The Queens Kickshaw: July 1, 2012
Walking into The Queens Kickshaw was the first time I entered a coffee shop greeted by Notorious B.I.G.
I love it when you call me big pop-pa.
Much to my satisfaction, the old school rap would continue for all the two-plus hours I stayed, never once feeling pressure to leave.
At first, only two other customers were in the long, narrow room, which I now realize is more than a coffee shop. (There’s alcohol, and some cool grilled cheese sandwiches.) I wanted to order breakfast and looked for a copy of the paper menus the two girls next to me were holding.
I remember reading a review where someone said they had a great breakfast sandwich, so I expected a full selection of early morning options. The only thing that resembled breakfast, though, was the grilled egg and cheese sandwich. (There were some pastries, but, you know: carbs.) They didn’t serve any meats, the first barista, a guy, said. “Cool,” I responded, though I was craving some sausage with that egg and cheese. It had to taste better than the cluster-eff of Cheerios I passed on the sidewalk on the way across Astoria.
Alas, I ordered the egg and cheese and headed for the back in search of a restroom.
“Are you going to be sitting up front?”
Yes, I told the other barista, a woman, who was trailing me on my way to the back. I found two unmarked doors, but wasn’t sure if I should open them.
“Are you looking for restrooms?”
I was, I told her. She said either door was fine.
Inside the first door, though, the toilet was jammed with a wad of paper towels. I stepped back out and kind of shouted to her, now walking away, that someone had jammed the toilet with paper towels.
“The other one works, too,” she said.
“Thanks, I just wanted to let you know.” Slash not let you think it was my fault.
She forced a smile. Awkward.
When I came back out, I sat at the bar, thinking I could make friends chatting up the first barista. But as soon as I sat down, I remembered I brought The New York Times, which I would have felt awkward reading in front of him, especially if I stayed around for a while.
The female barista walked back toward me.
“I’m going to move to the back,” I told her. Since she asked me earlier where I would be sitting, I thought it only proper to inform her of the change.
“OK??”
OK.
I opened my laptop on one of the high tables in the back. (All the tables in the back are high tables – four, four-seaters, and one long communal-looking one with 20 stools. I connected to NETGEAR, because it was unprotected and had the strongest signal, but I did not know if NETGEAR was their Internet. My GMail account did not like NETGEAR.
I would later ask the barista.
“Excuse me, is NETGEAR your Internet?”
“No. It’s ‘no wifi after 6pm,’” she said, providing the password, too.
Much better – my GMail liked that Internet. And now I really wanted to come back after 6 p.m. and run a test. Is it a manual turn-off? Or is there a self-destructive countdown like on LOST? Or does it not go off at all? A tactic, so suckers like me choose NETGEAR, settling for an OK connection when they could have a great one! Got me.
My grilled egg and cheese came a few minutes later. It was small (but only $5), short on (tasty) egg, and much of the exterior cheese had already crusted over, as opposed to remaining melty. That being said, it was delicious. I would have definitely liked more egg (not to mention some sausage – it could have been organic, I’m not picky), but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
When I finished, the female barista asked me if I wanted any coffee. I told her I would go look at the wall menu up front, but she handed me one on a clipboard instead. So helpful. She came back a few minutes later.
“Did you decide?”
“I’ll have the Columbia Tierradentro.”
“Cool. Did you want milk and sugar?”
“Straight – black’s fine.”
“Great.”
Who orders coffee “straight”? Me, apparently. Like some ****ing bourbon or something. Here I am, in a new spot at 9:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning, ordering a drink “straight – black.”
I’m so weird.
I was pleasantly surprised that the Columbia Tierradentro came in a clear mug. A very simple, clear mug. Traditional, cream-colored mugs sometimes make me uneasy, remind me of dirty diners, which is fine when I’m in a dirty diner, but not a place with a cool word like “kickshaw” in its name, whatever a “kickshaw” is. Or whoever he or she is. I should have asked about the legend of “kickshaw”. I’m glad the mug was clear. The coffee was good, too. Had a nice flavor. I recommend it. Not just the coffee.
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