“Should we go in here?” asked Isaac, stopping in front of the charming facade as we toured Princeton. “Test their coffee? Be snobs?”
A plethora of decorative, out-of-date, functional espresso machines adorned the front window display. I was completely charmed by the East Coast architecture and the glorious ruby leaves of a Princeton autumn. Coffee sounded perfect.
“Yes,” I said definitively.
We entered the shop, a small, cozy purple space with a fire-engine red Synesso.
“Locals?” our cashier asked. He was a friendly bearded guy who, upon hearing we were from Colorado, exclaimed enthusiastically, “I know the area well! I backpacked up there and did some wilderness tours. Incredible!”
We placed our orders– cappuccinos, both — and went to chat with our barista.
“What are you pulling?” I asked.
“Honduras. I roasted it myself, actually.”
He finished pouring the rosetta and handed me the drink. My coffee snobbery superpowers lit up.
“This is really good.”
We drank in pleasant silence.
“I did not expect that,” he said. “That was bomb.”