Coffee at the Wild Iris

Gentrification -- it's a very mixed bag. Too often, the plainer lines of an honest past are traded for an imaginary (and thoroughly upscale) re-creation of an idealized history. In contrast, the courtyard on Granite Street is one of the times it really works. What was once an old, unused warehouse is now the home for a gallery, a coffee house and a beauty salon. Plus outdoor seating when the weather warms. A perfect setting for the Wild Iris.

Outfitted in lavender and pale green, this coffee house is quite a contrast to, say, Coffee Roasters over on Gurley. The interior is spacious...

...somewhat elegant -- and appears to have attracted primarily grown-ups. (Yes, adults also like to have Wi-Fi for their laptops. No, I don't carry a computer in my wanderings...)

I like to sit there with my coffee and a goodie, staring at the patterns made by the lavender ductwork.

The neatest feature of Wild Iris is a pair of picture windows overlooking Granite Creek. Of course there is Van Gogh himself (as well as a reproduction of one of his irises); the door (below) connects to the gallery next door. All in all, a very satisfying arrangement.

A Pair of Links: For the Scandinavians among us, there's the handy Viking Answer Lady to make certain that your helmet is equipped with the right kind of horns or that you've got your gods straight. Much more up-to-date is the contribution from my SIL -- Billboardom, which does for outdoor advertising what LOL Cats does for our feline friends.

Alaska: a spot of latte

When the dotter first moved from Northern Arizona to Alaska last year, what was the biggest change in the scenery that she noted? No, not moose. Certainly neither mountains nor conifers. No, it was the espresso shacks. Everywhere. In the city. In the burbs. Along the highway. In the woods, yet. I don't have nearly all my Alaska photos home with me (hint, hint, dotter), but I certainly had enough photos of latte stops on my flash memory stick to illustrate this post.

I am a naif about many current crazes. Do expresso shacks proliferate on the Left Coast like mushrooms in rainy weather? Is Alaska a special case or does it share certain characteristics with California (along with union power)? I wouldn't know; I haven't been on the Coast for a good 15 years.

I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense. With only 5.5 hours of daylight (of sorts) in midwinter, a lot of folk are commuting in the dark. A good zap of caffeine would be in order on the way to work.

What surprises me (and the dotter) is the contrast between fancy-dan lattes and the frontier image so carefully cultivated by Alaskans. In all the sound and fury about Sarah Palin, not one of the legions of intrepid reporters bothered to note this curious cognitive dissonance.

I think the only place there was a notable absence of latte shacks was in the immediate vicinity of McDonald's stores. But then McD is serving up fancy coffees these days and exercises enough muscle to keep any competition at arms' length.

If you think I'm making a mountain out of a mesa, bear in mind that we have but one -- count 'em -- one drive-up espresso stop here in Prescott (above). At least as far as I know. The contrast with the Anchorage area is astounding. Based on our population, we could support anywhere from 25 to 50 of those little shacks. But then we have a bit more sunshine on the solstice.

Later Note: Out of curiosity, I went to The Google using the phrase "latte shack". Guess what I turned up: a Flickr page from an Anchorage resident who, at this point, has photos of 169 such java joints, from Juneau to Homer to Fairbanks. I'm truly outclassed!

Brunch at Cuppers

The day wasn't quite so cold. Evidence above, the first thing that friend Georgene & I noticed upon arriving at Cuppers, the well established coffee house over on Cortez Street.

I suspect that it also has the longest menu of any. Quiche, home-baked goodies of all sorts, sandwiches. Etc.

And features. Wi-fi, of course. Since I couldn't get around town if I had to carry a laptop, my favorite feature is the busy bulletin board.

Three rooms to handle the bustle of customers that started arriving noonish. I had wondered how Cuppers was handling all those people, since we were holding down one table of the four in the entry room and a guru/acolyte combo was holding down the second. That's when I had the presence of mind to ask where all the people were sitting. Doh!

Since the house brags of being a good 30 years older than any Whiskey Row business, finding this handsome rolltop desk in room #3 was not too surprising. Specific date for the house: 1872, BTW.

Eclectic is the word for Cuppers. Not just its customer mix, but its decor. All posters in the entry room feature airplanes and flight. Table tops vary all over the lot. One covered with postcards from customers...

...a proper coffee table for two...

...and a table made from an old panel door. Quite obviously a one-of-a-kind establishment, unlike the big players. My kind of place.

Serendipity & Sprawl: a Good Sunday

Surprises. I love 'em. Take today. Walked downtown. (Literally. It's a hundred or so feet downhill.) Figured I'd do a post on the walk. Then Sharlot Hall lured me in for more photography. Another possible post. However, I needed a telephone to call a cab to visit Mom.

And discovered, wonder of wonders, that Prescott Coffee Roasters was open. Of a Sunday afternoon. Full of people. And a guitar player. In I went.

On the left at the entrance, big decorated drops of water to Save the Verde river. Causes and coffee houses have always been a matched pair. Can't say I disagree with this particular Cause.

Here's the scene looking toward stage front. This was one of the many shows currently being organized by Silver Wolfe, who also compiles the local arts & entertainment listings for Read It Here, among other activities.

I couldn't resist looking up at that wonderful pressed tin ceiling. Roasters is in the old shopping strip just west of the creek on Gurley Street.

The guitarist/songster/harmonicist is Paul Sprawl. One of his songs dealt with a homeless misfit he met twice in 10 years, the second time as both walked down the railroad tracks toward each other. What could be more reminiscent of Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. But back in those early days of folk music, we had hoboes, not homeless and there was a certain element of dash and romance associated with the country's wanderers. No more. Now it is largely mawkish capital-C Concern. Not from this guy, by the way. But then he considers himself a vagabond.

Of course, coffee-and was available.

Art work, too. By someone(s) very much into the deep sea: mantas (above) and cephalopods (below.)

Part of the art that forms the frieze at the front of the shop. Below, the machine that gives the shop its name.

I certainly applaud the return of the coffee house. Reminds me of my youth; it even reminds my daughter of her very early years, when she learned the body language of chess long before she understood the game. We were having dinner at The Raven last week after the Lippizaner show. Daughter looked around at the decor, the musicians and the customers and wondered where were the chess and go players. Pity -- I suppose that the laptop has replaced the game board. And on this note of nostalgia, I also find myself wondering if the No Exit, which served at least two generations of rebels in North Chicago/Evanston, survived to enjoy the modern renaissance of the coffee house. Anybody know?