Elija B.
Google
One climbs the sacred mountain, struggles upward towards the muse, the ultimate goal. This ascent is a deep part of humanity, the striving upwards to wisdom. The path towards enlightenment describes who we are, the search for an ultimate revelation.
What if, in that iconic striving towards the top of the mountain, one arrives and there is no wise teacher, no sword in a stone, no meat in the hamburger? It is a breakdown in the hero’s tale, a movie with no ending.
The Great North has some great things going for it. The barista was kind, the atmosphere welcoming and the noise a rumble of conversation and espresso machine, present, but not obtrusive. It was clean and I liked the white washed counter and the open layout. Even the price was on point.
But here we have the place where the path veers off, the empty cave. Here is the problem. It is a dark day outside, one of the early winter days, cold and rainy that pulls down the spirits and chills the hands.
Here we have the actual product. The coffee mocha. It was ready quick, but as I placed my hands on the cup, I felt my heart sink a little. It was lukewarm, just this side of cold.
It did not give succor to my cold old hands, it did not warm my ancient and arthritic bones. It was I think, the coldest mocha I have had among the many coffee shops I have wandered into as I search for the legendary answer to those cosmic questions and remote mountain tops.
Well I think, I’m sure the coffee will be good, but alas, another disappointment, another cave with no holy man. It tastes thin and watery. It sits on the table like a testament of mediocrity. It is the un-popped kernels of corn left at the bottom of the bowl.
I realized it is a chain, perhaps I had set my expectations too high. When places are reflections of each other in a funhouse of service, each image can be a little more washed out.
Everything here is ready, it has all the elements of a home away from home, except for that one thing. A serious cup. A statement of care.