding the coffee, my expectations had gone through a rollercoaster ride on the way here. First, I thought ‘Stone Mill’ meant something self-consciously fancy. Then, when I saw the plaza, I thought this might end up being some cheap, generic Arabica fit for travelers more thirsty than choosy. They defied me on both counts.

The coffee was from La Colombe, a roaster in Philadelphia. They’re famous for being a key member of coffee’s Third Wave. ‘Third Wave’ coffee is an academic term for what we’d call craft coffee. Specialty, boutique roasts only really burst into the Western mainstream during the latter days of the hippie era in the 1970s. For perspective, the First Wave includes diner coffees. The Second Wave emerged in the heyday of the cultural revolution in the 1960s, with a focus on spotlighting its international sources. La Colombe wasn’t founded until 1994, but it was the 90s (far more than the 70s) that are associated with what we consider ‘coffeehouse culture’ today.

I didn’t really get a coffee. I got a soup. That’s how strong the coffee they gave me was, and indeed, they’re proud of having the strongest coffee in the area. It immediately reminded me of something I’d had a few months ago: Turkish coffee. Turkish coffee is known for being so thick that you have to wade through the grains at the bottom of your always-tiny cup. Stone Mill wasn’t making it quite that thick, but the flavor profile was so deep it was almost smoky. It was also intricate, with a distinct green pepper note spicing up the rich, leguminous base.

I love pleasant surprises. Alright, we all do, but this one came after driving through the Maryland woods all morning, so it gets bonus points.

As I write this, I’m planning what region to showcase next. I’m also praying for more rain to help the last vestiges of my garden last a few more weeks into autumn. Please join me in both endeavors. Here’s the travel dilemma: I was originally considering a jaunt to Delaware, but a trip northeast amended that plan. There are too many interesting small towns up there to ignore. We’re headed back through coal country, the Bloomsburg area, and hopefully on to the Poconos! I’m an Office fan, so don’t be shocked if the Journey winds its way up to Scranton and into that…well, you know, that New Jersey/New York, Parsippany-type place. Oh, I have no clue what to call that region. Help me out here, people. Anyhow, that’s where the Journey’s aiming for next.

Until next time, stay caffeinated!

the facade…

the grand entrance…

the setup…

the art…

the whimsy…

the seating…

the beans…

the data…

the great outdoors…

Beep. Beep. Beep. That’s the sound I heard about a week and a half ago outside my window at 6:53 AM, heralding the beginning of a construction project. A new set of sidewalks is being installed across from our house. As of the time of this writing, the worst of the drilling appears to be over…for now. Bear in mind that two weeks ago, Fort Indiantown Gap did live fire exercises for a few days at a time. They didn’t start their work until 8:00 AM, so it wouldn’t disturb people. Just some food for thought.

Thankfully, the people doing the cement pouring were kind enough to delay making noise as long as possible, even though their work order apparently required them to be there shortly after 6:00 AM. It’s also not every day, which is a blessing (or perhaps an act of mercy on their part). We still don’t know how long it will take to finish the project, and I’m left stewing over the fact that the one place I go to hide from the rest of the world is under siege by it. That’s a bad feeling. I needed a good feeling.

That good feeling came when I ran off to Maryland. It was warm. It was Saturday, and on Labor Day weekend, no less. The morning had been blissfully silent. One issue: My car was low on oil. I didn’t let it dissuade me. I jetted off to the nearest auto body shop, grabbed some 5W-30 oil, and set off down Interstate 83 towards Baltimore. I’m glad I did.

OK, I wasn’t actually going to Baltimore. I’ve been doing a coffee tour of suburban Baltimore and the surrounding countryside. If you remember, we’d just visited outer Towson when a local coffeehouse interrupted the process by springing up east of Harrisburg. Google Maps revealed something I hadn’t noticed before: a small, very French-looking cafe sitting in the countryside north of Pikesville (a suburb of Baltimore known for its Jewish community and endless lunch spots).

Info about Cafe Luli is scant and contradictory online. One page says they’re coming soon; another says they’re already here, and the social media sites haven’t been updated in a spell. There was no phone number, either. I was concerned that once again, a promising cafe had opened and closed before it could gain a following. As a matter of fact, I had a contingency coffeehouse standing by on my itinerary in case this one no longer existed. We’ll get to that later.

Cafe Luli does exist. It exists, and it exceeded expectations. It’s located in a plaza, and I’ve had mixed experiences with coffeehouses in plazas. They tend to be commercialized more often than not, and the traffic absolutely obliterates the coziness one expects from a coffeehouse. That wasn’t a problem here because Cafe Luli is nestled in a little alcove near a golf course, separated from the Baltimore beltway by a few dense little woodlands and more than a few upper-class residences.

I couldn’t find a town of Stevenson, per se. It was more of a collection of homes. It is home to Stevenson University. It was once known as Villa Julie College. I had received a letter from them once, back when I was just about to graduate high school, and the brochures started coming in. There was no time to visit. The coffeehouse was going to close at 3 PM, and it was already 2:15.

The cafe looks super European. I love that. I like homages to Old World culture. There’s a little restaurant in Harrisburg called Au Bon Lieu that replicates a Parisian cafe. Cafe Luli does the same. It doesn’t go overboard, though. There are nods to France, but with a minimum of kitsch. The relative smallness of the space is more than made up for with a lovely, intimate set of tables in a second-floor area. Even here, the decor is minimal. The accoutrements you see in the photos below were on the bathroom and stairwell walls.

The coffee hailed from an unexpected locale: Austria. Julius Meinl is the name, and it’s been in operation since the mid-19th century. Now, that’s provenance! At that point, I was grinning with victory over the fact that this place turned out to be open despite all odds. It’s not just open; it’s thriving. I asked for the closest thing to a typical house blend. What I received was hard to place. Oh, it was expertly crafted, of that there’s no doubt. This roaster is no fly-by-night operation. What I mean is that the blend was so…blended that it was hard to tell where the beans might have originated. There was a mild earthiness and chocolate-ish hints, but they were something of a background. A slight leguminous quality was also there. The real kicker was the light whisper of citrus on the end, which wasn’t enough to connote an African origin for some of the beans, only to tease a vague possibility. I’d bet there’s Sumatran DNA in this roast. The robust body alone speaks to it. The coffee was called Danube Delight, but beyond that, the contents were a mystery.

I spoke to a rather brilliant coffee lover on the staff (I believe her name is Kay, but I’m horrible with hearing names, remembering names, remembering faces, or recalling general short-term and long-term events). She and I kibitzed about the flavor of this particular roast for a while. We both agreed that it would be wonderful to taste European-grown coffee and lamented the impossibility of growing beans in Europe. We also concurred that our ‘medium dark’ is ‘dark’ to most other people. Coffee aficionados (meaning the coffee-obsessed, if we’re being honest) tend to think alike.

Cafe Luli was not the end of the Old World charm present in this plaza! There was a wine shop called The French Paradox right next door. They were having a tasting that afternoon. Having gotten my uppers, I resolved to partake of some downers and sampled five Rhone wines. After letting the wine wind its way through the old liver, I departed for my next stop: the backup coffeehouse. That exceeded my assumptions as well, despite its location in a (you guessed it) plaza.

It’s interesting, isn’t it? We’ve seen many instances of a coffeehouse in a rural or quasi-rural setting adopting a modernistic aesthetic while leaning into rural customs and cultural conceits. At Cafe Luli, the opposite is happening. Here, we see an extrusion of something quintessentially urban into the fringe. In our society, all things French have long been a code for sophistication. I’d say the association is well-deserved. Austria deserves it, too. I’ve spoken at length regarding the Enlightenment and the debt it owes to coffeehouse culture. Paris and Vienna were hotbeds of a cosmopolitan worldview that would help evolve the collective consciousness of humanity. Those heady philosophies were digested and debated around mugs of coffee. Revolutions were brewing. A bit of that heritage now sits across the road from the first rolling farms of the rural Maryland countryside.

Oh, and I learned something else: This cafe has only been around for a short time. It was planted just after Easter. It’s less than a year old. That’s a stark reminder of how unstoppable coffeehouse culture is. Our troubles may change. Our needs remain the same. For a lot of us, one of those needs is an exceptional cup of coffee.

Until next time, stay caffeinated!

the front door…

the cafe…

the bric-a-brac…

the upstairs…

the wall…

the beans…

more beans…

more details…

the old machine…

the thoughts…