Coffee In Cambridge

I had come for bicerin.

(It’s pronounced “bee-chair-een.”)

It’s apparently like mocha, except with the coffee-to-chocolate ratio flipped and a name that would throw off all but the most dedicated Brooklyn hipsters. It sounded awesome.

But the barista at the cafe counter of Area Four didn’t know what it was. I pulled up the menu on my phone and sheepishly held the screen up to her. She said, “Well, we don’t have whipped cream here” — the thing asked for whipped cream — “but you could check with the bar if they have it.”

I didn’t want the awkwardness of getting carded for an espresso drink. I was, after all, an 18-year-old who didn’t have a driver’s license yet. I took a mocha instead of the bicerin.

“That’ll be four dollars,” the barista said, “Sorry, I didn’t know we served that.” In her defense, ninety minutes ago, I didn’t know anyone served that. I handed her a five-dollar bill, and she handed me a one-dollar bill. I guess I wasn’t the only one who hated carrying spare change.

I stepped back, now painfully aware that I may have cut a five-person line. I looked around and studied the decor. Raised tables lined the glass outer walls that gave an unobstructed view of the construction on Cambridge’s Main Street. Lights hung above the tables, encased in what looked like beer mugs. In the middle of the room sat two long wooden tables, flaunting their imperfections under clear varnish, surrounded by short metal chairs, and populated by empty ceramic cups covered in coffee foam. To my right were some drawings of 19th-century coffeemakers etched into fogged glass — and a bench. With a twenty-something woman sitting on one end.

Whoops.

I sat down and said, vaguely in the direction of the twenty-something and her Apple EarPods, “I haven’t gotten used to these trendy cafes.”

To my surprise, she responded. “Oh, they’re not that bad…”

With a shy laugh, I said, “Yeah, in my hometown, the fanciest thing around is Dunkin’ Donuts,” as my coffee arrived.

The cup was filled to the brim and, although it was paper (for some reason), it had no lid. Instead, I was treated to a leaf pattern adorning the coffee foam. I gingerly carried the cup to one of the long wooden tables and took a seat. I hoped this coffee was worth its price, unlike the $5.30 latte I once bought from the Starbucks in South Station.

The mocha didn’t taste chocolatey, but it didn’t taste like a plain latte either. Two years ago, I would have taken a Whole-Foods-brown sugar packet from the corner opposite the counter. But I took another sip instead, as soft reggae music mingled with the conversations filling the small-but-not-claustrophobic room.

In front of me was a woman with rounded horn-rimmed glasses. She looked older, like she grew up with the ‘70s interior design that this cafe paid homage to. Beside her lay one of those empty ceramic cups covered in coffee foam, and between us stood a mound of papers. One paper showed a chart of IRA plans. Another was from a notepad with “Walt Disney World” printed on the top in looping calligraphy. The woman with the rounded horn-rimmed glasses seemed busy, in an old-school pen-and-paper way.

To my left was another twenty-something. Her Macbook was open, but the screen was off. She was reading a book. I asked her what she was reading. She showed me the bright yellow cover. It was something about education and social change or something.

I said, “Oooh, that’s cool. So is it about how education could spark social change?”

She said, “Um, I don’t know. I just started reading it. I think it’s about education as an expression of freedom.”

That was exactly the subtitle on the bright yellow cover. I didn’t point that out.

I said, “Cool! Are you reading that for a class?”

“No, just for fun.”

With a shy laugh, I said, “Those are the best books!”

She laughed, too. She went back to her book. I went back to my coffee, noticing that she was already a third through the book. Wouldn’t that book have an introduction explaining what it was about? Shouldn’t she have a better understanding of what she read beyond a pithy line like “education as an expression of freedom?” What the hell does that even mean?

But this coffee was nice. Really nice. The soft reggae music had stopped. I wasn’t sure why.

“So are you just visiting?”

The woman with the rounded horn-rimmed glasses was no longer busy. She was talking to me. I jumped, my words flailing in confusion.

“Oh, uh…no, I work nearby…at Draper,” I stuttered, waving my arms vaguely in the direction of the building I worked at.

The woman with the rounded horn-rimmed glasses was unfazed. “Oh, okay. Did you know that Barack Obama was here with Michelle last February?”

I did not.

“Wow! Really?” I said.

“Yes, they sat right there,” she said as she pointed to a table on the other side of the restaurant, “They had pizza. The pizza’s really good here, and the desserts. I think Michelle wanted Barack to come here; she’s more the foodie.”

“Well, I should bring some friends next time for pizza,” I said, even though I could never do that.

“Definitely! But this place does get quite crowded. Sometimes you can’t even find a place to sit. But I think it’s quieter around lunch time,” she said. She was clearly a regular. Behind her, the five-person line at the cafe counter had expanded to perhaps ten or fifteen lunchtime coffee-drinkers standing beside one of the glass walls.

The woman with the rounded horn-rimmed glasses started packing up her papers. “Enjoy yourself,” she said.

By then, my paper coffee cup was empty. I waited for her to leave. Then I stood up, threw my coffee cup in the trash, and walked out of Area Four, reflecting on the people I saw and strangers I embarrassed myself in front of.

And I figured out why people pay exorbitant prices for fancy coffee.

You’re not really paying for the coffee. Sure, these trendy cafes are a step up from Dunkin’ Donuts, but mostly, you’re paying for everything around the coffee.

Because nobody drinks Dunkin’ coffee at Dunkin’. You walk in the door, you get your damn coffee in a portable cup, and you get the fuck out, because you’ve got places to go and shit to do. That’s why all the tables at Dunkin’ are small and plastic — why would you even sit there?

But at a Starbucks or an Au Bon Pain or at any trendy cafe, you slow down and stay a while. You bring your laptop, you sit on a comfortable seat, you admire the wood grain on your table, and you slowly drink your beautifully crafted espresso as you read a book, talk to a friend (or a stranger), or get some work done. That’s why you get pretty decor, relaxing music, and free WiFi. Your five dollars don’t pay for your coffee. They’re your admission ticket into a public office and living room, a place to find solitude, intimacy, and productivity among a sea of strangers. You aren’t at your office, suffocating in the gloom of cubicle life, and you aren’t at home, soothed into inaction by your comfy pajamas.

You’re here to get in the zone — for a mere five dollars.

You even get some coffee out of the deal.