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Cafe Pick Me Up
#182
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Life has a few routines that begin as guilty pleasures. The city makes a day job merely an extension of sleep. The true self starts after work and goes long into the night through bars, restaurants, shows, friends and parties. Resting only begins too late in the dark or too early with the morning sun, interrupted by an alarm that kicks you out of bed to continue sleeping on the job. Coffee used to be the guilty pleasure and is now the routine, the morning fix.

Finding a good cup of brewed coffee is fairly easy in New York City as most street carts offer this carefully prepared beverage. With your eyes still closed you can walk towards your regular Indian friend in front of the subway stop. He will already have your coffee and bagel ready, just like every other day, a dollar fifty for both.

Finding a decent espresso is more involved and it is best made home. You can stumble through your clothes still on the floor to the kitchen. Open the refrigerator, get the coffee, close the refrigerator, press a button on the espresso machine, "make" yourself a shot and wake up.

But finding a latte wakes up a certain, unsettling, Seattle nostalgia.

Café Pick Me Up comes miles closer to Zeitgest than any other coffee joint in New York City. It’s a cute corner spot in East Village that I will head to on a week-end for a slow vanilla latte. The place serves eggs and what not, but I’ll ignore that whole food dimension. The milk is properly foamed. The espresso is right. The combination tastes like a pretty good, thick latte. You’ll want to sit on the little terrace and stare into the park across the street where endless children play their games and are too young to understand your affair with coffee.
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