Comments on: Java Monkey http://www.cafetableaux.com/java-monkey/ anecdotal reviews Tue, 09 Aug 2011 15:13:13 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1 By: cafe tableaux : Jittery Joe’s Five Points : anecdotal coffeeshop reviews, reports, and musings http://www.cafetableaux.com/java-monkey/comment-page-1/#comment-19 cafe tableaux : Jittery Joe’s Five Points : anecdotal coffeeshop reviews, reports, and musings Fri, 03 Feb 2006 04:49:32 +0000 http://www.cafetableaux.com/?p=24#comment-19 [...] there have been 2 shops in my short life thus far that, for any appreciable length of time, usurped my home as consistent theatre of operations or sitting parlour. one was the 18th street coffeehouse in santa monica and the other was jittery joe’s at five points in athens. for about 1.5 years i spent almost every sunday evening here or the surrounding environs, watching the clear spring sunday dusks cool over the intersection, dissected by wires and swollen with the rush of lights in the apartments and houses up milledge as the sun disappeared completely, wandering in late summer sunsets, fighting the sane urge to forego a soy latte in the putrefying heat yet stepping into the airconditioning, as the dusk sweat clings my ‘mad butcher’ tshirt to my back, and ordering one up anyway from my boy todd and drinking it in the window until the sun went down, sitting in the breeze on the stoop in front of the laundromat on lumpkin after dropping lwat81 > off at 5&10 for work with my notebook on my lap until the autumn chill set in and i took my coffee into the laundromat until full night before going back to jittery joe’s, where, when the night was dark, the glass would turn such a reflective black on the insides that the warm little banker’s lamps on the tables and the generally low glow would create such a dissociative vessel that upon leaving, after a few hours, my stomach would sink at the emptiness that claims the night air in north georgia, as if the powers of the coffee were only effective within the warmth of the shop, and, immediately without the effects of the caffeine, i drove back to lwat81’s little duplex disoriented to cook a warm meal to ring in the week. [...] [...] there have been 2 shops in my short life thus far that, for any appreciable length of time, usurped my home as consistent theatre of operations or sitting parlour. one was the 18th street coffeehouse in santa monica and the other was jittery joe’s at five points in athens. for about 1.5 years i spent almost every sunday evening here or the surrounding environs, watching the clear spring sunday dusks cool over the intersection, dissected by wires and swollen with the rush of lights in the apartments and houses up milledge as the sun disappeared completely, wandering in late summer sunsets, fighting the sane urge to forego a soy latte in the putrefying heat yet stepping into the airconditioning, as the dusk sweat clings my ‘mad butcher’ tshirt to my back, and ordering one up anyway from my boy todd and drinking it in the window until the sun went down, sitting in the breeze on the stoop in front of the laundromat on lumpkin after dropping lwat81 > off at 5&10 for work with my notebook on my lap until the autumn chill set in and i took my coffee into the laundromat until full night before going back to jittery joe’s, where, when the night was dark, the glass would turn such a reflective black on the insides that the warm little banker’s lamps on the tables and the generally low glow would create such a dissociative vessel that upon leaving, after a few hours, my stomach would sink at the emptiness that claims the night air in north georgia, as if the powers of the coffee were only effective within the warmth of the shop, and, immediately without the effects of the caffeine, i drove back to lwat81’s little duplex disoriented to cook a warm meal to ring in the week. [...]

]]> By: j.h. trefry http://www.cafetableaux.com/java-monkey/comment-page-1/#comment-18 j.h. trefry Wed, 16 Nov 2005 22:45:43 +0000 http://www.cafetableaux.com/?p=24#comment-18 i like to pour my own coffee. java monkey has a set of vacuum pump carafes along a counter next to the bar. i am given the opportunity to pour the soymilk into the cup myself. i use it liberally. the problem with the vacuum pumps is that you do not heft them and are often made a fool by the hissing, sucking sound of the empty carafe, sounding like a needle that has missed its mark at the red cross. the pleasure of pouring the cup myself comes with watching the coffee meet the soymilk. i like to see the white liquid turning ever darker as it reaches the brim of the cup. i like to see how translucent the coffee coming out of the tap is as it falls, and how it disappears into the concoction. at which second does it actually meet, actually turn? i wonder whether a small portion of the milk is drawn up into the stream. that doesnt seem likely. i wonder if, more probably, the hot coffee burrows a fluid brown tunnel into the milk until the point that it equalizes in temperature and mixes with the milk. does the depth of that tunnel change as the temperature of the cup gets warmer with more coffee, getting shallower the further it gets from the bottom? i know through experience that the soymilk tends to curdle if the concoction is not prepared precisely, although i have still not learned what the real solution is. i have found it helps to warm the soymilk slightly before decanting, which one cannot do at java monkey without a lengthy interface with the barrista. i wonder if adding a small amount of hot coffee to the milk, letting it sit, fill its way through the whiteness, equalize at slightly warmer temperature, then filling the cup the rest of the way would solve the problem, or would it rob me of the fluid process of filling the cup all at once. or should i pour the soymilk into the already decanted coffee? i like to pour my own coffee. java monkey has a set of vacuum pump carafes along a counter next to the bar. i am given the opportunity to pour the soymilk into the cup myself. i use it liberally. the problem with the vacuum pumps is that you do not heft them and are often made a fool by the hissing, sucking sound of the empty carafe, sounding like a needle that has missed its mark at the red cross. the pleasure of pouring the cup myself comes with watching the coffee meet the soymilk. i like to see the white liquid turning ever darker as it reaches the brim of the cup. i like to see how translucent the coffee coming out of the tap is as it falls, and how it disappears into the concoction. at which second does it actually meet, actually turn? i wonder whether a small portion of the milk is drawn up into the stream. that doesnt seem likely. i wonder if, more probably, the hot coffee burrows a fluid brown tunnel into the milk until the point that it equalizes in temperature and mixes with the milk. does the depth of that tunnel change as the temperature of the cup gets warmer with more coffee, getting shallower the further it gets from the bottom? i know through experience that the soymilk tends to curdle if the concoction is not prepared precisely, although i have still not learned what the real solution is. i have found it helps to warm the soymilk slightly before decanting, which one cannot do at java monkey without a lengthy interface with the barrista. i wonder if adding a small amount of hot coffee to the milk, letting it sit, fill its way through the whiteness, equalize at slightly warmer temperature, then filling the cup the rest of the way would solve the problem, or would it rob me of the fluid process of filling the cup all at once. or should i pour the soymilk into the already decanted coffee?

]]> By: j.h. trefry http://www.cafetableaux.com/java-monkey/comment-page-1/#comment-17 j.h. trefry Wed, 09 Nov 2005 22:59:56 +0000 http://www.cafetableaux.com/?p=24#comment-17 <!--[photopress:jmonkey_2.jpg,thumb,centered]--> there are some cool people who work at java monkey. i myself have never been very cool, or very able to come across to strangers as someone likable or approachable, however, i have, in the past, had friendships with people who possessed these qualities, and were cool. this has now, in my more reclusive years, presented me with the uncomfortable situation of dealing with my historical proximity to coolness and the luxuries that it would have once rightly prepared me for. when being offered a free cup of coffee by someone who knows me peripherally i go through a range of feelings. i usually begin and end by feeling that it would be easier for me to not have to enter into that mock familiarity that such a gesture demands. i wish that they would just address me with some pleasantries and charge me for my beverage, because, as it usually stands, i hardly know the barrista, and usually end up having to ask 'have you heard from joseph?' or some other bait which i am equally as uninterested in. i wish that they would charge me, because the standard practice of receiving a freebie is that you tip an amount about equal to what the coffee would have cost in the first place; it is understood that although they are doing you a favour, they also perceive a financial return on the gesture. as an agent of satan, and in a desire to incite armageddon, i seek to support the institution of a cashless society and pay for most things with my check card. i do not carry cash (you got that, slim?). this means that when i am not charged, and they have no cause to run my card, i have no way of providing the tip the barrista is angling for, and end up just looking like a cock. when feeling like setting a precedent, i demur, and insist on paying, with my card, and tipping the standard percentage. i dont despise these friendly barristas for their practice. i appreciate their allegiance to old friends, even if i am not one of them, and wonder what treats they lavish upon folks who actually know their last names, rather than jokingly referring to them as 'my boy todd,' or people whom they spend time with on a regular basis. luckily there are only a couple of shops in atlanta at which i might have to compose myself for these encounters, and as time wanders on, and i fade into increasing obscurity, even those shops may present me with the pleasure of paying for a cup of coffee.

there are some cool people who work at java monkey. i myself have never been very cool, or very able to come across to strangers as someone likable or approachable, however, i have, in the past, had friendships with people who possessed these qualities, and were cool. this has now, in my more reclusive years, presented me with the uncomfortable situation of dealing with my historical proximity to coolness and the luxuries that it would have once rightly prepared me for.

when being offered a free cup of coffee by someone who knows me peripherally i go through a range of feelings. i usually begin and end by feeling that it would be easier for me to not have to enter into that mock familiarity that such a gesture demands. i wish that they would just address me with some pleasantries and charge me for my beverage, because, as it usually stands, i hardly know the barrista, and usually end up having to ask ‘have you heard from joseph?’ or some other bait which i am equally as uninterested in. i wish that they would charge me, because the standard practice of receiving a freebie is that you tip an amount about equal to what the coffee would have cost in the first place; it is understood that although they are doing you a favour, they also perceive a financial return on the gesture. as an agent of satan, and in a desire to incite armageddon, i seek to support the institution of a cashless society and pay for most things with my check card. i do not carry cash (you got that, slim?). this means that when i am not charged, and they have no cause to run my card, i have no way of providing the tip the barrista is angling for, and end up just looking like a cock. when feeling like setting a precedent, i demur, and insist on paying, with my card, and tipping the standard percentage.

i dont despise these friendly barristas for their practice. i appreciate their allegiance to old friends, even if i am not one of them, and wonder what treats they lavish upon folks who actually know their last names, rather than jokingly referring to them as ‘my boy todd,’ or people whom they spend time with on a regular basis. luckily there are only a couple of shops in atlanta at which i might have to compose myself for these encounters, and as time wanders on, and i fade into increasing obscurity, even those shops may present me with the pleasure of paying for a cup of coffee.

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