Due to the war, the local public radio station has postponed its pledge drive so that the people can have full access to National Public Radio’s coverage. In between the music and reports throughout the day there are spots during the “underwriting” announcements reminding us that though the pledge drive has been postponed, you may still contribute at the website, wwno.org. One of the voices that doe this is local philanthropist Phyllis Jordan, owner of PJ’s Coffee and Tea.

People may think that if one were to embark on a treatise about the coffee shops and cafes of New Orleans then the Cafe Du Monde would be the centerpiece of the tract. This, however would fail to take into account one characteristic of New Orleans that is either endearing or enraging depending on one’s disposition, the author agrees with the latter. That is, that New Orleans is segregated into a huge network of microcosmic as well as macrocosmic neighborhoods, the borders of which are often not exactly clear. Given that the Cafe Du Monde does not exist in my microcosmic neighborhood, I think I’ll just pass on it as not important enough in keeping with the tradition of neighborly animosity that thrives in this town. Thus, the Cafe Du Monde is to be scoffed at.

There is, of course, the great franchised example of Sartren philosophy, Starbucks. It rears its head in my neighborhood is a sign that no one can escape certain manifestations of the American dream, especially one’s that pop up on every corner. I’m sure that the coffee shop that Sartre sipped his succor was secure in its sense of fashionable superiority. Did owners then feel the need, as so many do today, to take a good thing and duplicate it at every intersection in France? Such a move would ignore the modern law of coolness: it is exclusive, not inclusive, new, not duplicated. The problem is that this law rung contrary to the law of profit. It is because of this that they are cool.

But the main question concerning Starbucks is, does it pass my muster as a good coffee shop? The qualifications, in part, are as follows.

1. Most importantly, it must serve its coffee in ceramic mugs unless the customer specifically asks for it “to go.”

2. It should have places to sit where I don’t feel like I’m on display for every yokel who thinks they want to stare, but am able to see what’s going on myself.

3. It follows from 2 that the people must be interesting to gawk at since it’s the main reason I go anywhere, especially a coffee shop, as I don’t even like coffee that much.

4. I must feel I’m personally superior to everyone else in attendance. Due to great hubris, this is the easiest of all criteria to fill.

Starbucks…the last time I walked in I was actual carrying a go-cup from C&C’s coffee down the street. This was a power play on my part. I almost never attend the C&C’s by my house because it’s basically a hallway with two tables on the inside. This hardly gives room to fulfill requirement 3 or 4. They have seats out on the busy sidewalk, in blatant violation of requirement 2. Because of this fact, they often serve their beverages in go-cups so no one will walk off with the good stuff when they get outside. To top it off, the view from the sidewalk is romantic enough, being on the streetcar line, until you look past to see the closed Burger King across the way. This hardly inspires one to do what needs to be done in a coffee shop, that is, solve the great philosophical quandaries of our time. As for me feeling better than everyone there…well, every place has its good points.

On that particular day the coffee tasted burnt, so I was even more disgruntled. But to bring the cup of a competitor into Starbucks and not order anything was just my way of sticking it to this coffee shop, which is so prevalent that the spellchecker on my computer recognizes it as valid. I’m normally tidy and clean up after myself, but given the nature of my mission, I made sure to leave the cup on the table, face out, still half-full of burnt coffee.

In my experience, getting a ceramic mug is hit or miss at Starbucks, depending on whether the attendant has yet realized that the more go-cups s/he uses, the less dishes there are to be done. I often carry my backpack, which has affixed to it a “Mug Award” pin given to me by a former Starbucks employee-awarded for outstanding service. I display it prominently, trying my best to draw attention to it without actually referring to it with speech. By doing this, I always feel I should get special attention, like I deserve a ceramic mug. After all what good’s a Mug Award if you can’t even get a mug? Then I’m handed a paper cup as if I had just ordered a five-dollar gas station coffee and am sent packing. So much for rule number 1.

The Starbucks on Maple Street is meticulously arranged so that every table is in plain view from the outside. The front of the place is one large crescent window, arranged like a zoo exhibit of existential angst, the setting only simulating the coffee shops that appear in nature. Upon walking in, the first thought that (appears in my head) is usually, “Man! I’m better than all these people,” I arrange my backpack on my shoulder so that my pin faces the maximum amount of people-to drive the point home. Thus Starbucks greatly fulfills regulation 4. Because regulation 4 is fulfilled so (well), the disdainful attitude I take toward the patrons gives requirement 2 some strength at Starbucks. But on the whole Starbucks must fail the test. Even if it fulfilled all the requirements, it is still evil because it is a national, nay worldwide chain and by default is to be shunned.

Therefore half a block away is PJ’s Coffee and Tea. I often hear the proprietress Phyllis Jordan during the public radio drive giving away free gift certificates to those calling in with new pledges. Her philanthropy counts in her favor for public relations, but how do the actual coffee houses measure up? More importantly how does the one located down the street from my house measure up?

When I first moved here PJ’s was the hippest coffee dive within walking distance of my place. Phyllis Jordan was a hero, having given the people what they wanted, a place to go and feel important. But hippness is a commodity that takes a lot of maintenance, without continual care it seizes like a poorly lubricated engine, and is gone. At the beginning of my relationship with PJ’s I was able to go in and get a nice ceramic mug of coffee, no questions asked, and sit in a corner in quiet observation of the patrons (who were of the highest caliber of fashion). The workers were of a bohemian streak, serving the requisite caffeine with a flick of the wrist reserved for an expert, Phyllis Jordan was to be respected.

One of the shift managers working there lived in my building and attended Burning Man yearly to keep up to date on her credentials for being on the in. But such festivals are only as drawing as they are exclusive, and for the past two years I have heard reports about Burning Man on NPR, hardly the cutting edge of the alternative. For it to appear on public radio is a bad as Phyllis Jordan selling(out) her wares for the Public Radio pledge drive. Though Public Radio is leftist,(as any respectable coffee shop would be as well) it is not near enough on the low down for the deep longing, especially in this town, to have a place you can clue people in which is secretive and exclusive. Once again the great modern law of coolness.

The posh shift manager moved on to the Faubourg Marigny, a more artistic neighborhood at the time, and PJ’s was left in the doldrums. The past few times I have walked in I have noticed the associates were of a more fraternity oriented nature. They never give ceramic mugs anymore, and I don’t have any special awards to even try to get clout, more’s the pity. Lately every time you ask to get the drink “for here” they have been replying that they were out of cups. Even more recently they don’t even bother to say that, they just give a knowing smirk and hand you the Styrofoam cup. The go-cups not even being environmentally friendly is a further detraction from the “in the know” reputation of the place.

The last time I went in Rebecca ordered a Chai and specifically asked for it “for here.” “We only have one cup, and it’s chipped.” Said the young man behind the counter as he brushed off his yellow polo shirt. I stepped back in anticipation of what was to come, her strategy had been laid out far in advance.
“Yeah? Let me see the glass.” Her lack of belief and questioning of authority dumbfounded him. Such brashness is usually reserved for the more cutting edge coffee shops that would never deign to hire him as an employee. He hesitantly backed away reaching behind himself to grab the glass.

“See here’s the crack,” he said, pointing to a fictitious hairline fracture over the handle.

“That’s fine, I’ll take it.” She wasn’t going to let him get out of washing the dishes that day. What kind of coffee shop has only one glass? I vowed never to return.

The Rue de la Course replaced PJ’s in its attractiveness to the young and elite in a not so slow and subtle way. It began in the more artsy parts of town, buying crumbling buildings, doing little repair, and opening coffee shops where one felt that just by sitting long enough the muse would strike and intellectual pensiveness would descend from the heavens.

When Kinko’s closed down on Oak Street, the owners of the Rue saw a 19th century bank building waiting for the takeover. They converted it into a half coffee shop half yoga room. How much more in vogue can you get? For much later I the night than the other coffee shops are open, you can see people with their laptops working endlessly on apparently important matters. If one sits in the upstairs smoking section along the edge railing one can get a perfect view of all the intrigue acted out down below, as if from the front center balcony seat at the theater (criteria 2 and 3). They always serve coffee in ceramic mugs unless otherwise asked (criteria 1), and a fair portion of the servers have blue hair. Certainly they are yearly spirited off to some underground festival, the likes of which I have never heard. The amount of posturing, furrowing, puffing, and seeming stoic solitude always makes for interesting observation.

There in only one last thing to worry about. In such a posh atmosphere, can I possibly maintain my sense of overbearing smugness and insolent arrogance? The trick is to use reason like the whore it is, and what a whore: treat it right and it will do anything you ask. Already the Rue is on its way out. This is made evident by the fact that not only has it branched into multiple locations, but it has a location Uptown where I live. How can people who take fashion so seriously, yet who fail to do the proper research be better than me? It seems that if they were so in the know that they would know how to avoid the likes of such an out of touch has been.

This reason ultimately fails however, because it assumes that there are people out there who are better than I am and this does not bode well. I must then proceed to the opposite extreme, which entails not lack of research, but the lack of experience of life so common to the flowering youth that frequent the Rue. Though I feel fifty years old when I walk in the place, my age gives me pause to consider that I have grown through such youthful displays as I see before me. All the tight pants, flashy retro cloths, and up to date technology holds little in the way of comfort to me. I now see much of it as a necessary part of life to be passed through.

Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth…there is nothing new under the sun. As I walk into the Rue I stroke my comb-over the way a youth strokes his goatee, the difference being that the goatee is grown by a youth who needs it to show that he is a man, while one earns one’s baldness through true aging, and when a comb-over is brushed it emits nothing but security, and maturity.

Am I better than everyone at the Rue? How can I not be?!

Phillip G.

Literature