Local 123

The Nitty Gritty

Location: 2049 San Pablo

Hours: Mon-Sat 7am-10:30pm, Sun 7am-5pm

Java: $2.25 (house espresso) - $4.25 (large mocha)

My cappuccino was very pretty, and the mugs have a perfect weight to them. It tasted lovely, but was more of a latte than a cappuccino. The nice leaf pattern you see was the extent of the foam.


Goodies: I forgot to write down prices, but maybe S'Bastard can help me out. He said the morning buns were WAY better than Semifreddi's

Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner: Again, forgot to write down prices (I have failed you pleaseforgivemeeeee), but there were hard boiled eggs for something like sixty cents, then some artisan sandwiches in the $5-7 range.

Credit cards: Jawohl.

WiFi: Free as the wind

Power outlets: A cornucopia of them.

Bathroom: Why do I even put this here? Every place has a bathroom, and I rarely go in there to check it out for you. Because apparently I'm also a Thoughtless Bitch.

Seating: As usual, I went for comfort. This cafe has a couch and easy chair that are *actually* nice. Not just comfortable, but also probably nicer and cleaner than what you have at home (if I have correctly assessed the demographic of my readers). Also a long narrow row of small tables and chairs. Also a patio, which I will discuss later.

Music: I think maybe hipsters like the stuff they were playing. I didn't really know what to do with it. It was all over the place. Like, some indie rock, then some Hawaii-inspired-50s-inspired-contemporary something that for whatever reason made me feel kind of offended, or like I was missing something. And I'm not just saying that so y'all won't think I'm a hipster. I honestly didn't get it.

Ambient noise: Almost none.

Temperature: You can probably count on this place pretty accurately reflecting the temperature outside, since one entire wall is like a giant glass garage door. Today the sun was out and it was open to the street, but I can't imagine it insulates very well when it's chilly out. At least it looks really shiny and cool.

Parking: Some side streets off San Pablo have unrestricted parking (just watch for street sweeping signs)

Bicycle parking: Settle for a signpost, and lock all detachable parts.

Biggest pro: I had planned to stay here all day and switch from caffeine to alcohol at some point, but ended up wandering off in favor of a friend's cozy cottage. The opportunity to stay put and get stimulants and depressants in the same venue would be a pretty sweet pro, though.

Biggest con: I definitely got the vibe that I didn't really belong here. Not sure why, because I loved the space. I just felt like everyone there thought they were cooler than me, although I totally disagreed with them. Even S'mug Bastard knows he isn't cooler than me, and he's a smug bastard.

Recommended for: Delicious flying goat coffee. I hear the morning buns are also fab.

Not recommended for: Talking with your non-hipster friends about non-hipster things. The regulars might kill you with their bare spite. Is it just me, or did the word 'spite' just get a lot cooler? Spite would be an awesome name for a weapon. What would it look like? "Back off, attacker. I have a spite and I know how to use it."

Actually on second thought, let's go here sometime and do dramatic readings of Going Rogue. We could pretend we're taking it seriously and see what happens!

______

I'd characterize this place as industrial-chic. Like, if people who actually had money lived in lofts, they would probably look like this. It's an urban photographer's dream (not to self: ask if they want to display some of my photographs sometime). There are pillars made of those big metal beams that you always see on cartoons when people chase each other through a construction site, and of course as soon as they run onto the beam, a crane lifts it up and they don't even notice they're three stories up until they run off the end and have time to look at you with "OH SHIT" eyes before gravity kicks in. (Please excuse the run-on sentence. I blame my students, whose papers I just spent three solid days grading.) But these weren't orange like they are in cartoons. They're the colors of actual oxidizing metal; all the silvery cool colors, adorned by flowery orange patches of rust.

The back courtyard has mismatched furniture, some of it in-your-face fire-engine red. The lower part of the walls is red brick, with potted plants and a battered watering can sitting on top. The rest of the way up (and it's a looong way up) is concrete, with black city grit creeping up it irregularly.

In summary, the place made me want to wax poetic and take pictures of it, more than it made me want to hang out there. I've been meaning to start bringing a camera along, at the behest of our friend S'Mug Strumpet The Burninator, but the best I can do for today is some camera phone snapshots.

I wished I could've taken some pictures under the tables without seeming like a creeper, because the footwear present seemed to sum up who was at this cafe. Flip-flops, hiking boots, dusty leather clogs, beat-up black tennies, and a couple with matching crocs. Seriously? Barf.

Wow, I'm judging this place so hard. People seem to love it. I think I can see why, but it's not my scene. Maybe I was just in a foul mood since I had a million papers to grade. 

This post is already too long, so no rant today. Instead, here's a sweet shot of a wound I gave myself doing something awesome:

Ten points to anyone who guesses how I got it.