My wife has an idea for a coffee place: a hole-in-the-wall in one of the hipper quadrants of Brooklyn - East Williamsburg, say, or Red Hook - with a 1950s percolator on an electric range, brewing Yuban out of a can. Totally retro, serving a cup of Joe that boasts bold intimations of tin and notes of cigarette ash.
The line, she predicts, will be out the door.
That's her response - joking, contrarian - to the super-serious artistry happening right now with the so-called Third Wave of coffee roasters and cafes in Philadelphia and across our caffeinated landscape. And while it can be exasperating waiting an eternity for a single-cup pour of some $130-a-lb. roast hailing from Panama's tiny Hacienda La Esmeralda, the wait, it turns out, can be worth it.