The Politics of the Pastry Shop

It's a strange but true fact that Columbia has only one coffee shop. Sure, we have Starbucks, but though the coffee is decent, Starbucks is, at best, a takeaway vendor. It is the kind of place where you mooch off the bathroom, not where you sit at 10 p.m. nursing your fifth cup of coffee. You might see a group of Lit Hum students huddled around a laptop studying for midterms, but you certainly won't happen upon weathered juniors and seniors musing about hermeneutics or procrastinating instead of deciding on thesis topics. The only place where you will overhear conversations about deconstructing the deconstruction of gender and the politics of pastry is at the Hungarian Pastry Shop.

What is it about the Hungarian that keeps Columbians coming in droves? I don't think it's the pastries. Perhaps its charm is in its ambience? Of course, while there are some hard-core groupies that stand behind its Gothic lighting and lack of electrical outlets, most spend endless hours on the verge of blindness, with their noses two inches away from their Nietzsche.

It's not the apple pie or the atmosphere that gives the Hungarian its appeal. Hungarian is beloved because it is where some aspiring academics and politicos come to strut their stuff. Amsterdam and 111th is where C.U. students can participate in the ritual of "I'm more radical than you are." And though these students are a minority, they're the people that brand Columbia for all of us.
Unlike many of the other schools with which Columbia is often compared, the identity of our school is not defined by our keg parties, our teams, or any visible displays of school spirit, save Orgo Night before it got p.c. Think of the questions prospective students ask earnestly: "What is a typical Columbia student like?" or, "What do students do when they're not studying?" It's hard to answer. Like they tell you on the tour, "At Columbia, we pride ourselves on being out-of-the-box; we're so cool that we are beyond definition."

It's precisely this attitude that makes Hungarian the perfect Columbia symbol. While the Hungarian is certainly crawling with Columbia's unofficial mascot (the hipster), the surprising thing about the Hungarian is that it seems to have all of the huddled masses sipping from their $1.80 endless cups. There are local regulars leaning over the glass counter, chatting with the perennially high-cheek-boned, accented waitresses. At the worn tables, undergrads type on their iBooks next to grad students grading Art Hum papers. Outside, the sidewalk is crowded with cell-phone talkers and cigarette smokers-whether it's 90 or nine below.

Venturing past the tables, to the back and on the left is a part of the Hungarian that serves the whole assortment of its caffeinated clientele: the toilet. When I read that this bathroom was awarded the "Best Geopolitical Coffeehouse Graffiti" award by the Village Voice in 2003, there seemed no distinction more appropriate for Columbia's coffee shop.

With hardly a patch of bare paint left, the walls expose the musings of C.U. students and locals. There are Emily Dickinson poems scribbled in black on the ceiling, anonymous John Lennon-type love quotes etched in pencil, but mostly, there are furious political rants, sometimes written on top of each other in rage. "Sharon, don't act like Adolf." "Push, push out the Bush." And the confident proclamation, "Look, it's very simple: He has to be overthrown. Revolution is the only solution."

You could say that this graffiti is the work of Columbia's nutty fringe: diehard readers of the International Socialist Worker. And it's true that most of us aren't actually whipping out black sharpies as we sit on the loo. But, like basketball at the Big Ten, a lot of us watch. This is Columbia's version of a spectator sport: politics on steroids.

Sure, I guess I could make the 50-block trip uptown to see a real football game, but for now, my trips to the Hungarian have become my tradition in this traditionless school. Do I wish the political rants were more reasonable? More fair-minded? More sane? Sure-especially when they find their way into my classes. But for now, staring the walls of the bathroom at the Hungarian, I like filling up on my espresso shot of Columbia's hyperpolitical too-cool-for-school spirit before I head back to campus.

Note: On my trip this morning to the Hungarian, I was shocked to discover that they had attempted a paint job on the bathroom. Already, among freshly drawn sickles and hammers, someone has scrawled, "I can't believe they painted over the walls!!"