Coffee and Cigarettes: smoke-filled days at Max Caffé

First week of classes. Nose back to the grindstone. I’m sitting here at Max Caffé on Amsterdam near 122nd Street, avoiding Plato’s Republic, and relishing the fact that my philosophy professor doesn’t believe in assigning readings. I found this place while exploring the frontier that is Amsterdam above 116th Street. No one ever seems to come up this way.

That is totally fine by me, as I have just discovered this gem of a homework haunt with empty seats galore. The coffee may not be as good as the overcrowded, refill-happy Hungarian Pastry Shop down the street, but what this place lacks in taste it makes up for in ambiance. Brick walls and a cluster of sofa chairs are lit by candles at each table, and electronically powered chandeliers hang from the ceiling.

I am accompanied by my new friend, a sophomore transfer student who is munching on one of the most delicious things I have ever tasted: crispy bread covered with a goat cheese and avocado spread. Absolutely incredible, and only $5.

Time for a cigarette break. Marlboro No. 9 Menthe 100. Or as the commercials say, “now in stiletto.”

Alrighty, I’m back. I wonder why the speakers keep playing this random techno slash jazz music. It really does not fit the place at all. But it makes me happy, as I’m not really feeling that chill acoustic coffee shop music. Otherwise I’d just be here on my laptop with my headphones, listening to my latest Britney or Gaga obsession. “Paparazzi,” anyone?

Time for another coffee I think, even though it pains me to think that I’m going to be paying another $2 for coffee that is anything but memorable. Maybe I’m too harsh, but after three years of working at a coffee shop, I‘m rather proud of my flavor-discerning palate. Sure, it borders on pretentious, but I embrace it nonetheless.

Max Caffé has a great atmosphere, but is that what makes a great coffee shop? Or is it the coffee itself? (I have to watch myself with these questions, otherwise I might start sounding a bit too much like a college-aged Carrie Bradshaw.)

I think it’s a little bit of both. Starbucks may give the illusion of comfort with its wi-fi accessibility and its Ikea-esque lighting, but the coffee legitimately tastes like soapy dishwater infused with coffee flavoring. Repulsive. The mark of a true coffee haven comes from finding a balance between flavor and feel. It’s about providing customers with comfort while still satisfying their caffeine addiction sans unnecessary taste bud displeasure.

I’m getting distracted by the pair of nearby Columbia graduate students talking about “verbal diarrhea.” Because a full house seems to grace Max Caffé only once in a blue moon, this place is ideal for eavesdropping and people-watching, two of my favorite activities.

I go to coffee shops to do work, but I always get way too distracted and end up writing about all the wonderfully entertaining people I see. (Like that crazy woman who I accidentally backed into the other day. She catapulted me off of her with a defiant push. I turned around in shock, only to see, emblazoned on her arm in giant cursive letters, the phrase “Only God Can Judge Me.” I turned back around.)

The world is just way too interesting to be truly focused and productive. Living in New York is about experiencing the world around you. It’s about running into those quirky and slightly frightening people that make you so grateful to be living where you are. It’s about swimming through this shark tank of a metropolis so hugely diverse that every way you turn there’s something new and exciting to see. It’s no wonder this is the city that never sleeps. Even with a single blink, you might miss something you wish you hadn’t.

It’s nearing midnight, and the waitress is staring at me with a look, begging to close up the shop and head to bed. The bill is paid and a fresh cigarette is tucked behind my right ear, ready for the walk home. Good night and happy travels, my fellow addicts.

Max Caffé, 1262 Amsterdam Ave. (between 122nd and 123rd streets), open daily, 8 a.m.-midnight, (212) 531-1210.

Andrew Wailes is a sophomore at Columbia College majoring in creative writing.