UPTOWNflavor

The other day I walked into a new café/bakery that opened on Broadway called Tanto Dulce. Although the store’s name is grammatically incorrect, my intolerance for anything short of impeccable Spanish syntax was subdued by the most sublime pistachio cannoli I have ever tasted in my life. The experience was further heightened by the perfect cup of coffee I had next to it. It made me realize just how much I love coffee. Growing up in a Spanish household, coffee was always a very important part of the family dynamics.

When I lived in the South Bronx  I’d wake up around 7AM to the smell of Bustelo Coffee. Mi café favorito. I’d find both my grandmother and mother involved in some heavy conversations that, thanks to the power of repression, I cannot recall for the life of me. But I do remember feeling the gravity of issues in the air like a dense fog. As I advanced in years I learned that preparing coffee served as the social lubricant for just about any kind of interaction. Sometimes younger wives would come crying to my grandmother seeking seasoned advice on how to deal with their womanizing husbands. My grandmother would use some old-school tactics that teetered on the border on Santeria. The young wives would come back a couple days later thanking my grandmother and usually bringing with them avocados or gallons of milk out of gratitude.

When my mother was a schoolteacher in Harlem parents would come to her apartment imploring her to tutor their children, lest they be left back again. It always freaked me out how everyone in the school knew her home address. In all of these scenarios the first order of business ALWAYS was to put some coffee into the greca, coffee pressers. Somehow, no matter how heavy the conversation or how morose the issue, it was easier (mandatory even) to tackle it with some ground coffee beans. Almost magic-like!

I’ve been drinking black coffee (or “espresso” as it is referred to now) since I was 7 years old. Only, back then I didn’t know it was “espresso” and we never rationed our coffee into “shots”. We had a giant tin mug full of Bustelo coffee. It would be extra sweetened so that I could dunk my pan de huevo or a chunk of cassava bread into it. It was a dessert in my house. It wasn’t until high school when I visited a friend’s house that I found out what was what. Sean’s mom offered me some “espresso” coffee. “Sure!” I said proudly. At 15 years old I must have been the only kid they knew that drank coffee. I knew I’d impress them. The coffee was served in a little porcelain cup with the littlest amount of coffee in it. In fact I could hardly grip it with my big fingers. I wanted to be polite, but the curiosity was too much to internalize. I asked her why they served such small amounts of coffee. She said, “It’s espresso! That’s very strong coffee!” I laughed away the following response regrefully. “This isn’t strong coffee. I drink stronger stuff than this in a giant coffee mug!” She looked at me in half bewilderment-half disgust as if I said “We skin and eat cats for dinner in my house.” I never had conversations with Mrs. Clark again after that day, but I finally understood that I was drinking some potent stuff at a very young age. The damage was already done though, so I continued my with my espresso affair. Coffee had been such an important character in my life. I could use my coffee moments as mental post-its when I’m trying to recall funny things that have occurred in life…such as my incident at Sean’s house.

However, it wasn’t until college that I discovered the phenomenon that is a coffeehouse or café. I had always seen the geriatrics from around my neighborhood lounging around at the Spanish bakeries and sandwich shops on the block. You’d swear it was a Senior center! I was always baffled by how a human-being can spend so much of their life being sedentary and rambling with the excuse of drinking coffee. It took my first encounter of walking into the Starbucks on Astor place, near N.Y.U., to realize that there was a brand new world out there. You mean I can just sit here for no good reason?! I can just read a book?! It seemed to go against the Capitalist in me. It didn’t quite jive with what my economics professor taught us that morning. “First rule of economics: There are no free lunches!” I was in love with the concept! I could get together with friends and just talk things out, all the while sipping on a latte! Suddenly, topics such as politics, economics, and the dreadfulness of homelessness were distilled into little morsels that you can chew over with strangers and come away feeling as if you made some contribution to society.

In New York City, the coffee culture is a big part of what it means to be a New Yorker. Just take a look at how there are on average two bagel-n-coffee carts per city block. Though part of me thinks that more and more people get into coffee because they are told it’s what New Yorkers are supposed to do, you can’t deny it’s power over the masses. In fact, you see a Starbucks every couple blocks and it’s almost Pavlovian the way people mindlessly get sucked inside. Part of the allure is that the coffeehouse still remains as one of the last hallow grounds of sorts. You can sit there, drink your coffee, read your book, have a conversation, check your wall on Facebook, all without a worry in the world. There is a social agreement that everyone could come here and spend their time care free.  Coffeehouses are like an oasis in the urban desert. Uptown, it was a godsend to see places like Society, the Hue-man Bookstore café, and even the newly sprouted Starbucks locations fill that need in Harlem. I, for one, am grateful for these “other” temples where I can do my studying or write an article. But the simplest pleasure is, by far, just sitting there and drinking my coffee as I take in the beauty of Harlem.

Tanto Dulce
3446 Broadway 
(between 140th St & 141st St)
New York, NY 10031

(212) 368-1701