Author Archives: coffeehouseguy80

When is a coffeehouse not a coffeehouse? Well, I’m really not sure. What exactly is the Platonic ideal of the coffeehouse if you had to gather an image to mind? At the start of this blog, I laid out some basics of what I think makes a ‘real’ coffeehouse. Now, I expect to be accused of engaging in a bit of gatekeeping there, but I stand by the idea that ‘the coffeehouse’ is something authentic and specific: both an aesthetic ambience and a perpetuator of the Enlightenment zeitgeist of making art and asking questions. If that’s the case, then Appalachian Mountain Coffee exists in a sort of borderland. The coffeehouse spirit exists here but it exists in potentiality only. A coffeehouse waiting to become.

Perhaps a bit of introduction is in order: I learned that this roasting company existed due to a chance encounter at a small, outdoor market back in August of last year. I wasn’t even looking for coffee at the time, just enjoying the fact that there were people doing a thing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a makeshift stand bearing the name of a coffee roaster I’d never heard of. Now, I’ve been buying coffee for a long time and I thought I knew about every operation there was to know in these parts. I was quite mistaken. It turns out that Appalachian Mountain Coffee is a geographical oddity. Look them up online and you’ll swear that Google Maps is drunk. They’re not in a town or a village or even one of our many ‘census-designated places’ that pockmark the Pennsylvania countryside. Appalachian Mountain Coffee is in a small building on a small hill in the middle of a large, farm-blanked county. A red dot at the end of a long blue directional line that winds west from Port Trevorton on the Susquehanna River, along one-lane roads (yes, one) up into the hills. That’s why I hadn’t heard of them previously, and also what drove me to learn more about them. I felt like I was in on a secret. That, and the fact that their coffee turned out to be utterly phenomenal.

I’m not entirely sure how Merle does it. That’s the name of the owner and mastermind behind the coffee crafting here. As I drove up the long, narrow road to the home that houses both his family and his coffee, I noticed that there was precious little in the way of infrastructure. After greeting me at the door in his overalls, fresh from dinner with the family, he led me to the little store attached to the roasting room (and the dining room) from which he sells his bags of coffee. He assured me with much pride that his operation was entirely off the grid. It is entirely off the grid. Local water, local power, and absolutely no computerization involved in the production process. You have to understand, this is Amish country. People who live here choose to meet modernity on their own terms, not the world’s. Let’s just say that the last year has endowed me with a certain empathy for that position. The quality of his coffee makes a good selling point for his lifestyle as well.

The only coffee that I actually tried in-shop was the nitro cold brew, which was creamy and fantastic even without milk added. It had an almost liqueur-like quality that was sublime. That was the only coffee available in a glass; everything else was sold by the bag, either whole-bean or ground. I got two bags of ground coffee, a Colombian and a Sumatran French Roast. I tried the Colombian when I got home, and it was just as smooth and refined as the cold brew had been. The only mistake I made was not putting enough in the coffee maker; it really is a medium roast and is a bit more subtle than commercial Colombians tend to be. Note that I said subtle, not weak. The lack of punch was no doubt a deliberate price paid for intricacy of aroma. Good choice. The Sumatra really is a very bold dark roast, as he had warned me…though I let him know forthwith that this was a selling point to me, not a warning. The Sumatra looked as black as soil in spring and was every bit as rich. It’s worth noting that you can smell both of these coffees right through the sealed bags; there’s that much abundance of flavor.

As I left (with a few free samples added into my bag by the far-too-generous Merle), I addressed the elephant: the fact that this place isn’t a coffeehouse and few people even know it exists! Well, there is an online presence, run through a friend of his apparently. The cost of coming down to Harrisburg can be prohibitive…but then again, so can the logistics of coming up to this area. That seemed to be the main issue; he expressed a bit of skepticism regarding how likely people would be to come up to his forested little hill amidst the hills just to visit a coffeehouse should he open one. Two things counter that notion: The coffee alone is clearly worth the hour-long trip from southern Dauphin county, but the bucolic beauty of the region in which it sits is the real draw. Remember how central it is to the coffeehouse experience to induce contemplation in people? Places of peace are becoming all too rare in this world. This is one of them. It may not draw all people, but it would draw the right kind of people. Ones who care less about fleeting fashions and trendy locales and more about getting back to the roots of things. Until next time, stay caffeinated.

the home on the hill…

the beans…

the coldbrew…

the accoutrements…

the view…

the long road home…

I have two special treats coming up in the next couple of weeks for my loyal and over-caffeinated readers. Guess what they are. OK, two hints; one for each upcoming ‘thing.’ First, I must beg the question, when is a coffeehouse not a coffeehouse? Second, what *other* blog could I be starting alongside this one in the very near future that involves the theme of wanton exploration? Mull it over, and I’ll see you in about half a moon.

Happy New Year! I’m glad to finally be back on the road. The time around the holidays was rather insane this year and I wanted to beat the mega-rush of people being out and about. After all, going to a place with this name whilst in the midst of chaos would be rather unfortunate. It’s funny, but I never really venture up the eastern bank of the Susquehanna river much, even though I live on it. Maybe that’s the reason; just doesn’t feel as exotic perhaps. As well, despite the fact that there used to be a band here called Take 147 that I used to see all the time, I hadn’t actually taken Route 147 north for years. So that’s what I decided to do this time, and visit the awesome little town of Millersburg, PA.

Millersburg is normally home to a yearly Christmas tree lighting ceremony, a restaurant straight out of a Hallmark romance called The Wooden Nickel and absolutely no coffee. That all changed when Peace of Mind Cafe was started up in November of 2019. For a town this picturesque to be without its own coffeehouse was something I always considered a bit of a tragedy and apparently some other people did as well. Some very hippie people. Yes, as you can in by the photos below, someone is clearly seeing the world through technicolor glasses here. From the wisp of steam creating a peace sign in the logo to the amps and guitar still resting on the makeshift stage almost begging someone to allow them to be played, this venue evokes the Haight-Ashbury feeling quite effectively.

The coffee is a locally sourced organic roast, as befits a conscious establishment like this. It was a Colombian Supremo from a brand called Fresh Roasted, out of nearby Sunbury. This was really interesting; I wouldn’t call it a strong flavor, but it was a good one. Talk about a silky mouthfeel! It was almost too airy and light for my taste, as are most Colombian blends, but that impression only lasted until the subtle flavors kicked in on the back-end of the gulp. There was a fruit-flower taste that didn’t manifest unless you happen to swirl the mixture around in your mouth a bit. In the words of Grand Admiral Thrawn from Star Wars, it was so artfully done. It got a positive response from my Mom even, and that’s no small feat. The only person pickier than a food blogger is a food cooker. Probably why we make a good taste testing team! Anyhow, this lovely breakfast blend deserves another swig the next time I’m up this way scouting for local java.

You know, I don’t think we talk enough here about the whole ‘local’ thing and how important it is. Shopping locally isn’t just something you should do to virtue-signal your concern for the world at large. I mean, sure, posing with a photo of yourself helping local farmers is a snappy alternative to having actual empathy if you’re a narcissistic Instagrammer. But the food is also good. Don’t forget that part; the product is simply better, at least in the case of food, when care is taken…and care can’t be taken in an economy of scale. So scale down and source your coffee and concomitant consumables from producers who have a stake in the things they make.

So begins my new task over the next few months of exploring cafes. I’m looking to stick to some of the farm-laden valleys that branch off from the Susquehanna Valley to the east and west. Typically there’s a creek in those valleys and along that creek is typically a town or three of some sort. Coffeehouse culture is being rediscovered and reimagined in some unexpected places. Really, anywhere that there’s a culture of art there’s often a culture of coffee. It’s a common truism among smarty-pantses that correlation is not causality. I do believe that art and coffee are an exception to this, and it isn’t just caffeine in the brainpan driving it. It’s an association between the historically-favored drink of deep thinkers and those who need to know that there are others like them out there. Every town has people like us. The coffeehouse brings us together.

So if you do what I failed to for so long and take good old 147, stop by this cafe for a quick perk-up and hopefully leave with a little more peace of mind.

the front…

the signage…

the state of mind…

the homages…

the seating…

This Thanksgiving, I felt incredible gratitude for two things: my family and the mountains. Yes, I’m grateful specifically for the Appalachian Mountains, at the foot of which I live and write. Through most of my life, I’ve been far and away more of a city boy than a country boy. Recently though, I’ve been getting more interested in the virtues of the countryside, and not just for the obvious blessing of clean air. All right, so my appreciation for the outdoors is not entirely without precedent; my parents are, after all, from the small town of Sunbury. My Dad and I have always gone on hikes since I was quite small. And ever since the TV show Firefly came out back in the early 2000s, I’ve associated bluegrass music with the outer space (another of my loves) and freedom.

Freedom is what I was looking for when I rode up Route 322 a week or so ago in the passenger seat of my Mom’s car. We were both looking for a bit of that, which is why she generously offered to drive. If you’re from Pennsylvania, you’ll recognize Rt. 322 as the road which, during any other autumn, would be jammed end-to-end with traffic headed to Penn State. Now, I should tell you right now (if you haven’t guessed already) that I am one of few Americans who sees freedom vs. safety as a bit of a false choice caused by a lack of individual reason. Unfortunately reason has apparently fled the world for a bit, and so in turn I  feel the urge to flee myself to places where natural law is the only law, enforced by powers beyond the control of humans. I could have said ‘people,’ but if you’d grown up around the non-humans that I did, you’d get the distinct impression that a lot of them are, in fact, persons, and far better company than most of the ‘people’ you know. You could live in the mountains. You could die there too, but knowledge will save you. Wisdom is rewarded with life. Can one say the same of civilization?

Such were the thoughts in my mind as we drove through the seemingly endless wooded hills into the small and meandering village of Mifflintown, Pennsylvania, nestled snug in a valley carved by the Juniata River. There are no coffeehouses of note in Mifflintown. There is, however, one just to the north in the even smaller town of Cuba Mills and it’s called the Guante Cafe. From the outside it looks like many of the other decidedly ‘improvised’ appearing structures that make up the majority of the small towns of Appalachia. Dusty white boards and the stuck-on black letters “GUANTE CAFE” left me wondering if this was really just a run-down diner masquerading as a coffeehouse.

In fact, the reverse is true. When you step inside, you’re immediately greeted by the colorful wall-painting of a heart rendered in dreamlike colors. To your right is a plush little lounge with a map of the world behind your head. To your left is a pretty counter, with craft coffee brewing behind it and a young, thoughtful barista putting acoustic music on the radio. It was like an eruption of big-city artistry had happened right inside an old village shop. Actually, this isn’t far removed from the truth. Apparently this cafe was a collective effort; the barista told me that the woman who owned it had a great deal of help from the local community in making this all happen. I hope you’re thinking the same thing I am; in other words, I hope that you’re having a smile at the fact that the community of a town in one of the most conservative counties in the state came together to pitch in on a project that seems dedicated to art for the sake of art. My, is it easy to forget how universal the artistic impulse is (and what good news that is).

The coffee wasn’t what I expected either. Again, burdened with my absurd stereotypes, I assumed that it would be mere diner coffee. Nope. It was a well-made brand of Peaberry coffee from Costa Rica. Yes, I’m puzzled by the plethora of Spanish in this backcountry burg, and will have to look into that at a later date. For now, let me explain a bit about Peaberry coffee. It is so named because it results from a mutation present in Robusta and Arabica coffee beans wherein only one bean is inside of the coffee cherry, not the usual two. Coffee, you see, is actually a fruit, not a bean, and the contents of that fruit (the seeds) are what we call ‘coffee beans.’ Some say this mutation results in a sweeter and more caffeine-rich roast. I would believe the caffeine part of that equation, but as to sweetness? No, I would say there was more of a floral overtone to this and an overall lack of astringency similar to the last Arabica I reviewed. The freshness may have seemed like sweetness, but was more uniquely defined by the little subtleties of flavor than by any one quality. Had I not been too late for breakfast it would have made a delightful breakfast blend. As it was, the added caffeine gave me a much needed boost of pep for the beautiful but sometimes monotonous ride home.

A meeting of worlds. That’s what I’d call Guante Cafe. Far from the city, and yet not so far from the spirit of creativity that blooms there, at times all too tenuously. But isn’t that the way it should be? Far from the noise of the media, in an area of the country where having an axe to grind means you’re literally preparing to hew wood, shouldn’t that be a site for art to flourish? Certainly Tolkien thought so, and I daresay he proved it. The next time I come up this way into the mountains, I’ll have to take the back road. There are some little villages along that long stretch of hilly byway that I might have ignored in my tendency to gravitate towards college towns. After these crazy holidays, I’ll let you know what I missed. Until then, stay caffeinated.

the lettering…

the he(art)…

the right…

the left…

the art…

the seating…

the town…

the hills…

That’s right, I didn’t make an obligatory election post! Nope. Go somewhere else for that crap. Instead, a week ago I decided to take a nice long ride through the countryside and clear out this over-mediated brain of mine. What better way to do that on a cold morning than to grab a hot cup of coffee? Yes, coffee does help the brain. Habitual coffee drinking is a common factor among healthy centenarians. Google it. And speaking of Google, that’s where I found the map that found this place. Now, this is becoming a pattern for me. In fact, while planning a simple country jaunt, this cafe (like others before it) simply sprouted on my map where before there was nothing, like a mushroom along the trail. I would soon discover the reason for that.

Baked Sweet is located in the little village of Frystown, PA. I never heard of it before either. It’s one of those small towns located on the feeder roads which branch off of our ubiquitous Interstate 78 and make up the tapestry of the Pennsylvania countryside; a melange of farms and neighborhoods that seem to stretch into forever. There is actually a short main street in this town with side-by-side buildings. It’s called Frystown Road, and it looks as if a single block of York were plopped down into the middle of the waving grass that surrounds it. I’d love to learn this history of this town. I’d love to learn the history of all of them, which is half the point of all this and almost certainly the subject of a future blog.

As I walked through the inside of the cafe, I was struck by how new and fresh everything felt and smelled. A woman behind the counter (whose head popped up suddenly out of nowhere as I was speaking to someone else) informed me that this coffeehouse had only been here for the past four weeks. First of all, good job Google for getting it up on the map so fast. Second, good job to the crew for getting all the essential shakeouts done in record time. Usually a place this new has its share of goofs, quirks, and absurdities…but not so with this cafe. Well, OK, there’s one thing that still has to be handled: the patio isn’t actually a patio yet. It’s kind of a slab. It looks like it’s going to be one attractive slab by the time the young folks there are finished with it though; the green, hilly view is rather gorgeous. Perhaps the solid planning and vision I see here is at least due in part to the fact that the coffeehouse is an extension of a dream already firmly in place. The owner, Rosanne Weiler, has been baking the goods currently being sold at the cafe from her own home for a long time already. Yes, her kitchen is fully health and safety certified. She’s apparently pretty hardcore like that.

The coffee I sampled was from a local company called Fat Puppy Coffee Roasters. They’re out of Myerstown PA, and although I’ve heard of them from somewhere, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it before. At least I pretended to the barista that I’d heard of them before. I mean, I’m an expert now and have to keep up appearances. Moving on. This was a Colombian roast, which is actually one of my favorite beans. It’s also one of my Dad’s favorites, and every time we hang out we usually get Colombian specifically. It’s a nice variety! I tend to favor Latin American coffees in general. Colombian strikes a balance between the lightness and high acidity of Central American beans and the deep, lingering chocolate and nut flavors of Brazil. You know, I have to say that this particular cup was either the epitome of what a Colombian coffee is expected to be, or at least an example of one which suits my palette. What I liked about it this coffee was that it was light and sweet, but also had some power behind it. Sometimes lighter coffees can seem astringent if they’re not done right (like if they’re made with poor quality water) but nobody made that mistake here. It was fresh and clear, but also substantive without any interference to the flavor from outside elements. Bravissimo!

If you’re on your way to Allentown, Scranton, and other points northeast (or coming down from those places for that matter), this makes a good pit stop…mostly because it’s not actually a pit stop. It’s a real coffeehouse. As you know by now if you’ve been following this blog, I like to review places that look like they’re making an effort to carry the coffeehouse spirit forward. In that way, building a coffeehouse is, I suppose, like planting a church. There has to be both a grand design to the project but also a message of art, beauty, and mindfulness behind the reason for putting it there. Someone’s spirit clearly moved when they planted Baked Sweet.

the enticement…

the layout…

the chotchkes…

the fireplace…

the unknown…

the future plans…

This early-autumn discovery was the result of my desire for freedom, not my thirst for coffee. I went to the town of Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania in search of a local institution: The Appalachian trail. Or, rather, a connection to it. The Appalachian Trail, famed across the country for its beautiful vistas, challenging climbs and (at least in Pennsylvania) many, many rocks, winds its way right through my home turf. It’s always been there as a background fact, lurking in local lore, unseen to anyone who isn’t a hard core hiker or hunter. I’ve always liked hiking but it’s only been recently that I’ve started to entertain the idea of starting a trek down this most famous trail of the east coast. Let’s just say I’ve started to see the virtues of getting lost in nature. People are becoming rather irksome. Oh that’s right, it’s election season isn’t it?

Be that as it may, almost as important as the nature you see on the trail are the people you see on the trail. I say almost because few hike the Appalachian trail for the company. Nightlife out here consists of bears, owls and possibly the odd Sasquatch. And yet, you will meet interesting folks in the wild. You will also meet interesting folks serving the trail community. In fact, multiple towns and villages have been designated ‘trail communities.’ It’s an actual term. An important sector of the local economy of these towns revolves around serving the hikers, drifters, wanderers and outcasts who wind their way along the over 2,000 mile trail. Boiling Springs is one of those places. You can tell that the town is different; it’s unusually artsy for a town west of the Susquehanna River, a region known more for its farms than its fanfare. Yet here I found a lake with artists along the shore with easels set up, painting in French plein air style. I saw political signs more in line with a college town than a coal town. I saw old barns and family restaurants mixed with more self-consciously sophisticated offerings like Cafe 101.

The cafe itself is a large building, standing out quite prominently near the center of town. I went to what was clearly the entrance, only to discover that it wasn’t the entrance, and worked my way around the edifice to the actual entrance. I could tell from the stylized AT stickers that this was likely a place where hikers came to refuel. That impression was reinforced once I got inside; there was a community board for posting local events and a rack of fliers for businesses taking advantage of the town’s acclaim as a center of local hiking culture. It’s worth noting that hiking culture is not the same as hunting culture in Pennsylvania. The gear is similar, but the attitudes are often wildly divergent. I think it’s that hunters are still very much invested in the culture at large. Hikers on the other hand like to drop out of normal culture whenever they can put together the cash. The cafe reflected that very eclecticism. The outside featured a patio that could host garden parties. The interior had an ornate dining room mixed with more private nooks and crannies where one could sit down for a bit, but the coffee itself was offered up quickly for people on the move.

The coffee itself was a medium roast; a blend of some kind. I can’t tell you what it was a blend of, because no matter how I interrogated the staff, nobody seemed to know. I looked right at the bag and I still don’t know. All we could collectively figure out is that it was a gourmet roast courtesy of Kaffe Magnum Opus. That particular roaster started out in East Rockaway, Long island. A man named Bob Johnson started it when, at the age of 10, his parents made him grind coffee and the aroma stuck with him. He’d smell that homey scent again later at a mall in Philly, and the rest became history. Back to the meat of the matter, or rather the bean: I just couldn’t place this flavor. It had the slightly bitter taste that diner coffee tends to have…but only at first. The aftertaste showed a remarkable amount of detail. You could tell it was a boutique coffee, but only after giving it a nice long swirl in the mouth did the artistry show itself. It was obviously no cheap Robusta (often the source of the inexpensive, low acidity/high bitterness associated with lower quality coffees) but it didn’t seem to have a defining characteristic. It was, rather, a swirl of characteristics done with a light touch. It would make a wonderful breakfast coffee…but I got it in mid-afternoon. It was a slightly confusing but ultimately lovely experience. Come to think of it, that’s not unlike hiking.

Before I left, I made sure to drive past the lake and take in the entry point to the Appalachian Trail itself. They’re typically well cared for sites, clearly marked as being part of the Appalachian Trail system, with the signs usually carved into wood and accompanied by a tree or post marked with the ‘white blaze’ symbol that let’s hikers stay on the right path. In a lot of ways, the open trail is like the open road. You can start down it and not know where you’ll wind up, even if you have a map close at hand. Destinations shift with the movement of people (or trees as the case may be). There is always, though, the clear sense of a new horizon. We need those. Oh well, enough philosophizing. Until next time, stay caffeinated.

the entrance…

the grand dining room…

the ideals…

sneaking around the back…

the pond and the trail…

Happy Coffee Day! Yes, that’s what today is, so that’s why I’m posting this now…two weeks or so from when I actually made the journey to this place that rocked my caffeinated world. Visiting this cafe was the culmination point of a long-planned road trip. The destination was Chambersburg, PA, and while the town isn’t known as a vacation spot nationwide, there’s a case to be made that it really should be. OK, so there are no beaches and such; it’s nestled between two ridge lines surrounding the Cumberland Valley and is a town you go through on the way south if you don’t want to take I-95. It is, however, a center of Pennsylvania historical preservation and with good reason. Before and during the Civil War, the town was a major stop on the Underground Railroad. Free blacks lived there in large number, and famous anti-slavery activist John Brown himself stayed there in the summer of 1859 while planning his raid on Harper’s Ferry. Their actions helped to continue the American Revolution towards its still-overdue endpoint of civil rights and civil liberties for all. Needless to say, this was a good time to visit.

I came upon Brussel’s Cafe by pure happenstance. I was going to the town anyhow and before I left my dad said “Hey, maybe you’ll find a coffeehouse to write about.” I acted all cool like “Yeah you bet, that’s why I’m going.” Unfortunately I had totally forgotten the fact that I had no idea where to get coffee in Chambersburg and would be half asleep during the drive home. Well, a quick map search produced the Brussel’s Cafe.  It’s like the apostrophe in the Pagan’s MC. It just kinda lives there. The owner, Alex, kinda seems to live there too. He’s lived a lot of places around the world, including his home in Brussels Belgium, after which the cafe is named. That’s where the history of Brussel’s Cafe begins. A cart full of coffee being wheeled around Brussels by his great-grandmother in 1846 was the genesis point for the cafe. Those are some deep roots, but then again coffeehouse culture in Europe has very deep roots indeed. When I started out this blog I had firmly in my mind the ideal of a coffee house. It’s supposed to be a gathering place of friends; also a center for strains of intellectual thought to brew and a haven both in the town and of the town. Brussel’s Cafe checks all the boxes.

The owner is only too happy to share the story of how the coffeehouse came to be, but it wasn’t just a story that I got this time, rather a guided tour of the place which held some interesting secrets. The cafe is located right next to a red brick alleyway which, in good European fashion, is being turned into an outdoor sitting area, with plans to decorate it with…well I’ll leave a few surprises. One thing I’ll disclose is the presence of a red phone box from England, so if you’re like me and enjoy a good Doctor Who flashback be sure to check that box perched atop the pavement. Chambersburg itself has a bit of an Old World feel, so that only adds to the effectiveness of the project to turn this little portion of the street into a haven for human contact amidst a bustling burg.

Back to the coffee. Unfortunately I was warned after the fact that I had chosen my coffee wrong. I got my usual house blend that I tend to use as a litmus test. Apparently they make a point of producing craft lattes to order. Oops. I’ll have to remember that. The coffee itself is a single source roast from Belo Horizonte in Brazil, which is where Alex met his business partner and a pipeline of fresh coffee was formed between South America and Pennsylvania. South American coffee is generally rich and often earthy. It can be either really rough and overpowering or it can be the height of smoothness. This was specifically a breakfast roast so I didn’t know how this would play out. Oh, the art. Yes, you can tell it’s special. Now, Brazil is the supplier of a third of the world’s coffee, so when we talk about Brazilian coffee we could be talking about the source of any of the mainstream, mass-produced brands. This was not those brands. This coffee is locally sourced exclusively from one specific area and the care put into the terroir (the ‘place-ness’ of the farm, a term long used in the wine industry but equally applicable to all agriculture) was telling. If the place were you grow something is unique, the thing that you grow will be unique. This coffee was uniquely buttery and smooth. There was a hint of nuttiness, but the airy floral taste that I just could not place is what really makes the tongue want to dance. I can only imagine what the latte must be like.

I’m coming back here for Halloween and Christmas. Those are the two times of year when Alex said that the place really shines and I believe him. Every Halloween the interior is covered in orange decor, and on Christmas they bring in a 20 foot tree and have rides and activities for the kids. If there’s one thing that says ‘magic’ to me, it’s that image of a continental Christmas with frost-rimed windows and beautifully baroque decoration. I have high hopes that Brussel’s Cafe will been an eruption of that beauty into the Central Pennsylvania holiday season. Until next time, stay caffeinated.

the sign and flag…

the promise…

the history…

the alley…

the perspective…

the phone…

OK now this was one of those chance encounters that makes travel travel. My review here is going to be kind of short because this coffeehouse was not in fact a coffeehouse. If my layout looks a little different for this post, that’s because I switched back to the “classic” editor for this site. It doesn’t automatically take you to the classic anymore; WordPress wants you to use this odd “block” system for editing because it’s new and new is always better and sarcasm is hopefully obvious. The traditionalist in me was quite vexed needless to say. Anyhow, feel free to comment if you see anything that looks vaguely off-putting and I’ll try to fix it this weekend. OK, on to the story!

Maya Organica is a single-region, small-batch coffee roasting company that I would never have known existed if it hadn’t been for a drive down Linglestown Road outside (you guessed it) Linglestown, PA. There was a small local crafts festival going on and Maya Organica was set up in a temporary stall on the outskirts, and the folks working here were busily packaging up bags of craft coffee for the late-August crowd. The organization is actually based out of Harrisburg but there’s a lot of travel between here and Guatemala being undertaken by the co-owners of the business. That would be David (pronounced da-VEED) and his family. He is himself Guatemalan and a former humanitarian aid worker. Fitting then than Maya Organica is staunchly fair trade and environmentally conscious in its production values. Getting back to basics (and by ‘basics’ I mean not screwing over planet Earth or workers) is highest on their list of priorities.

I got their Highland Huehue. By ‘got’ I mean I bought half a pound of it since they weren’t actually brewing individual cups on site. This was a totally organic Arabica coffee that was situated right at the middle of their light-to-dark spectrum. Like most Arabicas this is rather intense and acidic, but in a mellow way. There’s the often-present nutty flavor that Arabica is also known for, but in the case of the Highland Huehue the nutty flavor wasn’t overwhelming whatsoever. Except on on bouquet. Smelling it in your cupboard, the nutty intensity is there (and makes a nice background scent for coffee lovers), but as I said it’s an intensity with decidedly ’rounded edges’ once actually brewed through a coffee filter. It makes a great, solid go-to coffee for everyday drinking and I’m looking forward to trying their other options.

Problem is, I have no idea when the next little ‘pop up’ event will be that will include this coffee-shop-on-the-fly. I know I’ll be looking them up to place an order sometime soon, but I’ll also be looking along the side of the road as I travel about this fall. If you see a coffee stall with a man and woman who look like they’re having too much fun being way too busy, stop by for a bag of beans.

the greeting…

the beans…

the painting…

the lineup…

the super safe staff…

That’s right. Not the farmer’s daughter’s but rather the farmers daughters’. Plural. This coffee shop is the months-old brainchild of two sisters name Jen and Michelle in New Bloomfield, PA. You might recognize the name of the town; I reviewed another coffeehouse in New Bloomfield a few months ago. I have a bit of a confession to make: I was close to not even reviewing either coffeehouse here. This town is kind of a secret; it’s not a trendy hipster hotspot and honestly I dread it becoming one. Right now the whole area has the serene ambiance of backwoods America that’s becoming harder and harder to find. This coffeehouse is a cornerstone of that calm.

When I walked into Farmers Daughters, the first thing I noticed wasn’t the coffee, but the decor. The cafe itself is built into a large, old stone home and the interior is artistically done in a style that I can best call…ultra-feminine minimalism? Flowers, vases, and signs written in pretty cursive, but it was all so tasteful and elegant. Someone here is a spot-on interior decorator, and when I go back, I aim to figure out who it is. Though from the outside it’s the apparent deep history of the house itself that draws they eye, and I plan on learning more its story someday.

Now, the coffee itself was a new twist on something familiar: Denim Coffee. You are correct sirs and madams, that’s the very same local roaster that set up shop down in Carlisle years ago (and which I reviewed years ago). It’s actually a well-known local independent operation here in southern Pennsylvania, and that’s for a good reason. It’s categorically excellent. Out of the last string of coffeehouses I reviewed, this one takes the prize for most artfully done coffee. It was a Columbian medium roast that I had, and that thing was rich and butter-smooth, with shockingly well-balanced acidity. I don’t know what their particular brewing technique is there, but these ladies truly nailed it.

The best part of this cafe though in my mind is the garden-party feel. The large building has a lovely patio in the back with plenty of seating space for people; when I was there, it was host to a group of teens who were decidedly not thrilled about going back to school. There’s a coziness to that space which again speaks to the skill and soul of the people who pieced together this little country haven.

I honestly do hope that this kind of coffeehouse culture winds its way further into the mountains. When coffeehouses hit a saturation point in the cities they began the inevitable path towards being self-referential. Yes, I laid out in the beginning of this blog many years ago some of the ‘big ideas’ that make a coffeehouse what it is. However, that artistic spirit can and should express itself in an array of forms. Art must never become orthodoxy and this unorthodox little bastion of artistry (both in coffee-crafting and handicrafting) is worth the trip into the woods.

outside signage…

elegant exterior…

interior signage…

the menu(s)…

the art…

the great outdoors…

OK, so, this review is long overdue. Presently, I’m sitting about three weeks from when I actually visited this coffeehouse. I’m also presently sitting on my bed, thinking about the loss of a dear uncle which took place less than 24 hours ago. There’s nothing like writing to take your mind off of things, so I figured this would be a good time to type a review following a week that was far more busy than I had anticipated. Expect more posts and quicker ones soon though as I’ll be doing a lot of driving around small-town Pennsylvania over the next few months. These days I’m taking a smoke-em-if-you-got-em approach to civil liberties. Let’s just say I’ve become a lot more grateful for any freedom over the past few months. You all know what I mean.

This particular coffeehouse was on my itinerary for a while because of its remoteness. Middle Creek Cafe is in town of Middleburg, PA. The town is technically a crossroads; the meeting place of main routes 522 and 104 (which are two roads that take you from anywhere to anywhere if you’re west of the Susquehanna Valley). Having a coffee shop here makes incredible sense, and I’m happy to see that logic prevailed by situating this place right at the center of town.

From the outside, the cafe looks rather like a diner. Then again, almost every restaurant in the mountains of Pennsylvania seems to take the appearance of a family diner or dive bar. As I stepped up the wooden stairs and into the dining room, it still looked like a diner, complete with restaurant-style tables. I was starting to think that the interior was even a little spartan, until I turned my eyes to either side of the ordering counter. There’s no way to describe what a horde of meticulously carved wood animals and figures ‘looks like’ so I took copious photographs. The woman who runs the joint, Connie, told me it was her own son that did this startlingly beautiful woodwork. Obviously this cozy little den is a family affair as much as is is a business. In fact, this business doesn’t once feel like one, but rather like an extension of someone’s house, from the moment you see the words of faith and encouragement on the walls, to the lingering scents of country breakfast on the way out.

The coffee I had was a medium roast; they told me it was an Arabian blend and boy did it show its pedigree. It had that sharp, acidic taste that Arabica does give. I’d use the word ‘airy’ to describe it. It’s the kind of coffee you get when you’re on the go and need something simple but solid to fuel you for the road ahead. Apropos for a shop located halfway to anywhere. They aspire to be a better option than truck stop coffee and they succeed on multiple levels. Granted, you won’t find the trappings of hipster life out here. No indie bands play on a stage here and bohemia seems confined to high school drama clubs. Yet, there is art here, as the gorgeous wood carvings and hand-painted signs attest. This is a good place to go. Even if you’re just on your way to someplace else. 

the sign…

the patio…

the artisan…

the ambiance…