Author Archives: coffeehouseguy80

As much as coming to this cafe was about coffee for me, it was also about escape. Actually, if we’re being honest, it was mostly about escape. My county and Perry County had just “gone green” in the medical terminology, so that meant that coffeehouses could start to open again. Open up the way they used to I mean; the way they should be. ‘Open’ was something that I was specifically looking for, and figured that if I could find an extra dose of freedom, it would be in the deep, forest-covered mountains to the northwest of my hometown.

If there’s one thing that the town of New Bloomfield is, it’s open, in a way that goes beyond colors and statutes. It’s one of those old fashioned American towns, with statues, colonnaded balconies, and waving flags. Clean air and ready conversation abound. Perry County Cafe itself is one of those locales that quietly screams to travelers that it’s a center of the community. There are some places where you can just tell that people congregate, and this little coffee shop is one of them. It doesn’t hurt that it’s smack dab in the town center, where a roundabout shuffles a surprising amount of traffic east, west, and south.

The owner is an ultra-cool person named Rita Metcalf. No, I’m saying that because I’m shilling for her, hell I didn’t even know her before the day I rounded the corner into the shop. She was only the third owner in all these years who actually came out to welcome me personally. Says a lot about her, the town, and the kind of place that Perry County Cafe seems to be. It’s not a ‘best kept secret’ or a cliquey art enclave. Some perfectly awesome places are, but this establishment is far more active.

The coffee itself is certainly a good thing, and more than that it was actually inventive in the style of blend that was used. The roast I had was Red Diamond High Altitude Papua New Guinea. It’s a medium roast    The truth is, I’d already had coffee in the morning before coming up here (I couldn’t risk falling asleep on the road could I?) but I was slurping this down the whole way home and had to stop myself lest I make myself sick. I don’t think I’d have gotten sick though; for a medium blend it was quite mild. It also struck me as balanced; often milder coffees seem to have a citrus taste (from being under-extracted, usually in the brewing process, or from being brewed too hot) or a bitter taste (from the opposite being true). The fact that a medium roast was neither means someone has strong experience in brewing.  The exact blend seems to be proprietary, but I’ll update if I figure the concoction out.

I’ll be coming back to New Bloomfield again, and soon if I can. It’s a good jumping-off point if you’re traveling west of the big cities of Pennsylvania and up into the Appalachians. I intend to do a lot of that in the near future. It’s a region that I’ve been neglecting, mostly because when I started this blog there simply weren’t many independent coffeehouses in the middle of Pennsylvania. The ‘scene’ as it were has traditionally stuck to the college towns near Philly. In fact, Perry County Cafe has been open only since August of last year. Turns out I’ve been missing a lot by not heading for the hills! Until next time, stay caffeinated.

the county…

the menu…

the hometown pride…

the…car? 

I’m breaking a pledge I made long ago by writing this. When I started this blog I said that I wasn’t going to review coffeehouses that had a religious origin. Coffeehouse culture is all about questioning things and rebelling. We all know how kindly religion typically takes to the idea of rebellion. When the first coffeehouses started up in Europe, they were hotbeds of the anticlerical and anti-monarchist thought that led to, well, pretty much every liberty that we enjoy today. Coffeehouses with a foundation in religion just tend to strike me as a little…off.

This coffeehouse is, however, the first that I’m reviewing following lockdown, and that’s because of what I saw when I walked through the door having no idea that their mission was a mission. What I saw was a lot of courage, a lot of heart, and a lot of openness. I arrived just as they were about to close, but I made it in time for the last scents of breakfast-to-go to waft under my nose. They had just reopened on May 18th and my mom and I had coincidentally wanted to take a ride to literally anywhere to get out of town for a change of scenery. This little alcove was a match made in road-trip heaven.

I didn’t even know that The Gathering Place was affiliated with a church until I saw the Ten Commandments hanging on the wall beside a big old-fashioned clock. The ladies behind the counter, Jenny and Patty, proudly explained to me that the coffeehouse is an extension of the Little Swatara Church of the Brethren. They were equally proud of the charity work being done by the institution during the outbreak (which is apparently quite a lot). Both the church and the coffeehouse are planted in the small but cozy community of Bethel, PA. Like many Pennsylvania towns, if you blink you miss it. It is, however, worth keeping your eyes open as you pass through this little village. A historical plaque greets visitors as they drive into a clean, vibrant little main street after exiting the frenetic I-78. Bethel is in the middle of nowhere, on the way to everywhere.

The Gathering Place really does seem to be a gathering place for the community judging by the number of pamphlets and event posters plastered to the bulletin board. I’m hoping that at least some of that blur of planning will still take place sometime this year; Bethel seems like the kind of community that comes together if given even the slightest reason (and this coffeehouse is right in the middle of it), so I’d be willing to bet on them.

The coffee that was being served up was an odd but excellent brew. The staff assured me that it was just “regular coffee” like you’d find in “any diner” but there was a bit of modesty in that claim. It was a step above the metallic-tasting mass-produced coffee found in the average diner. It had seemingly been thrown together from a few different beans, but whoever did the throwing had some skill as evidenced by the vaguely-nutty taste of Arabian which was apparently moderated by something smooth. Colombian perhaps? It was kinda wild, in a good way! Talk about pooling your resources.

This visit was quite a welcome back for the Coffeehouse Tour. Things of course aren’t quite normal yet; the smiling faces of the staff were hidden behind masks for sanitation reasons. The hours were limited as well, but it’s clear that they are doing something very important. They’re fighting for this. They’re fighting for a return to the good life. They’re open because they can be. Talking about what we can’t do is and always has been useless. They get that. Pretty revolutionary if you think about it. To live, you have to live. Let’s get back to life together. Stay caffeinated and stay healthy, friends.

the plan…

the promise…

the community….

the future…

the stacks…

When I was six years old, way back in the 80s, I remember how excited I was to be ordering books (with my mom’s help of course) from the Scholastic book catalog. It was  like a smorgasbord of treats for young readers and one book in particular had caught my eye: The Curious Little Kitten. I remember waiting for that book to come in the mail and when the package finally came, tearing it open, and seeing a slender tome called Fraidy Cat along with a letter of apology explaining that the book I’d ordered was out of stock.

I never read Fraidy Cat. It’s still sitting somewhere on a basement bookshelf, I’m positive of it. I think I cried that day. Disappointment is always tough, but it’s even tougher when you know it has a human cause. Understocked shelves, misinformed catalogs, shipping delays; they’re all someone’s fault. Every time somebody says ‘we’re sorry, sir’ my reaction is to say ‘Good. I forgive you. Now fix it.’ That last part is usually the sticking point of course, and when the second ‘I’m sorry sir’ inevitably comes, I just can’t shake the feeling of offense that follows. I like to think that my occasional bouts of petulance did and still do come from a real sense of injustice. Certainly this crisis here could have been handled better. This thing was a sum of many bad decisions. Conservatives minimized, liberals catastrophized. Conservatives were foolish, liberals were scared. Everyone played to type perfectly, creating a fear state that foresight and wisdom could have prevented or made better.

The bottom line is, I just plain hate substitutions in life. I detest second best. The weak shadow of something that aught to be but isn’t just leaves a rotten taste in my mouth.  People are expected to accept these things though. ‘Any old port in a storm’ we say, or ‘it’s better than nothing.’ Sometimes that assessment is spot on. If you’re starving, you’ll wisely eat a loaf of bread instead of holding out for pizza while stamping your foot. If a hurricane or a plague hits, you don’t send angry letters to the shuttered bars. On the other hand, to accept mediocrity at face value is to deny our humanity. Humans strive; we have to, it’s in our nature. And as much as adherents to certain ideologies would like to deny that progress is a good thing, they usually do so from behind a computer screen inside a comfortable house. Unless they recognize the irony in that, it’s not necessary to respect their position. So enough about them.

I suppose I might have (and some would say I should have) done such a thing right here on this blog. Accepted mediocrity as a ‘new normal’ I mean and just gone with it for the sake of offering digital comfort food. Heck, that’s what everybody else was doing. Meeting friends over Zoom, having virtual dates, and so on. I could have certainly made a ‘quarantine version’ of this blog and contributed to that way of being. But those things are lame. Mediocre. Things we intend to put in the past sooner rather than later. I don’t just hope this crisis ends, I insist that our leaders end it. Doctors said we’re on the virus’s timetable. Well, screw that shit.

It nauseates me when the supposed experts insist that thinking realistically means thinking pessimistically. Too often they’re content with being victims of statistics. It makes me doubly sick when people seem complicit with endless states of emergency without asking questions or demanding guarantees from those who declare them. Yes, of course when there’s a disaster like a plague we all have to batten down the hatches, show patience and take precautions. That doesn’t mean we have to take the gloom and doom scenarios proffered by every clove-smoking cynic in academia and the media as a new gospel. A new normal. The brave nurses on the frontlines of health care certainly didn’t give in and because of that they’re saving us. The state has now begun the inexorably slow process of reopening and people are starting to choose life over terror, all because humans did what humans do and actively fought back.

To put things simply, I didn’t publish entries for a while here for one reason: I did not feel comfortable contributing to a culture of disappointment. I thought it would be wrong to reinforce the disturbing way of thinking that emerged during this time in which we were collectively conditioned to settle for malaise and paranoia. I didn’t want this blog to be a reminder of the evening news; an echo of bad times. That’s not a comfort to me and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have inspired you a folks a lot either. Writing, like any art, has a duty to inspire, or at least attempt to.

I thought it would be better to wait until nature took its glacially slow but inevitable turn for the better, and to in the meantime focus on the basics like loving my family and growing my garden and reading my books until I was free to do this thing again the right way; the last thing I wanted it to become was a tacit acceptance of a world we don’t deserve. I wanted instead to use this blog as a platform to show people who are just starting to not have panic attacks when they leave the house that it’s actually OK to breathe again. I wanted this work to be an exercise in curiosity, not fear. In the immortal words of Bob from The Walking Dead: Nightmares end. They don’t end who you are.

I can’t believe I missed a spot. Especially since it’s located right along the Road of Dread. That’s what I call the stretch of Derry Street that leads from my house…to the dentist. Perhaps as I was driving there I was too focused on the impending low-key torture porn that constitutes modern dentistry to think about coffee at all.  Or maybe I was a bit befuddled by Novocaine on the way home and failed to notice something as innocuous and positive as the little multicolored cottage on the left that housed a veritable smorgasbord of coffee and art. Whatever the case, I was genuinely surprised to find this little gem hidden less than fifteen minutes from my front door.

The Tiger Eye is probably the only independent coffeehouse out here in the Lawnton exurb of Harrisburg or anywhere nearby. We’re not known for our coffee culture out here in the burbs. It’s Starbucks, Dunkin’ Donuts, or nothing, as it’s casually assumed that everyone here is either heading to or from work. It’s a place to come home to, not a place to go out to. Cultural events simply don’t happen here. That’s obviously being shaken up within these pastel-pink walls!

So, after stopping by I really don’t know what I can say about this place. No, really, I don’t know what I can say about it because I was sworn to secrecy by the woman behind the counter. Having just opened last December, she’s still in the process of developing the community connections that she intends to make, the nature of which are top secret. Suffice it to say, the owner has every intention of making The Tiger Eye a nexus for art and music in the community, as evidenced by the enormous number of paintings, sketches, and musical instruments adorning the walls.

I ordered the coffee called City Roast. It wasn’t one particular bean; rather a blend of several including my favorite, Colombian. It was quite good; a little on the lukewarm side, but understandable given that I’d come there in the middle of the afternoon in between rush hours. It was smooth but not too bold, making it a rather stellar medium roast. Not a bad start to this enterprise! The hours are wonderful by the way; 6 AM to 9 PM every day but Sunday when it’s closed. It gives me a lot of pride to see people bringing the arts to our blue-collar corner of suburbia. I can’t wait to see what they have in store for us this summer.

the outside…

art galore…

a ton of stuff…

the blends…

three seashells, no joke…

a little light…

Happy New Year to all of my bean-guzzling readers! I have no idea why, but the week between Christmas and New Years Day seems like some kind of temporal no-man’s-land. It’s like a time outside of time where we’re trapped in limbo between the end of the last year and the beginning of the new; between resting at the bottom of the wheel of the seasons and kickstarting a brand new year full of of potentials both good and ill. At least I got a week off of work, and I could not resist the idea of taking some time to travel about and see the parts of the area that I don’t get to see when I’m working. Which is to say all of it.

I did have to actually pick a destination though, and so I thought I’d go down a road less traveled…at least by me. I’m talking about that long stretch of eastbound road east of Hershey that isn’t 422 and isn’t the Turnpike. That would be the Horseshoe Pike; good old 322 which slowly careens its way from Hershey to Ephrata through multitudinous farms and sleepy little towns. One of these is Campbelltown.

As always, I did a search of the area on Google Maps to see if there are any coffee spots lurking about that don’t have names that start with an S or a D. Come on, you know of whom I speak. Anyhow, what I found was a place called the Red Canoe General Store…or Coffee Shop…or Gretna Brewery. I was bewildered, but the photos I saw seemed to depict people getting coffee, so I decided to chance it, not knowing what I’d find exactly.

It turns out this place is a little bit of everything. It’s definitely a store. It’s definitely a brewery. It’s definitely not only a coffeehouse, but a coffeehouse with a giant 40s-looking dieselpunk roaster. The place is easy to see from the road, but a little hard to get to with a car; you have to drive down an alley and then another alley to get to the parking lot, but then it opens up abruptly into this little plaza full of artfully conjoined buildings. I think ‘artful’ is definitely a word I’d use to describe Red Canoe. There’s a backwoods crafting vibe that I really go for at work here. The paneling is mostly in unvarnished-looking wood, as is most of the furniture. It smells of the forest too, and that goes quite well with a craft brewery. Good IPAs do taste a bit like doing a faceplant in a pine tree (a taste that I love because I’m weird).

Oh but back on the topic of coffee, the only brand available was from a local roaster called “Sonder”. By local, I mean the headquarters is in fact at this very establishment (I told you they had everything at once). If the word ‘sonder’ sounds familiar, it’s a neologism (new word) meaning the realization that each random passerby has a life just as vivid and complex as your own. It’s an existential empathy in other words; the ability to see every ‘other’ as a ‘self’ not dissimilar from your ‘self’. It’s an oddly appropriate name for a coffee company. What were the original coffeehouses of Europe but incubators for revolutionary advancements in thought? And what is sonder but a revolution of that very same type; a leap forward in our personal and collective perception of one another? These steps towards enlightenment exemplify coffeehouse culture. The crafters at Sonder must be quite the reflective bunch.

The coffee itself was an Arabica with hints of dark chocolate and plum (or so I was told). I could pick up on the chocolate hints, but not on the plum. In fact, for an Arabica this seemed to lack the fruit-forward palette that’s so diagnostic of Arabicas in general. I actually liked that; it had a really smooth mouthfeel for a higher-acidity coffee. Not as ‘bright’ as such coffees often are, but still nuanced. Not super-distinctive, but refined in quality. They’re good with their craft and it shows.

This whole experience was exactly what I was looking for on that cold late-December weekend, trapped halfway between an old year and a new. Something to kick off a year of going in new directions both coffee-related and not. The weekend that I’m writing this (January 5th) is after all the real beginning of the new year. It’s the beginning of a new decade in fact. The future is now.

The entrance.

Where am I?

Very woodsy.

Like a new house.

The Machine of Glory.

I’m confused…should I enter or not?

Rewind a few weeks. In early November there was still a hint of warmth out there, and the trees were at their peak of color. They were a bit late this year; usually everything in Central Pennsylvania is grey and brown by the beginning of November. I think that autumn is the perfect time to explore a new coffee spot. It’s not only the cold weather; it’s the milieu that makes it right. The cozy drawing-in of life that practically invites you to take a seat in the dark corner of a cafe to read or just watch the world through the windows and be glad for a warm oasis amidst the encroaching cold. Things are so quiet that the heart searches for an excuse to venture outwards towards something interesting. I know I’ll be going forth on a few road trips during this time of year,  hoping to find places that stand out at least in spirit against the stark cold of the Pennsylvania winterscape.

Now, Google Maps will tell you that Copper Cup coffeehouse is in the well-known town of Lititz. That’s not really accurate; it’s in a smaller town to the north called Brickerville, a quiet little village well off the beaten path of the turnpike. The closest landmark that people around Harrisburg might know is Mount Hope winery, site of the yearly Renaissance Faire. It’s the kind of place that you can blink and miss; yet it exemplifies the rich juxtaposition of Appalachian country town and Yankee country town that you find in the eastern portion of our area. On the one hand, its mostly dusty country homes, vibrant farms, and semi-active shops stretching along a main street corridor. On the other hand, there are a few funky places like this coffeehouse and a small,  hipsterish shopping plaza that speak to a slow creep of modernization in the area. In this polarized age, one wonders how welcome this new way of life is for the locals.

Copper Cup is quite modern. The architecture is open, angular, and airy. There’s a drive through window if you’re in a hurry (you can see the overhang of it in the image below), but like most good coffeehouses, it’s best experienced from the inside. Here’s another good example of that juxtaposition that I mentioned. On the one hand, a drive-through for those who want good coffee, but don’t partake of the coffeehouse culture (Dunkin’ Donuts devotees, etc.). On the other hand, a warm and inviting interior exists, artistically apportioned, and rather out of place when compared to the rest of the town. Copper Cup is doing what coffeehouses have historically done best, which is be a focal point for the introduction of modern ways and thoughts.

The coffee that I tried was the medium roast called Carmo, which you can see below. It’s a Brazilian roast, and like most Brazilian roasts it has a low acidity combined with a slightly nutty flavor. The flavor is a bit bittersweet, but this particular blend broke on the side of sweet; the nutty flavor coming off as almost a savory umami taste. It was pretty much the ideal of what I hope for from this kind of coffee, so kudos to not only the makers of the coffee, but to the crafters of this roast as well. Icing on the cake: they are actually a local roaster. Passenger is a micro-roaster based out of nearby Lancaster which prides itself upon sustainable practices. More of that modernity.

So in summation, I found exactly what I was looking for when I set out down the road on this little autumn adventure. I found warm coffee in a warm place, I found people devoted to creating quality coffee within a quality shop, and I discovered yet another interesting small town that deserved way more time devoted to exploration than I was able to give it during an all-too-short late fall day. Well, I’ve got three months of winter in which to make a return trip if my roundabout itinerary brings me back down the pike to this picturesque spot. Until then, stay caffeinated (and a Happy Thanksgiving to all).

the outside…

the signage…

warm interior…

friends gazing out…

the roast…

the rest…

Hello readers. I’ve been gone a while. You deserve an explanation for that. This past July, on the afternoon of the 10th, my grandmother passed away at the age of 97 after a months-long illness. From helping my parents with caring for her and her home, as well as dealing with the aftermath of her passing, I was in no emotional condition to do any traveling and precious little writing. It took until now to finally get back the desire to start putting digital pen to paper again. I didn’t know if I’d come back to doing this blog or not, but as the summer wore on and normalcy began coming back to my family, I realized that it was time to get back to doing the things that provide food for the soul, such as going on these little journeys.

It feels awkward combining all of this deep pathos with a post about a new coffee shop. Here’s the thing though: you have to keep going. When someone you love is gone, you go to that dark night of the soul where you feel like there’s less meaning to everything. When that happens, you need to get out of the world of your own mind because that kind of introspection will eat you alive. It will also do no good. That’s my experience at least. The thing of it is, me not adventuring would be the last thing my grandmother would have wanted. She was driving herself to Florida on vacations well into her 80s and packed a lot of life into her years. May we all live that kind of life.

This latest trip took me to a place I’d never gone before but have always been curious about…Columbia, PA. Columbia is one of those small river towns you find here in the Susquehanna Valley that has an industrial vibe. Columbia’s size belies its importance in history: it was the first commercial crossing of the Susquehanna River. Such was the town’s vitality that it was also just a few votes short of becoming the first capital of the United States! Now it’s known for having one of the world’s few clockwork museums, as well as a gorgeous and commanding view of the river. Even so, you don’t hear much about Columbia these days; certainly it’s not one of the towns that’s “plugged in” to the art scene in the midstate the way that York and Lancaster are. Yet it was that unknown quantity of Columbia which caused me to look the place up and decide to take a random drive there.

The coffeehouse I found was called Cafe 301. They mentioned food on the little Internet blurb so I wasn’t quite sure if this was a restaurant-style cafe or a bona fide coffee house.  It is not only a coffeehouse, but quite a coffeehouse. More on that later. My first view of Columbia as I drove down was that aforementioned beautiful view of the river from the top of a hill as you descend into the valley. South Central PA is replete with winding country roads, and the path to Columbia was no exception. I didn’t know I was even close to the city until I was looking down upon it from the little rise.

As I drove in, I could tell that the people here had a sense of civic pride that’s missing from a lot of towns in Appalachia these days. There were signs everywhere pointing the way to historical sites and a beautiful mural painted on the side on an old industrial building. The coffeehouse was pretty easy to find, and the parking was actually non-extortionary, unlike Harrisburg, but we’re not talking about Harrisburg right now. We’re talking about coffee.

Cafe 301 is a pretty spacious coffee spot; it has a streamlined, modern atmosphere to it which I find really sophisticated. The whole place feels new, and it is relatively new, having just started up within the last year! The shop already seems to be a community center; there were pamphlets and business cards set out on one of the tables in the main dining area, so local businesses are obviously keen to advertise here. Importance is a key to permanence in the coffee business.

The coffee I had there was one that immediately struck my eye when I saw it. There’s a photo of it below…it’s called Sasquatch. The coffee is made by Square One; a micro-roaster in nearby Lancaster. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I’m into the paranormal. And every year near Columbia there’s a thing called the Albatwitch Festival, named after the eponymous local mythological creature (similar in size though not in stature to a Sasquatch, or Bigfoot). The most distinct thing about the coffee was its nutty flavor. I really enjoy that in a coffee; as well it has a nice acidity balance to it. Really a satisfying mouthfeel, the kind you want to swish around just to feel it. Square One really knows its craft, and these folks were wise to get their product from them.

On my way out of town, I couldn’t help but feel that this really was the start of a whole new chapter in my travels, as well as my life in general. Sometimes, although I enjoyed driving around and doing this blog for its own sake, I would let things just whiz by, figuratively and literally.  I’d be a little emotionally detached, in other words, even as I was enjoying things; too focused on the outcomes and not on savoring my surroundings.  That was foolish. The world is really something to be savored.

that view…

our river…

the sign inside…

the town outside…

the

one righteous clock…

the beverages…

my obvious fave…

Have you ever watched one of those movies where the heroes accidentally stumble in to some kind of strange, seemingly perfect utopia where you’re not sure if it actually is a utopia or if there’s some kind of secret behind the sweet facade? That’s kind of what happened to me. Not that I was doing anything heroic, mind you, just trying to get caffeine in my system. Still, in the process of looking for the coffeehouse that Google Maps swore was in the middle of nowhere, I happened upon a world apart at the end of one of those winding country roads of Central Pennsylvania. As I’m typing, all of this takes place about a month ago. A month before this post becomes a post that is.

The coffeehouse I ended up at was Idea Coffee, and as you will shortly see it’s not really a house or even much of a building yet. It is, however, smack in the middle of a town square of sorts. A town square that doesn’t really belong to a town, but to a brand new suburban development named Arcona. That name’s just ominous/cool enough for me to like it. I also happened to arrive during the beginning of a torrential downpour! I scurried around the large, fancy restaurant called Thea’s (yes, the same Thea’s that’s run by chef AnnMarie Nelms from Sophia’s at Walden…who also owns Idea!) looking for the little dot that Google Maps insisted was in fact the coffee spot. 

Thankfully, I was rescued by the guy who runs this joint (and apparently literally built it) named Trevor who took pity on the loner in the midst of the square grubbing for coffee. The coffeehouse is a cool little silver shed-thing with a colorful awning over it. I just asked for whatever the medium roast was (Idea is its own roaster I think). The coffee was solid for sure; it had a savory element to the taste and mouthfeel was pretty creamy. Good stuff to come find after that aforementioned long country drive.

Another cool thing about this area is that it’s home to a Spring Gate Winery expansion! It looks like they’re branching out to this community too. Indeed, it looks from all accounts that people are endeavoring to bring a little bit of the city to the country. I’m all for that; I love the college-town ambiance with or without the college. All you need is a community with creative souls and people looking to the future. Arcona seems to have all that. And also a good supply of coffee.

the coffeehouse of sorts…

yes there’s grub…

funky town…

cool restaurant…

I do hope I spelled Creperie right. A lot of ways you can go wrong with that. So yeah, this is me following up on my last post way back in April. This is the promised second coffeehouse from the college town of Carlisle that I discovered. I was told by locals that there were basically two coffeehouses that got the lion’s share of the patronage from college students; the previous one I reviewed being the first of course.

This cafe actually seemed far more “college-ish” than my previous review subject Denim did. OK so maybe I’m stereotyping here, but there seemed to be a lot more of a blatantly intellectual vibe going on at this locale. The first sign of this was a the small sign taped up near the entrance which explicitly rejected all kinds of prejudice on the premises. You can see the sign below; they spelled out just what this business was about at its core in several languages. I know, I know, don’t get political. Well, too bad. Coffeehouses have always been political; they were the boiling cauldrons of free thought that set the Age of Enlightenment into motion. And that’s why we have civil rights. Didn’t know it was because of coffee did you? I hope you’re not too surprised. The second signifier of the college-town zeitgeist was the art strewn across the walls. I mean, most coffeehouses have some art, but this was legitimately by a local, so that did add a little something special!

The coffee itself was quite impressive. That’s probably mostly a product of my own bias; they were serving one of my favorites here: Green Mountain Coffee, from Vermont. It’s hands down my favorite brand, due to its across-the-board richness regardless of brew strength. To keep myself honest, I tried the Yuban-brand Arabica coffee instead. Yuban is a South American coffee blend. Legend has it that John Arbuckle, the famous 1860s coffee roaster, was the one who discovered it. Since 2006, it’s been Rainforest Alliance certified, which means it engages in sustainable, eco-friendly practices. Arabica beans are often less bitter than most, making it good for breakfast blends. This one was no exception, even being a bit less bitter than most. What it lacked in robustness and power, it made up for with a delicate, refined smoothness, well suited to early morning studies.

I’m sure this place is popular. How could it not be? It knows exactly what it is; that being a nexus of artistic college folk in Carlisle. The town itself is a little island of urbanity in the middle of the sprawling pastures of the Cumberland Valley, and this cafe exemplifies the college-town zeitgeist. Happy drinking, kids. Yes, I call anyone in their early 20s kids…

the storefront…

the old theatre…

the art…

the community…

the other art…

Spring has sprung, the grass has riz, I wonder where the caffeine is. Actually, I know where it is, or at least where it was a week ago. It was in the small-ish town of Carlisle just to the southwest of Harrisburg, PA. It’s first and foremost a college town, home to Dickinson University. That pretty much guarantees a few coffeehouses, and in the case of Carlisle that number has only been growing in recent years. What was once nearly the sole domain of the Back Door Cafe (which I’m pretty sure I reviewed a few years ago, Carlisle’s coffeehouse scene has expanded to include enough to warrant another entry from the same town; one which I’ll post in a few weeks.

Denim surprised me when I walked in. It was starkly minimalist; typically a coffeehouse will have all kinds of artwork and such hanging around. Not so for Denim, with its subdued earth tones, modernist architecture, and simple sign on the wall which stated “Make Better Coffee.” With large windows and a charming view of the center of Carlisle (pictured at the bottom of this entry), it gave off a still and tranquil sort of vibe. It seemed like the kind of place that suits well for people-watching; and with a town full of college students that can be a spectacle.

The coffee itself is a cut above. As usual I got the house blend and I’m pretty sure it was on the light side of a medium roast…or the medium side of a light roast. I’d come in at the late-breakfast time and there was a bit of a rush to get through the line. I forgot to even ask. I literally can’t even with myself sometimes. It’s worth noting that it seems that the students and locals split their attention pretty evenly between this location and the next one that I’m reviewing. This is one competitive scene.

Apologies, and back to the coffee. I’d say overall that it was smooth, well-balanced, and with a bit of acidity that gave it a fresh aspect but still left it feeling bold enough for my taste. It’s no wonder that the coffee is fresh-tasting; the beans are roasted locally in Shippensburg, only about 15 miles away and home to my old Alma Mater, Shippensburg University! Oh how I wish we’d had these things when I went there back in 2003. Coffeehouse culture may have hit its stride in the 90s; that is remembered as a golden age for sure, but the proliferation of quality local roasters in recent years owing to young entrepreneurs who care is no small thing.

I’ll be coming back here the next time I’m in town I’m sure…though I don’t know when that will be. After the next place I visit here, I’m off to review some places a bit farther afield. I always think I’ll be traveling more during fall and winter with the leaves changing color, and the academic year starting, and all of this proves itself a romantic delusion when the ice hits my face and run back inside to make coffee in the warm. Let’s raise a cup to spring, and I’ll see you on the road.

the signage…

the paraphernalia wall…

the sign…

the view…

the other view…