Steven Tomlinson
Google
There’s an old sign advertising ice cream in superlative fashion out front. Not “world’s finest” but something in the same vein. It’s only there for historic charm (or is it kitsch?). In any case, don’t get your hopes up as I did. But go on in the store anyway, it’s wonderful. And they do sell good coffee, which is partial consolation for the heartless bait-and-switch racquet they’re running with the ice cream sign. Good coffee is not full redemption by itself, but what rounds out the equation to get them fully back in the black by measure of good will is their incredible book selection, creaky old stairs, the lovely people working there, and the reassuring smell, which is something reminiscent of a great-grandmother’s parlor from the 1920’s. Not sure if that comes off like the compliment I intend it to be. Doesn’t matter. It’s true and I love that place, in spite of the false promise they shamelessly lead with, which I suspect is often as quickly forgiven by the uninitiated hopeful as it was by me once they’ve stepped inside.