Outer (and every) Borough Starbucks Reconsidered

This is part reprint of an earlier piece, re-thought, rewritten, re-edited and reconsidered, 'cause basically I'm through with Starbucks, now and forever.

The Bronx Starbucks I talked about in a previous post is still a neighborhood joint, no other way to describe it. 

There still are walk-able shops in the vicinity, a supermarket, shoe repair, hardware store, tax preparer, optometrists, pharmacists, lawyers, dentists and other real services. If need be, you could survive without a car by just doing everything on foot here. But it might also mean using iceberg lettuce in your salad on occasion as there are not a plethora of gourmet markets and nary a Whole Foods in sight- that also being the nice part at times.

Cooking at home however still is not the only option. The neighborhood continues to have a slew of restaurants, none of them great, but several tolerable and one or two good. There are at least four varieties of Asian in addition to Mexican, Spanish, Greek, Italian, Irish, kosher, real pizza a la the Bronx, a couple of  diners, two soft serve yogurts, and a Jewish delicatessen- one of the last in the city.

Since I wrote the original piece, a new, more upscale coffee cafe has opened as well, and the brew, I have to admit, is superior; however the space is small and a bit weird with a staircase to another smallish area, so you can't really hang out though you can enjoy a quick cup, and maybe a little pastry to go with. Best of all- barring the coffee places of course- the restaurants all deliver and you can order Chinese food at nine o'clock at night if the yen so grabs you, in contrast to what often goes or does not go on elsewhere in the country. Speaking of which, to date the neighborhood is still extremely diverse, racially, ethnically, spiritually and cosmically, so the kind of incident that has been in the news of late regarding a possible racist incident at a Starbucks somewhere elsewhere more likely than not just would not happen here.

Minutes from the glamour and lure of “downtown”, which is how we usually refer to the borough of Manhattan from the Bronx, this outer borough Starbucks still seems to be having none of that. To begin, although it sits on a sunny corner, the windows as always remain noticeably dirty, which doesn’t make the afternoon pick-me-up of a double shot of whipped grande mocha shmoka seem so very romantic. It is not trendy. 

Once inside however, you still smell the signature, acrid brew of the famous brand and for some strange reason feel comforted. Mercifully this is not nor ever will be the Upper West Side. The demographic is more relaxed, no Manhattan Masters & Mistresses of the Universe, at least not as yet although lately "they" from those other boroughs have been making inroads; it's all about the rent these days. For now though, you don't feel like you're interviewing for a job when you order your "tall" small. Exceptionally weird as in scary characters hanging about are at a minimum too. There usually is a line depending on the hour, and a bunch of students, retirees, baby strollers and one or two roaming toddlers doing their cute toddling thing and telling their mommies what they wish to order, but clearly this location is neighborhood all the way. After three the teachers come in from all around, exhausted, and few eighth graders from the Catholic school across the street.

Not a destination Starbucks, many of the customers are noticeably scruffy, shlumping around in sneakers and old sweat pants. The barristas are still kids working after school. There is not a whole lot of cache or élan. And as it happens it is not always so sunny these days. 
   
Outside facing the store a couple of benches might be taken up at a certain time of day by health aides and their charges, these helpers screaming into their phones as seen through the large windows like watching a silent movie. Occasionally, like very rarely and usually in the summer, a couple of tourists will have made their way uptown to this most northern reach and are huddling close together at the window, intently poking at their GPS and wondering how they got here.

This still is sounding dangerously like a somewhat suspect riff on “Our Town,” Bronx style, but please rest assured the neighborhood is more urban than ever, real and gritty, yet like Grovers Corners, people are friendly for the most part. There are smart phones and laptops everywhere, not enough free time, no one marries the boy next door, and subways, buses, highways and uncommonly large public schools all loom within earshot. 

When I first penned the piece, I concluded it on a light note, which verbatim went as follows: So please keep this information to yourself- the place does not wish to be discovered. Then again, would anyone really want to venture up to this northern tip of the city to chance a lukewarm, thin cappuccino foam? So go tell whomever you want. No problem. It’s the Bronx. 

Now however I feel quite differently about the whole thing and in truth am  really pissed, not just with this place, but with all Starbucks, in every hamlet and metropolis, everywhere in the entire world. For in addition to their overpriced cups of burnt Joe- the uneven quality of which we tend to ignore because of the "scene" and plethora of outlets by which to plug in- and now of course the appearance of a kind of insidious corporate racism regarding what constitutes perceived paying customers at one of their locations somewhere, they've actually crossed another very big line as well. It's a line that pushes this chain a little too far over to Big Coffee Fascism for my taste, and clearly discriminates against non-addicts, or those simple souls who crave decaf (think the company's bottom line- addicts tend to come back more often and buy more coffee).

You see, they- i.e. the many and all Starbucks, yes all of them-  no longer serve brewed decaf, ever, period. This is what they told me. Company directive. If you're going that route you have to settle for something resembling tepid brown water. First they limited the caffeine free brewed elixir to "before 1:00" then slowly moved it back to "before 11:00" before eliminating it altogether.

The dismal result is that now if you don't wish to speed along with dilated pupils and trembling hands on the brand's unique shots of bitter, highly caffinated and addictive brown effusion, you have to settle for something sans caffeine called "a pour over" (a watery swill that also takes forever to prepare as it painstakingly, slowly drips into the cup- thus a double whammy) or a joke called "decaf Americano" (an even more bitter, contemporary version of instant coffee a la the 1950's that is equally and possibly even more horrible, given the lack of flavor combined with price).

And so recently I have acquainted myself with a new, admittedly less glamorous though much more predictible and reliable pick-me-up "go to" that has a lot of potential, yes, the very one and the same Dunkin' Donuts.  It's the newer, re-branded version of the original from times of yore, the resuscitated ol' purveyor of mainly sugary confections for kids' parties and chintzy work conferences whose signs now annoyingly dot almost all of the landscape everywhere because they have upped their game, spiffed up the logo, smoothed out their beans and want your business.


I will expound in much greater detail on the many, many charms (and pitfalls)  of this more down to earth, coffee bean valhalla next week, so stay tuned!