Coffee

Every morning I walk to our local coffee shop, which I sometimes refer to as my living room because I have met so many interesting people here. There are very few places to sit inside and they seem to be designed for singles who sit facing out the window and don't mind the noise of the coffee grinder and the espresso machine.. Because I usually have my dog with me, I sit outside where there is a courtyard lined with benches. I have been here in the pouring rain watching the benches opposite me through a curtain of water pouring off the roof, but I prefer the bench facing the street and the first rays of the morning sun as it rises above the imposing edifice of the Claremont Hotel across the street. There are some seats behind the flanking shops which are quiet and shaded from the sun by a vine covered arbor for those who are sun and/or people or dog phobic. On weekend mornings the courtyard is filled with people and dogs--parents with young children in huge strollers, people reading their newspapers, people having business meetings or job interviews, cyclists looking like European candy bars in their lycra, and dogs socializing with each other. I meet twice a week here with my group of extraordinary Women Who Solve the Problems of the World . My husband and I have had serious discussions here while Ozzie licks the final bit of foam from the bottom of my cup. I never tire of this place. And they make good coffee too. It was the first "artisan" coffee shop in Berkeley, founded in 1963 by a man named Alfred Peet, a coffee roaster from Holland, who not only introduced us to excellent coffee (and later, espresso) but pioneered the idea of a coffee shop as a place to gather. He died a few years ago but his black framed picture still can be found inside the shop, and they celebrate Founder's Day every year with tastings and demonstrations.

My blip today is of Yvonne, the manager, who maintains her cool when the queue is out the door and people are ordering things like, "half-cap, low fat decaf vanilla latte".