rev:text
| - I've been working in the neighbourhood for the last two weeks, and decided that today was the day I was going to grab some coffee from this unassuming coffee shop. I didn't know that this was a second location, so I didn't have any expectations when I strolled in. Several other reviewers have mentioned that sparse decor - I got a cup to go, so I can't say it bothered me too much, but in my opinion, the bare minimum warehouse chic fit in perfectly with my experience in Liberty Village so far.
Good news first - coffee is delicious. I'm no coffee snob, and being from Vancouver, I can't help but be a frequent customer of Starbucks, but I think that I can tell good coffee from bad coffee. Starbucks, ain't no good coffee. It's not swill, but I made the mistake of once ordering a latte without a flavour shot, and won't be making that mistake again. So, I can really appreciate a good espresso/latte, when I make to point get a cup. I'll say it again, my latte was worth the $4.90.
Having said that, the good coffee may not be worth a return trip. I was also hungry, and was hoping for a light lunch; unfortunately, the food selection was lacking. No sandwiches or anything, just a few cookies and cakes. I was hoping for a better selection; today just wasn't the day I was going to have carrot cake for lunch. This, I could probably overlook, if it wasn't for the lackluster service. I don't really expect much from my barista interactions: polite interaction and (feigned) interest in getting my order correct, is really all that's necessary. My barista could barely contain her boredom while taking my order, but perked up, and couldn't wait to brush me off when a regular came in. The lame flirtation, his pretentious introduction of "the newest member of the entourage", and their faux disinterested discussion regarding their recent "bender" this weekend would be too much for any innocent bystander to stand; as a person whose order was being ignored, it was borderline unbearable.
If I loved coffee more, the 10 minutes of inner death would be worth it; but I don't, and this Balzac's left a horrible figurative taste in my mouth.
|