Slave to the Grind

Ahh alas, my final Bronxville post for a while. Today, I had my last doctor's visit regarding the softball/Basketcase Part II that grew out of my ankle. I decided to celebrate by heading over to Slave to the Grind, my favorite non-commercial coffee house, located in Bronxville, NY. Yes, I, too, am a slave to the grind, and I love the selection that this small hole-in-the-wall has to offer. Coffee abounds in various flavors, and you can choose any to take home with you. Every day they change the brews available "on tap" and today's most interesting flavor was coffee cake. I'm not a huge fan of the coffee cake (again, stems back to a breakfastless childhood and my mother's intention that I would adore something quick and easy and typical of a morning meal... coffee cake was another failure to add to the plentiful list), so I went with the Irish creme (Erin Go Bragh!) and whole milk.

Before I continue, let me take a minute to discuss whole milk. It's delicious. I had a major issue in college, because my particular institution of education (Boston College), did not serve whole milk. The best I could muster was 2%. 2%? 2% of what? Travesty! The yogurt didn't have full fat. The ice cream didn't have full fat. The Starbucks on campus didn't offer full fat milk. I wanted FULL FAT!!!! It irritated me to no end. Who are they to decide what I can and cannot ingest? People have been drinking whole milk for centuries, and suddenly some doctor has decided it should be banned on college campuses? Phooey! Thank you, Slave to the Grind, for offering not only whole milk, but even half and half! Thank you!

The Irish Creme coffee was as delicious as I remembered. Piping hot, smooth, and luscious without being overly bitter. Even the addition of milk did not bring it to a lukewarm temperature. It was lovely on a rainy day to sit at one of the small tables in the back and sip my coffee and grade some students' papers. Maybe write a love letter or two. Listen to the soft radio... Neil Young "Southern Man" (You ROCK Lynyrd Skynyrd!) and some Boston "More Than A Feeling.' I adore the punk/rebellious clientele (Sarah Lawrence is right down the street). These are the type of customers that would be given the malocchio at a local Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts. Mohawks, dyed hair, leather everywhere, black sweatshirts of various punk bands, multiple piercings, loud, rowdy, and in need of a good cup o' Joe so they can continue their 48 hour 2-nighter. The staff is friendly and jovial (but opposed to Red Sox fans, which made me rather sad). They have a variety of mixed coffee drinks, some warm apple cider, plenty of varieties of tea, and pastries, but most people come for the caffeine jolt in its truest form, without the grande-skinny-mocha-half-caf-no-whip tongue twister. So if you want some good old-fashioned coffee, some friendly service, and perhaps an existential conversation with a guy in skinny jeans and three lip piercings, then this, by God, is the coffee house for you!