Rejoice fellow New Yorkers! Starbucks, your omnipresent God, has bequeathed us a new gift this holiday season in the form of the Starbucks Reserve Roastery, located in Meatpacking.
Upon being let in by the bouncer (yes, there is a bouncer at this Starbucks. One can only imagine his interior monologue), my friend, Will, and I took a seat at the bar, where we ogled the passers-by.
“Why would anyone come here?” I murmured to him.
“We came here,” Will said, with a chilling finality.
We began with two separate caffeine concoctions: The Sparkling Citrus Espresso for me, and the Undertow for my dear friend. We drank them. Wonderful, we thought, but more for the experimentation than the taste. Will regaled me with a story about a late night gone rampant, where by the end of the night he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d had a good time, but what he knew for certain was that he had been changed somehow. I felt the same way about this beverage.
Spurred by curiosity, we moved onwards to the alcoholic beverages. My friend had a Brandy Corretto, a rather delicious blend of espresso, whiskey and vanilla, while I had the Nocine Notte, which was simply a Negroni with Cold Brew. As we guzzled our drinks, we felt a strange warmth, a sense that we had taken part in some ancient ritual that accompanies every great cultural shift.
After some light conversation, I excused myself to the bathroom. Walking through the copper arena, one is reminded less of Starbucks, and more of a quintessential American factory. Not a real American factory, but rather the mythology of the Depression era factories.
As I washed my face in the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. Not only had I come here, but I had enjoyed it, I had savored every taste and every marvelous adventure. Everything was alright. The struggle was finished. I’d won the victory over myself. I loved Starbucks Reserve Roastery.
The Starbucks Reserve Roastery is at 61 9th Ave. It is perfect.