May-June-2017_flipbook Revised

the Coffee issue

a window seat on one end of a long room, with extensive views of the shop and the street outside, across from a bus stop. From this seat, I can see the way the shop works from both sides of the bar, and I have spent the past 15 years typing away and looking up between paragraphs, watching café culture unfold in front of me. My mama picked her seat for a little precious solitude. I picked mine to watch the world go by. For years, my most productive times have been early mornings — that sliver of time when my mind is clear and my brain is properly caffeinated — especially on deadline days. So, taking a cue from Mama, I arrive at my seat as close to opening time (6 a.m.) as possible. Early morning work requires an obnoxiously early alarm time (5:35 a.m.), but it brings with it the kind of deep quiet known best by fishermen, duck hunters and older insomniacs. On the drive over, you hear only one set of tires — your own — on the pavement and see deep streetlight shadows. In my mind, there’s a special place in heaven for opening-shift baristas. They arrive well before the sun comes up, brew a flood tide of

The Daily Grind by Pableaux Johnson

S ome mornings, as I sip my first cup of coffee and gaze out the window into the dark, I think about how my mama started most of her days. I think about how she’d rise an hour or so before the sun came up, grab her two newspapers off the porch and make a pot of coffee.The usually bustling house would be freakishly quiet, and she’d settle into the same spot every morning at the kitchen table and soak up a little bit of sweet, quiet solitude. It was her time to write in her journal, read her papers without interruption and slowly make sense of the world before the rush of kids, work and everyday chaos kicked in. Mama’s pre-dawn ritual gave her a little precious quiet time — a gift that required little more than a solid alarm clock and a commitment to traditional farmer’s hours. Years later, I’m sitting at my own version of that chair at the kitchen table, soaking up the subdued clatter of my morning refuge — the neighborhood coffee shop. When I first moved to New Orleans, I found this particular spot —

life-giving caffeinated elixir, and (if you’re consistent and lucky) will slide your medium-sized, medium-roast mug across the counter as you approach the counter. A few seconds of banter (if appropriate), a quick exchange of money, and it’s off to work. From my window seat, I watch the Early Shift regulars wander in, and the process repeats itself maybe a dozen times.The large-animal veterinary surgeon takes his place in his traditional leather lounge chair. The budding medical student gets a jump on studying for the board exams.The pre-workout couple in spandex fitness clothes and fluorescent running shoes ruffle newspaper pages.The off-duty police officer (a cousin of the barista) stops by for a quick chat after clocking out for the night. As a general rule, Early Shift folks might give each other a subtle nod or a low volume “g’mornin’,” but never enough to break the room’s library-like calm. The couple might have a whispered conversation about the day’s plans or the news of the day, but never enough to cause a ripple in the quiet.And it’s a good thing: Quiet allows the first cup of coffee to slowly seep from tongue to bloodstream to brain stem as the sun hits the horizon and the streetlights turn off for the day.

PJ’s Coffee of New Orleans was founded in 1978. Today there are more than 65 locations across the region. The first CC’s Coffee House opened in 1995 in New Orleans. The company has locations in Mississippi and Louisiana, including more than a dozen in the Baton Rouge area.

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MY ROUSES EVERYDAY MAY | JUNE 2017