You may be scratching your head as you read the title of this new column: Coffee, Tragedy, History? This, dear reader, is (I hope) the first in a series of articles in which I will evaluate cafés and restaurants based on the quality of food and drink, atmosphere, and artsyness.
Historically, cafés have been a hub for artists and their ilk, a gathering place for people to listen to poetry and music or watch plays. Cafés have also served as galleries for emerging artists or simply as a place for a writer to get some work done.
By the end of each article, you should know if the selected café is a place you would want to visit, if the coffee is good, if you can catch a live performance of some angsty boy band there, and if the baristas will spit in your drink. You should also know if it’s the spot where you’ll pen your next poem and, hopefully, you will have been entertained for five minutes before returning to your bleak and humourless existence as a university student.
It was a hot spring day and I was walking down Fourth Avenue when I spotted Blaq Sheep Coffee. I was overheating, so naturally I ordered a Cajun Mocha. The drink lifted $4.25 from my wallet for the smallest size. As the milk steamer sang its siren’s song I assumed it would be nothing more than an over-priced version of a normal mocha with a quaint dash of paprika on top or a squirt of some artificial flavoring. I was wrong. I took my first sip and my taste buds were met with an onslaught of hot pepper sauce and dark espresso. Tears of joy and pain glistened on my face; it was the perfect drink.
Blaq Sheep Coffee sports simple furnishings. A muted grey and black colour palette with red highlights completes an interesting yet not extremely outgoing look. I felt very much at ease in the café but I do feel that I have to comment on the name and the menu. Black sheep coffee as a name seems perfectly straightforward at first glance: we make unusual coffee, our coffee stands out from the rest, we are the black sheep of the coffee trade.
Yet on closer examination I realized the name is spelled Blaq Sh33p Coffee. With no obvious explanation as to why it is spelled Blaq Sh33p rather than Black Sheep I have to assume it was named by a 12-year old. The menu features such items as the “Pacemaker” (Americano), “Blatté” (Latté) and the “Scrappuccino” (Cappuccino). Fine, call a Latté a Blatté: it’s a little too cute but at least it makes sense. The others have no clear connection with sheep or coffee and only serve to confuse the customer.
The service was nothing remarkable. Thankfully, my order was not taken by an actual sheep; no one tried to shear me and I was greeted with a smile as I approached the counter. All standard operation for any self-respecting coffee shop. My drink was made promptly and with precision. No other customers were in at the time so I couldn’t see how effectively they would handle a rush, but the service I experienced was more than satisfactory.
The café doesn’t seem to have made its mind up about art. It seems to be getting involved in community events (I saw a flyer for an equestrian’s competition), but I did not see anything related to live music or poetry readings, and I did not see any paintings for sale.
That being said I would describe the café’s attitude toward art not as Scrooge’s attitude toward giving, but as one of ambivalence soon warming to benevolence. It would certainly serve as a location for any writer to get some work done and I think given time, a place for musicians and poets to perform as well. This is not a café for an artist to trek to, but it’s a worthy spot none the less.
