Thursday, February 12, 2009

I was wandering around Seattle this morning before we headed up to Whistler. My friend lives near Seattle U., so I let nostalgia get the best of me and decided to have breakfast in my old dining hall. It was horrible. How I let myself get fat on rubbery omelets and hard pastries during my college years is a mystery to me now. I wasn't about to have a bad coffee though, so I went walking through the neighborhood where I first fell in love with coffee shop culture. And that is where I found Cafe Presse. A French cafe with a tall marble bar, a rack of international magazines, and a sweet little menu with things like baked eggs and simple salads (and a baguette with butter for you, Mele). I loved the d├ęcor, with one of those big clocks that you'd see in a train station and soccer match schedules posted on a chalkboard. I only wished I hadn't eaten that institutional breakfast-I tried to forget it with a Cafe Vita americano and a thick issue of the New Yorker.

Cafe Presse
1117 12th Avenue
Seattle, WA

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