Eggo Butter Pecan Syrup and me

The Eggo Butter Pecan syrup is finally gone. I bought it several months back at a Super Target. It was cheap, and I was pinching pennies. We seemed like the perfect match.

Except we weren't. Almost immediately I realized the error of my ways. True, I had saved money– Eggo Butter Pecan syrup was only a couple dollars for a family size bottle, but unless I planned on entertaining an army of hungry breakfasters for hotcakes on a Sunday morning, chances are I'd be eating all that sticky syrup by my lonesome. But the issue was much greater than that.

It's easy to blame it on refrigeration. Had Eggo Butter Pecan syrup been made of more natural ingredients the package would have dictated that it be kept below a certain temperature in order to avoid spoilage, and I would have had to find room in my refrigerator for it. An easy enough task. But the real problem for any food purchase that requires cold for its survival is maintaining face time once that item is placed in the refrigerator. In the recesses of my Darby fridge lies an assortment of condiments that weren't good enough to be consistently moved forward. Mustards. Barbecue sauces. Light cream cheeses. They linger in condiment obscurity, far from the forefront of my mind. So, when I'm in the grocery store with bagels and cream cheese on my mind, changes are I won't remember the one hiding out in the Darby.

But this is not the case with Eggo Butter Pecan syrup. Because it doesn't require refrigeration for its survival it is designated to the cupboard, where space is limited and snack items are in constant rotation. So it's given considerable placement, and therefore is top of mind when it comes to making breakfast selections. When I'm at the store I start to think that I shouldn't really buy cereal and yogurt because I have Eggo Butter Pecan syrup, so waffles would make a better choice.

I like butter pecan. Love it even. It's good stuff. And I think it was the "butter pecan" part of Eggo Butter Pecan syrup that really captured my imagination. I thought it sounded mighty delicious. But instead it was this sickly tasting ultra sweet concoction of high fructose corn syrup and artificial flavors. And I had 20 some servings of it left.

Waffles. Pancakes. A squirt in the oatmeal and cream of wheat. I decided to use it whenever I could and tough it out. True, I used pretty liberal amounts of it when it came to the pancakes and waffles, leaving most of it on the side of my plate to be washed down the drain when it came time to do dishes. But I gave it a good effort. Swallowed my pride. Put on my game face.

Well, the charade finally came to an end on Friday. It was the last squirt for Eggo Butter Pecan syrup. And I don't know if I've ever been so happy to throw a food item in the trash. From now on I was going to enjoy real maple syrup like never before. I'd use it sparingly and savor every little drop of it, thinking of Native Americans and Vermont and old time traditions of gathering sap.

But as Eggo Butter Pecan syrup fell from my hand to the heaping kitchen trash container I realized that like so much of my relationship with it, our separation wasn't going to be easy either. I would have to recycle it. Which means it will have another life someday. Or at least that's the hope, although hopefully as a more worthy product. I would find it highly depressing to know that it was going to spend eternity in a landfill. Because if I knew that its fate would consist of this I would have left it half full to say to the future citizens of the earth that back in the early 21st century not everyone was so fond of high fructose corn syrup and artificial flavorings on their pancakes. That some of us longed for real foods. But, with all the preservatives and half the bottle left, the future citizens of planet earth could try it out for themselves. I just hope it wouldn't taste nostalgic to them and remind them of the good old days. Back when high fructose corn syrup was still cheap and affordable and used in just about every mass produced food product known to man.

Netflix, I've learned to love you again and it feels like the first time

I was smitten in the beginning, and I was never fond of the video store. I remember Blockbuster sending me a notice. "For your convenience your credit card has been charged for your most recent rental and late fees." Gee, thanks Blockbuster. Convenience? There was nothing convenient about anything to do with that store. Movies were constantly checked out. Even finding DVDs in 2002/2003 was difficult. Like they thought VHS would never go away. Long live the tape. Netflix? Oh, that's just a fad.

Netflix treated its customers right from day one. No late fees. Pick the number of discs you want out at a time and pay a certain amount each month. They used to let you tell them when you sent back your movie and they would credit your account and send the next one. I always thought that was incredibly cool. You could make up for the mail delay and have a steady stream of movies being sent to you. But people must have abused that policy. Now Netflix has to physically receive a movie in order to release the next one in your queue. I don't blame them, but it took away part of the charm to get rid of that feature.

I've been a Netflix subscriber for about 10 years, although I took a year or two break somewhere in there. For the most part I've been very happy with the service. They almost always have what I'm looking for, and they're really good at getting a replacement disc out in the rare case a disc is unplayable, and they'll trust you if there's a disc lost in the mail, which has happened to me a couple of times. Although they usually end up showing up eventually.

The biggest problem I've had with Netflix has always been with the wait. It doesn't take that long, two or three days at most, but in that time my mood can change quite a bit. The documentary that sounded so good on a Sunday afternoon might end up seeming overly academic and about as attractive as Sunday's leftovers by Tuesday night. In the last couple of years Netflix solved this by introducing their Instant Viewing service. The problem was it only worked if you had a pc, and I'm a mac guy. In all the years of enjoying Netflix it was the only time that I actively looked for their customer service info to complain. Lots of people did. Eventually they introduced the Roku player, which for $99 you could hook up directly to your TV. Then a few months ago they finally introduced the streaming service to macs. Problem is you have to have a newer Intel mac. The service is not backwards compatible. Soon after they partnered with a couple different manufacturers to provide Blu Ray players that worked with the Instant Viewing service. Eventually I caved and bought one.

The best thing about Instant Viewing is that it solves the wait problem. Currently I have 200+ titles in my queue that I can browse through on my TV. Click on a title and you see a brief description and a rating (up to 5 stars). Sometimes there are really recent films on there, but often it's the stuff that's been out for a few years. But still, the selection is amazing and it far surpasses any kind of cable on demand movie service.

Sure, I still wish I could get Netflix on my laptop, but the times when I'd actually use it are very few and far between. Lying in bed, maybe. More often it would be on a trip. But that's what books are for.

Netflix has the model for the future, and it won't be long before we're able to stream everything. Movies. TV. Even music. (Well, if they ever pull their heads out of their collective asses, but that's another story...)

Whenever I talk to someone who rents movies but doesn't have Netflix I'm surprised and ask always ask why. It seems like such a no-brainer. Super affordable. Convenient. Good selection. And now you can stream it anywhere you have an Internet connection. Well, as long as you don't have an older mac.

Just today I got an email from Netflix. Subject line was Arriving Later. That perked my interest. Then I opened it up to read that my next selection had to be sent from a different distribution center and would take longer than normal. 3-5 days instead of 2-3. They went on to say that they sent my next selection for me, so that I could enjoy another movie while I waited. I liked that. It's made me happy. And happy is an emotion I seldom feel when dealing with cable companies or video stores.

House Cat

I have a friend who has a cat and always brings her cat along with her on any extended trip she takes. She puts her in a carrier and tucks her under the seat in front of her. No sedation. Nothing. And apparently the cat is quiet and hasn't sparked any air rage incidents yet.

I'm not about to take a flight anywhere, but I am getting the urge to take a roadtrip. Somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe nowhere. Just go. Get in the car and go. Everything I need to do what I've been doing lately is right at my fingertips. Laptop. Cell phone. Internet access as long as I'm in a somewhat populated area. Of course it could get kind of expensive traveling across the US. But I did stay in a hostel in New York once and it wasn't that bad. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't accept cats though.

Dogs seem to require a lot more responsibility than cats. You constantly need to check on them. People I know who have dogs have to go straight home from work to let the thing out. And they can't stay out too late either. Forget about spending the night. But you add in a family to the mix and the problem is solved. Maybe not completely, but it's a lot easier. Yet, with all of this responsibility, dogs are a lot easier when it comes to road trips. Who can resist the image of a dog sticking it's head out the window as you speed down the highway on a gorgeous summer day? They like riding in cars. You ask them if they want to go for a ride and it's like they've won the doggy lottery.

The same can't be said for cats. Or can it? I'm starting to wish I had taken my cat for a ride as a kitten and gotten her used to it. I wonder if I could still do it. Would it be too late to get my cat accustomed to riding in my car? Or would it be a torturous experience for both of us? Howling down the highway. Black fur everywhere. Jumps out the window at toll booths.

Then there's the litter box. You can tuck it away in a remote closet at home, but it's more difficult to hide in a compact car, which in a way makes a good argument for an SUV. Sure you may only get 14 miles per gallon, but is that too steep of a price to pay for the distance between your sensitive nose and the box of shit you're packing for your road trip? I think not.

But I'm not about to get an SUV. And the idea of doing a test run to say, the outer limits of Anoka County with my feline friend doesn't seem that appealing either. Maybe they're known as house cats because with rare exception, that's exactly where they plan on being. I mean, you never really hear of a house dog, do you?

Confessions of an record club addict

BMG Music Service is no more. They announced that they will stopping the service effective June 30, 2009. The news of their closing follows Columbia House, which folded a couple years ago.

I'm showing my age here, but I remember when BMG Music Service was RCA Music Club. RCA was always was less intimidating than Columbia. With RCA you got six or seven free albums and then had to buy one. Columbia offered 12 albums, but then you had to buy six or seven. With shipping and handling charges of a couple bucks per album, and "regular club prices" of $10.98 or $11.98 for a album or cassette, by the time you did the math you really weren't coming out ahead with Columbia. But RCA/BMG was almost always a much better deal.

I remember how excited I was the first time I cut out the form from the Columbia House ad featured on the back of a Parade Magazine in the Sunday newspaper. I'd carefully fill out the form, double checking the numbers to make sure I copied them down correctly and wasn't ordering Culture Club instead of Motley Crue. Finally I'd drop the card in the mail and anxiously await for my box of albums to arrive. I'd run home from school everyday to check, and it wasn't too long before it arrived. My first shipment consisted of the following records, and I do mean records- albums, vinyl, 12 inch:

Ratt- Out of the Cellar
Billy Squier- Signs of Life
Motley Crue- Shout at the Devil
Dio- The Last in Line
Huey Lewis and the News- Sports
Masters of Metal compilation
Twisted Sister- You Can't Stop Rock and Roll
ZZ Top- Eliminator
The Cars- Heartbreak City
Sammy Hagar- VOA

There had to be a couple more, but those are all I can come up with. It amazes me that they're so memorable, but really why should it? I've been into music my whole life, and this was certainly a way to dive headfirst into the deep end. It was like Christmas, except that I can't remember ever waking up to find 12 albums under the tree. I remember my dad picking up Dio's The Last in Line and saying, "This looks like hell...," so I can't really picture my mom picking out Shout at the Devil or Out of the Cellar for a stocking stuffer.

I remember my dad frowning on the idea of me joining a record club, but at the same time he was aware that I hadn't entered into any legal contract and was a minor. They weren't going to come after me if I didn't hold my end of the bargain, which I don't think I ever did with Columbia House.

Was anybody seriously interested in the "selection of the month?" I remember their language quite clearly. "If you would like to purchase the selection of the month do nothing. It will be sent to you automatically." I had checked "hard rock" as my category, which included everything from Motley Crue and Twisted Sister to Bob Seger and Bruce Springsteen. You had to be quick with the reply cards in order to stop the selection of the month from being mailed to you. And when you're a kid finding a stamp is a pain, especially when you're trying to hide from your parents that you're still in a record club. Or worse yet, you've joined another one.

It didn't take me long to discover a fool proof way to get out of the record clubs, even if that wasn't my intention. Having missed the deadline on my "I do not want the selection of the month. Send nothing" response card, I inevitably ended up receiving a few selections of the month in my hard rock category. Rather than keep John Cougar Mellencamp's Scarecrow and pay $11.98 + $2.00 shipping and handling, I soon found an easier way to solve my problem. You take a sharpie and you write "Refused. Return to Sender" on the package and you drop it in a big blue mailbox. Problem solved.

Of course the record companies hated this. They certainly didn't appreciate the fact that they were getting charged twice for each shipment. A couple letters eventually came before they terminated my membership. No final bills. Just silence. "No more selections of the month for you kid." But I didn't have to purchase my 5-6 records at "regular club prices' either.

RCA was so much more manageable. Even as a kid I could see myself holding up my end of that agreement. Get six free. Buy one. Get two more free. That was part of it. There was an enticement. Buy one and we'll send you two more. They're catalog wasn't as good, and sometimes with all the free albums coming my way I had a hard time figuring out what I wanted. Still it allowed me to complete my catalogs of U2 and Van Halen albums and explore 80's pop drivel like, well, Phil Collins and the Thompson Twins with little investment. Half of my cassettes probably came from RCA. Buy your one album? Get two more free. Sign up a friend? Four free. It was never ending. Then, after buying your one album you were free to quit and sign up all over again. Use your initials instead of your first name. Deliberately misspell your last name. Every little trick seemed to work. I had friends who claimed that they used neighbors addresses and fake names to get their shipments. I was never that brazen, but hey, there's a reason my full name isn't on this site. Wouldn't want BMG coming after me after all this time.

I've always been into an album's packaging. Sitting down with an album and getting lost in the cover and lyrics was an important part of the listening experience. Because the record companies manufactured their own titles, the packaging often got the shaft. It was most noticeable on cassettes. With their minimal real estate for packaging, the clubs would cut it down the images on tapes even further. Gone would be the fold out inserts. The album cover reduced to white with a tiny reproduction of the album cover and huge block type with the name and the artist. Eventually I learned that if you ordered RCA titles, the actual albums on their label, not the one's that were licensed to them, you got the real product. Actual artwork. Everything. These title didn't have the "Manufactured under contract by RCA Music Service" stamp on them either, so you could "return" them to Musicland and pick out something else, claiming it was a gift from your Uncle. This worked a couple times.

Eventually I got sick of the clubs. I had fast food dough and didn't want to wait six months for a new album to show up with a hatchet job of packaging. I had discovered good record stores. I could ride my bike and buy a new cassette for $7.99 the day it came out.

I revisited RCA, which was by then known as BMG, in college. Cds were dominating the market and I needed to catch up. I remember my shipment contained Van Morrison's Astral Weeks and Concrete Blonde's Bloodletting. Beyond that I'm drawing a blank. I think I bought my one disc, got a couple more free and got out. And I'm sure I returned at least one selection of the month by refusing it and returning it to the sender via the big blue mailbox.

A couple years ago I flirted with the record club yet again. Now known at yourmusic.com, BMG offered cds at $5.99 a title. You had to buy one each month, but there was no obligation. Cancel anytime. And you could buy as many as you wanted. The only catch was that if you didn't have something lined up in your purchase queue you'd be charged $5.99 a month regardless. It was great for boxsets. I bought the Dylan remasters...14 or 15 of them all in a box for $5.99 a disc. I think it's now $6.99 a title and apparently is not closing down. I got out of it though. I couldn't find enough that interested me that I didn't already have.

I wonder if a similar model would work for today's kids. It seems like it would be a fool proof model for digital music. Make signing up contingent on a credit card number. But really, what fun would that be? They'd be missing out on the best part: ripping open that box, tearing off the cellophane, opening up the gatefold sleeve of all of those albums and thinking it's the greatest day ever.

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Bob's Java Hut

Sunlight. What a difference you make. Warming our lonely northern region of the world with your seductive charms. Melting old man winter's latest dump and turning it into vital vitamins and minerals that will water the dormant brown grass and cause it to grow green again. And charming the pants and sweaters off young woman everywhere in exchange for more revealing clothing.

I love you Mr. Sunshine. You can pour in on me all day. That's why I'm sitting at the front window table at Bob's Java Hut. Calling it a window isn't very accurate. It's a garage door that pens up when the weather is nice and dogs walk in and out. Bikes are everywhere. The motorized kind. But today I don't see any motorcycles or dogs. It feels like a greenhouse, except it's devoid of any plant life. The only green is the color on the walls. And it's a mixed bag of people. Not the biker kind though. A younger crowd, Tattoos still covered up by winter clothing. A fair amount of them nicotine addicts who take their smoke breaks with a hearty dose of 39 degree weather instead of smoking inside like they could in years past.

It's supposed to be nice this weekend, and next week, and fingers crossed, maybe from now on? Okay, that's a tall order. But this winter has been an absolute bitch and really, don't we deserve some decent weather? I want to turn off the heat. That's what I want. To turn off the heat. Because right now I'm thoroughly enjoying the natural heat coming from our favorite distant star and it makes me feel glad to be alive.

It also makes me think of They Might Be Giants.




Bob's Java Hut
27th and Lyndale, Minneapolis

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Kopplin's

It's nice when you walk into a place and it feels like a continuation of the music/vibe you have going in your car. I was listening to the new Neko Case album, Middle Cyclone, on the drive over to the Hamline University area of St Paul to visit a place called Kopplins, and when I walked in the door they too were playing Neko Case. It gave me something to talk about right away and dovetailed nicely into a discussion of today's coffee selections.

Kopplin's takes their coffee very seriously. They have 5 daily offerings, but they don't brew it by the pot. No, no, this stuff is too good for that. At Kopplin's each coffee is featured in a framed description on the wall. They read like fine wines. You can buy a sample, two different cup sizes, a carafe or get it by the pound to take home and brew.

The barista helped me select a Columbia blend. I was fascinated by the process as she selected a small amount of beans (maybe 10 or so), grounded them up and brewed a tiny amount into a cup for me. To be perfectly honest here, I wasn't that crazy about the coffee. It tasted incredibly bitter and didn't have that depth that I like. I was instantly reminded of the Gevalia coffee I sent away for several years ago, when as an ad student I was assigned the brand to do ads for. This coffee tasted exactly like that. Maybe that Gevalia really was some fancy pants coffee and I just didn't realize it. But at $3.75 for barely 8 ounces of the stuff, I can't say I'll be ordering it again soon at Kopplin's. Not the Columbia coffee anyway.

I've been here twice before, but both times were later in the day and I had already had my coffee intake. One time I had hot chocolate and it was amazing. Real chocolate. Thick, dark, bitter. The other time I had a latte and it was pretty damn good as well. Presentation on both was amazing.

I like this place. I love people that are passionate about what they do, and the owner of this shop is really into his coffee. The energy is contagious.

The place itself is small and cozy. Red vinyl chairs are comfortable, and so are the booth seat that lines the wall. The music is great. Neko Case, Calexico, Yo La Tengo. Headphones are unnecessary.

Places to plug in the laptop? Ummm...not so good. I don't see this as a place to get serious work done, but it's a great place to have a cup of coffee (better blend next time) and check the email. And I'd like to come here at night sometime. There's a certain coziness and romantic air to it that I would imagine would be amplified by darkness.


Kopplin's
Hamline Avenue, St Paul

Looking Back: Bob Dylan's Empire Burlesque

I think I'm missing two Bob Dylan studio albums. Saved, his ultra religious born again album of the early 80's and Down In The Groove from 1986, which by most accounts is among his very worst. The news of a brand new Dylan record on the heals of a career renaissance consisting of two excellent studio albums (1997's Time Out Of Mind and 2001's Love and Theft), a recent above average album (2006's Modern Times) and an amazing collection of unreleased recordings from the last 20 years (last year's Tell Tale Signs) is incredibly exciting. And it's prompted me to look back at a Dylan album I may have overlooked.

1985's Empire Burlesque gets some occasional high marks from some Dylan fanatics who frequent message boards. The album is the follow up to 1983's Infidels, which along with 1989's Oh Mercy seem to get all the high praise for being worthwhile Dylan albums of the 1980's. But Allmusic gives Empire Burlesque a 4 star review, and the original Rolling Stone review by Kurt Loder is quite positive. I have a copy of it on vinyl that I only listened to once all the way through, if that, and at least ten years have passed. I thought about digging for it, but it's just as easy to download a copy as it is to weed through the vinyl buried somewhere in the deep recesses of my closet.

The production is hard to get past. This is 1980's modern production techniques at its worst. Female background singers in the foreground. Synth drums. Processed guitars and vocals. It seems like everything that is vital about the recordings are pushed to the background, with all of the inorganic touches and flourishes brought to the forefront. "When The Night Comes Falling From the Sky" sounds like it could have been recorded for Miami Vice.

The album feels upbeat by Dylan standards, and he's singing in his high register, which is something he's rarely done on his three comeback albums. There isn't much weight to the lyrics. He seems concerned with vague personal issues, which is a far cry from the politics of the previous record. But his voice works well within the disco beats and snappy trumpets on songs like "Seeing The Real You At Last." The opening song, "Tight Connection To My Heart" is catchy and memorable, but ultimately empty. The background vocals seem to devour the song and strip it off any power it might have. "Clean Cut Kid" hints at some lyrical brilliance and provides a solid rock song that might have had some real staying power had the recording not been so cluttered. But it's nice to hear Dylan cutting loose.

The slower songs work better here. "I'll Remember You" and "Emotionally Yours" are straight forward songs, and it's hard to not to read too much into Dylan's lyrics and think about the biographical object of his affections. Still, there's something so pedestrian about the songs. Like Dylan owed his record label an album went to work to write songs the way any mortal would, and it's a far cry from any of his classic albums, or even Infidels, the album that preceded it. The rhymes are predictable. The lyrics are simplistic. And a sound that is so unlike Dylan. Yet there is something quite likable about it.

Apparently these tracks were originally produced by Dylan. It's hard to fathom him adding all of the studio glitz, and if some of the demo tracks that surfaced on The Bootleg Series are any indication, the blame can be put solely on the producer, Arthur Baker. Ron Wood played on a couple tracks and has said that Dylan seemed removed from the recording process. What makes the record so fascinating is what makes any Dylan album fascinating. That it came from the same guy who brought us all of those amazing records. This time it's as if the producer thought he could get Bob Dylan on top 40 radio. As for Bob, Ron Wood seems to say that he walked away after recording the basic tracks. It sure sounds like it.

There is one song on here that really does Dylan justice. Featuring little effects, just Dylan, his guitar and harmonica, with his voice dead center, "Dark Eyes" is the clear standout on the record, and makes the album worth discovering.

The very last song on the album, it instantly reminds me of other Dylan classics that close out his albums. "Highlands" comes to mind because that song strips away the Daniel Lanios' production (although way less intrusive) of Time Out Of Mind the same way this one strips away Arthur Baker's and leaves us with unadorned Dylan at his best. The fact that it comes at the end of such an overproduced record makes it stand out even more.



It works as a nice fan-created (but abridged) tribute to George Harrison too.

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Dunn Bros.

Spring forward/Fall back. That's how it's supposed to go. Every Spring we set our clocks forward an hour to allow for more daylight so our inner farmers can get out there and harvest whatever it is we feel the need to harvest. Then in the Fall we set our clocks back as much out of tradition as the desire to send our proverbial kids off to wait for the bus in the daylight instead of darkness.

No act of former, and I do love saying former, President George W. Bush was without controversy, but his extension of Daylight Savings Time just may be his greatest (only?) accomplishment. It's certainly the only time he really "enlightened" any intelligent minds out there. Bush and light, by any definition, hardly go together.

I'm starting to think that there isn't any realm of the physical world that is immune from being Bush-whacked. What if by setting our clocks forward an hour last Sunday morning we confused the hell out of Mother Nature and now she doesn't know what to do. So she throws us back a month weather wise. You thought you could tame Mother Nature by prescribing time and order to everything under the sun. Well take this. Single temps. Snowy weather. Across the region well organized girls reach back into their closets to get out their winter wear once again.

I finally bought a new battery for my laptop, and it's paying off today. A three block walk in 2 degree Minneapolis temps (with wind chills far below that) just begs for some time next to a fire, and Dunn Bros. never disappoints with their gas fireplace and the well worn, but comfortable stuffed chairs that surround it. I usually have to shy away from sitting here in search of a power outlet. But not today. I can type on my lap while my feet get toasty warm. Around me is a sea of laptops, mostly Macs but a few Dells and HPs are out there too. Across from me a guy has his laptop open and his cell phone lies next to it, but he's ignoring both, putting technology momentarily aside so he can focus instead on his knitting.

It's really hard to find a better cup of coffee than Dunn Bros. They roast it right on the spot daily. It's robust. Strong. Full of flavor, like a fine wine. While I've heard some people compare the smell of their roasting process to that of a dirty diaper, I rather like it. If this is what baby poo smells like then maybe I ought to get busy raising some children.

I like the community of faces here. The employees are cool, and I got the guy who fills my cup to the brim when I pass on the cream, which always starts me off right. I haven't talked to many people, but I do recognize several, although I'm here a couple hours later than I normally am. I blame Daylight Savings Time for that too.

This year, this season, this month, this week, we have sprung forward, but also fallen back. And in the pursuit of finding a new coffee shop to shake up the surroundings a little bit, I'm back at my old standby. And you really can't beat it. Great coffee. Warm fireplace. On a busy street which provides some great people watching. Across the street from a casual restaurant. A few blocks from home and apparently smelling like poopy diapers. Ah, the comforts of a home away from home.


Dunn Bros.
Bryant Avenue and Lake Street, Minneapolis

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Java Jack's

It stopped snowing outside, but I kind of wish it would turn into a blizzard. It feels like that kind of day, and I want to sit back and look out at crawling cars crunching down on fresh snow and be glad I'm not out in it. Not that I wish to inconvenience people with long commutes. I just want it to feel like a snow day.

I swear I've been here before, and I'm pretty sure it was called Java Jack's when I was. But that was a long time ago. 10 years probably. And if this is the same place the look and feel of it has changed drastically. The place has been gutted. Gone is the cozy feel of dark rooms and heavy drapes.

The front of the building now consists of two garage doors framed by brick. In the summer they must open up and provide a really nice open air environment. Dogs are welcome. There's even a sign on the wall that says that unattended children will be given a puppy and a cookie. It's another neighborhood type place. People from all ages hanging out. Very few laptops. They serve food too. Subs and sweets, but also pasta dishes from a business that shares the space with them.

I don't know. Part of the reason for visiting five different coffee shops is to find a new place to work. This isn't cutting it though. At least not during the winter months. People are too loud and it's incredibly drafty in here. I suppose the big glass garage doors don't help much. Nice environment for a summer night though. That could be the crux of the problem. All I can think about is summer and it's not doing much for my winter disposition. I'll have to file it away for that. But to get what I've come here to get done on a snowy March day? Not really cutting it.

Java Jack's
46th and Bryant Avenue, Minneapolis

5 Coffee Shops in 5 Days: Cafe Tempo

It's stuck in the middle of a neighborhood I'd love to live in.  I see a couple duplexes and my mind starts to wander.  The sleepy bedrooms.  Inner lives hidden behind brick exteriors.  And smoke coming from a chimney reminding me that it's still winter.  As I look around the coffee shop I wonder if any of the six other people drove here.  My guess is they took a short walk from one of these houses to work on something or read the newspaper.  Or just to get out of the house.

This could be the rare coffee shop where the people without laptops out number those that have them.  And there's only two people with macs if I count myself, which is a far cry from most of the places I frequent.  Two 90's era bulky monitors offer Internet service for those who don't bring a laptop.  A middle aged guy is standing at one of them.

I wish I hadn't eaten lunch, as the prices are only slightly higher than the groceries I fixed for myself.  Sandwiches and soup at the prices you feel they should be.  Turkey sandwiches for $4.95.  Grilled Cheese for $3.95.  It's like they bought the computer monitors in 1996 at the same time they wrote their menu on the blackboard and haven't updated either since.

The coffee is strong, but flat.  There's no character to it.  Certain coffee roasts will instantly remind me why I drink the black stuff and put up with the occasional sleeplessness it provokes.  But this just feeds the need. 

Power outlets and strips are abundant near the tables.  I'm sitting by the front window, directly below the "Open" sign.  I know I should wrap up this post and get to writing my piece for my writing group, but I want to stall.  I'm not feeling that open yet myself.  Not ready to catch that inspiration wave and ride it.  The art on the walls isn't helping.  It's frilly and girlish.  The type of stuff people dabble with in college but abandon soon after.  

The music is equally uninspiring.  But it's not obtrusive either.  It's flat like the coffee.  Norah Jones light.  Cities 97 with every last remaining rough edge sanded down.  The walls are nice though.  Sky blue with an earthy green back room to accent them.  And there's space here.  It's sort of the ideal neighborhood coffee shop.  Not sure it's a destination or not, but with food this affordable, I'm certain I'll be back.

As for a place to work, I suppose it's time I give that a try.

Cafe Tempo

42nd and Grand, Minneapolis