The Coffee Shop with a Twist

Javits — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 00:31:59 EDT

I love coffee. And you guessed it I love coffee shops. Houston boasts, if perhaps I don’t know any better, one of the most coffee-shop congregated ‘happy’ areas; caught somewhere between, behind and beside Westheimer road and Montrose road. I don’t know I guess it’s the whole atmosphere. You know writers, fellow artisans, geeks and normal people like coffee shops.

I’m usually a traditional Starbucks kind of a person, but they are getting expensive these days. And the music sucks at Starbucks, most of the time, depends though on who the store manager is, and what kind of genre she or he likes. There are so many restrictions; you don't get juice blends, humus or mango chutney. And then one is sort of forced to get into this never ending loop of double espresso shots with chai, yes you read that right. Or else it’s the green tea latte, or simply some ice cold passion tea.

My roommate invited me to join him and his friend to go to this particular Café called Café Agora. I had been there before, but never on a Wednesday night. The place is crowded, anytime of the day when it’s open. If I had to go there, I wouldn’t go for all the imported ale at the bar, not for the European-like effect they try to arouse, not to cozy up on the lounge upstairs, not because the people behind the counter are extra courteous than their Starbucks counterparts – or pause till you drop the tip in the tip jar, not to watch what I call football, or get into a chatty mood with all the nice people who hang out there, well maybe the last one. But the main attraction, yeah you guessed it again, Coffee, duh! They carry lots of coffee blends for 2 bucks, and refill for 50 cents; not bad. So, the unsuspecting me tags along to go.

We arrive at the place. More friends are to join us soon. I am handed my empty mug, and there’s ‘double bean’, ‘Texas Pecan’ but I go for the Hazelnut. Three cubes of brown sugar. I’m off to the chairs, trying to slowly grasp all the images, the ‘classic’ photographs and Egyptian hieroglyphs and ankh, my art class finally coming into some use, yet again. Hip art, magazines, American and Indian gypsies. “Oh its intoxicating, I love it, I love this place, I love the music”, my friend who’s about to leave Houston for good in 20 days exclaims, realizing how much he has missed in all those days - actually studying in Houston. Friends arrive. The place is packed. I’m trying to get the women sitting next to me, to move to a different angle, so we might have more space. She’s not willing to budge. She’s talking something about dancing. I’m thinking she must be crazy. My roommate apologizes to her and says, “That’s alright, we can manage”.

What's the big deal with all this sudden surge of population in the cafe? “It’s going to be special”, one of the friends tell me. I don't realize what he’s talking about until the music starts to change into this really contemporary Arabic music and out pop the belly dancers. Belly dancers at a Coffee shop, really?

Desicritics Author: Javits

The Coffee Shop with a Twist