Most of my friends go out every day to buy their coffee. They complain of tiny kitchens and not enough counter space to house a coffee maker, and maybe even a grinder (if you’re one of those virtuous souls and have the deepest respect for the beans.) It’s too much, they say, the effort for a decent cup of coffee is too great. Easier to just walk across the street to your nearest cafe (and New York has no shortage of those, including the ubiquitous Starbucks) and have a trained barista make you
a coffee, an espresso, a latte, an Americano, a cortado whatever your heart desires.
And it’s true: Our New York kitchens are smaller than most people’s bathrooms, or even, to be more precise, half of their bathrooms. And yet a lot of us, dealt this paltry hand, still make breakfasts, and lunches, and dinners. We throw parties and we host brunches. We ask a group of friends to come together and then pass the h’ors d’oeuvres around. And somehow everything and everyone fits, and even though we complain of our lack of space, we cannot seem to quit the city. We want to go, and yet we don’t budge. And even the most kitchen obsessed in us, will make even go as far as make bagels at home, but we’ll go out for coffee.