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Sip Cafe

Zero Post Office Sq
Boston, MA 02109
Neighborhood: Financial District

Review originally published on Yelp.

Some coffee shops thrive off the location, and Sip Cafe is one of those shops. Located right in downtown Boston’s Post Office Square, an adorable park compliments the experience of enjoying a coffee. This shop thrives in the warm season, but thanks to a loyal customer base, they do just fine all year round.

I bought a small (8 oz.) coffee on my first visit. Sometimes a small is 8 oz, I get it, especially when the coffee is quality, which it was. They offer a drip coffee as well as a Daterra Southern Italian espresso, which is pretty, pretty nice. Of course, they have teas and other beverages too, as well as a great selection of tasty edibles if you’re hungry.

Go in, get something nice, and take it outside. Sit in the park and watch the city move and breathe around you. I do that on every occasion, as the indoor scene is hard to adjust to.

In cities with public transportation, a subculture of completely random people exists.  There are neighborhoods of people; families, cliques and groups, housemates, coworkers, students, mysterious strangers. Most of these people do not interact with each other, and yet the train is a social network that connects people in a special way. It’s my hope, through this series of short stories, to bring light to the tunnels below our feet, and discover the subculture that defines our cities.

I started riding the MBTA subway (a.k.a. “the T”) in Boston when I was a freshman in college. For locals to that area, it was the Green Line B train. I got my first tour of the city on that train as a pre-frosh in orientation. Some of the students I was with had never been to Boston, let alone the United States. It was a thrilling experience for all of us. Things seemed a lot bigger back then.

The trains looked old and heavily used. There was a “subway” smell of burnt rubber and hot metal that resonated. The sound of the electric current pushing the train forward was unique, almost unearthly. I took it all in as we got on the train like wandering tourists. People of all makes and sizes were already there, watching us enter the train with cautious yet indifferent eyes. The girls looked at the guys, and the guys looked at the girls.

Our orientation guide took us to Newbury Street for ice cream at J.P. Licks. I wandered off to a small bistro down the street with a guy I got chummy with that first day. That friendship was short-lived; we took different programs at school, and rarely saw each other after that.

The T fare used to be tokens before it changed to electronic cards and paper tickets. I remember the sound tokens made when dropped on the ground, like quarters on brick stone, echoing. Our guide gave us tokens that time around, but a monthly pass was essential later on to see every inch of Boston. And I would learn over the next few years, every inch of the city was different, and worth exploring.

Within two weeks, I was comfortable riding the T.

The Clock Tower, Boston, MA

The FED Building, Boston, MA

Today, SPIN Magazine opened the floodgates for avid fans of Hooray For Earth (HFE) by streaming their entire upcoming album “True Loves” online. I wasted no time in listening to it here. I urge to do the same, before this offer disappears. The album goes public on June 7th.

For everyone who got here late, HFE is a guitar band originally from Boston. They now operate in New York, and have since then exploded. Their heavy-hitting presence from years ago (i.e their EP “Momo”) has not changed. If anything, they have complimented that energy with music that makes people feel alive. The vocals resonate on almost every track, as if welcoming listeners to sing along. Check out songs like “Last Minute” and “True Loves” to get a feel for what I mean.

There are layers to their music that simply never existed before. They’ve been exploring the boundaries of guitar rock with electronic enthusiasm, and their hard work has paid off. I sense a very strong and positive reaction to their new release from Dovecote Records. Check out their music video for “True Loves” below. It aptly demonstrates the caliber of their work.

Porchfest 2011
Somerville, MA
May 21, 2011

Somerville has always had a reputation for appealing to the artist community in Boston. Whether it’s a live act to watch after dinner, or an art gallery to browse during the day, there’s enough creative energy here to satisfy every taste.

When I first moved to Somerville, I became enamored of the “Open Studios”, an annual event where resident artists literally “open up their studios” to interested neighbors and local art enthusiasts. Now, the Somerville Arts Council has added another warm-weather event to their calendar, Porchfest.

Porchfest is not new, but it’s slowly gaining popularity across the country. Local musicians take center stage on the front porches of willing volunteers. It’s all about giving the local community a free show, outside, in a safe, neighborhood environment. It could not have been a better day for live music.

Starting in Union Square around noon, over 75 acts of eclectic musical variety made waves throughout the residential heart of Somerville. Almost by accident, my friend and I caught the end of a roots rock quartet in Prospect Hill. There was a sizable group on the sidewalk with drinks and focaccia topped with pesto in their hands (provided by the porch’s owner).  We stood there, along the periphery, enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of it all. Everyone was happy, smiling, enjoying the music, chatting like neighbors do. I only imagine these sentiments were shared all afternoon across town.

Porchfest has found a good home in Somerville. There will always be a community of local musicians ready to volunteer their time, and there will always be a neighborhood of enthusiasts ready to hear them out on what promises to be a perfect spring day.

Porchfest was on Saturday, May 21^st from 12-6pm. It’s sure to come back around the same time next year, so keep your ears ready. You can find out more by going to http://www.somervilleartscouncil.org.

Boston Common Coffee Company

515 Washington St
(between Avenue De Lafayette & Chickerling Pl)
Boston, MA 02111

Review originally published on Yelp.

This shop was my morning destination for great coffee for nearly three years. Every morning I went to work, I would stop there to get a small cup of coffee, and possibly a scone or a honey wheat bagel with butter on it. They knew me like any loyal customer. I had almost every blend they offered, and for better or worse, I discovered what good coffee is all about, all thanks to this place.

This is not your ordinary cafe. This is a fair-trade, small business success story. It’s a coffee house with room to relax; great for people to sit down and talk. They have great background music that changes with the moods of the staff, who are great, knowledgeable, and certainly willing to offer suggestions if you can’t figure out what you want. I don’t recommend getting in line without an idea, however, or you’re likely to vex the others waiting patiently.

Their Guatemala Antigua and Breakfast Blend offerings are at the top of my list. Their muffin-tops and scones are great in the morning, and their panini sandwiches are also something to write about. My favorite one is the “Big Tony,” a sliced meatball marinara creation that hits several different spots at once.

I recommend this to every single Bostonian in the metro area. Break away from the Dunkin doldrums and try a truly unique drip.

Peter Bjorn and John @ Paradise Rock Club
Boston, MA
05/05/2011
Margaritas

Boston was once again the place to be for this year’s Cinco de Mayo celebration. The weather was pretty, and everyone of age was having some tequila, toasting “¡salud!” to the end of another year at college. I was at Sunset Cantina with a few friends, drinking margaritas with blue salt on the rim, eating nachos and catching up before the main event at the Paradise Rock Club.

Peter Bjorn and John – the indie rock trio from Sweden that spiraled upward in fandom when they came to the states – was a much-anticipated event. We made every sacrifice to see them play a Cinco de Mayo show together. The last time they did this in Boston was back in 2007, right as they were getting national acclaim for their third major album, Writer’s Block. They were making waves in the indie scene with their single “Young Folks,” and I was promoting them through a local radio station that fostered their rise to fame.  This year, the trio returned to show us something new.

Photo Credit - Diana Wong, Brooklyn Vegan

On one of Boston’s most notorious drinking holidays of the year, the trio (guitarist Peter Morén, bass guitarist Björn Yttling, and drummer John Eriksson) took to the stage and immediately dove into my favorite song, “Up Against the Wall.” It was serendipitous; my friends and I had discussed our favorite songs by them earlier in the night. I was glad this wasn’t just a tour of their new album, Gimme Some, even though that would have been amazing. The tracks they did highlight embodied an optimistic enthusiasm for live performance. They played a variety that spanned over several albums, giving me a taste of everything new and old. They brought a great, frenetic energy to the stage. Their sound was powerful, poppy, new wave and enjoyable all around.

Photo Credit - Diana Wong

Photo Credit - Diana Wong

There were occasional jam sequences that blew my mind, and Peter would sometimes grind into his guitar and improvise solos that made my head bang uncontrollably. He even jumped into the stage a couple times to play his harmonica, and Bjorn would rock the bass in wild support. Even John had his moment, playing his heart out, standing over his drums, banging incessantly while P&B offered instrumental backup. They played an hour-long set, left the stage, and came back with drinks in their hands minutes later, toasting and celebrating before returning to another great set. I regret not staying long enough to thank them personally for an awesome show. It went on until just about midnight, and I eagerly picked up a t-shirt before racing to catch the last train home.

Bloc Party has been around for years now. And yet, every time I listen to their album “Silent Alarm”, I am reminded of a great experience I had in June 2007. It was Boston’s Best Music Poll, and Bloc Party was headlining. I was working for The Phoenix, the media group that put on the show, and they gave me an all-access pass to document the show. I was free to explore the stage and get close to the action. I had not really listened to their music beforehand, but the show itself was a defining moment for me. Many people would agree; live performances surpass a studio recording in more ways than one. They opened with “Like Eating Grass”, drawing out the introduction for everyone to know, and went on from there, playing “Silent Alarm” song by song. Their sound resonated with me ever after.

Fast-paced guitar rock blended with powerful vocal harmonies to make waves in the ocean of people that flooded the streets. They started playing “Banquet” and I couldn’t help jump along with everyone else. I was there, fifteen feet from the stage, moving around every song to capture pictures of the band in their element. By the time they started “She’s Hearing Voices”, the percussion took on an industrial presence, and everyone began clapping their hands and jumping to the beat. A girl next to me was losing herself in the vibrations of the song, dancing in place with her eyes closed and mouth slightly open.

Listening to their album now, I feel the same vibrations, echoed years after they released it. Their sound has changed since then, incorporating more electronic instrumentation, but they still have that iconic, indie feel. It’s only getting better.

People compare them to The Cure, Joy Division, and The Smiths, all of which fall under a subgenre of English alternative rock. It’s only fair they share the same sound; the British influences have shaped their music in such a unique way. There is so much energy and emotion in the sound and lyrics, almost like a rebellion. A teenage rebellion, which is exactly what I saw on Landsdowne Street that night. I snapped picture after picture of the show, trying to capture a visual piece of the moment. Years later, I can look back at these pictures, while listening to this album, and remember a great experience, one-of-a-kind, not likely to be forgotten.

Hey everyone, this is Zucker. In February 2011, I rode a train around the country. I did it for a month, stopping about a dozen times across the nation. I didn’t see every state, every city, apart from the ones I visited and passed on the train. There was no rhyme or reason to my trip, other than the act of getting out and traveling through a personally-unexplored frontier. I had never seen the country like this. I usually see it from 30,000 feet in the sky, or perhaps on the mindless roads and highways.

This was better; more intimate, and more involved with the country’s side. Taking the train has shown me so much, and it’s allowed me to broaden my mind a bit. I wrote about it, took pictures, experienced new cultures and listened to people. It was a month I will never forget, and I’ll share it with you here, one bit at a time.

Boston to New York – “Northeast Regional Blur”
2/5/2011

Disclaimer: there is a whole different story being made called “John Harvard’s Beer Flight,” but this is not that story…

I went to John Harvard’s for dinner sometime ago with a friend, Jimmy C., and took the chance in trying a flight of their microbrews. I recommend you try it, if you like trying new beers. Couple that with a good dinner and you’re all set! They gave us a good deal for ordering two, and we ended up ordering pints of our favorites afterwards.

John Harvard’s Beer Flight:

Colonial Gold
Pale Ale
Holiday Spice Ale
Demon DPA
Milk Stout

Colonial Gold:
This was a their blond ale, a German-style offering that’s smooth and very light in body and color. It was refreshing, but had a hoppy aftertaste.

Pale Ale:
This was a great pale ale, full of body and smooth taste. It was darker and sweeter than the Colonial Gold, kind of like Sierra Nevada, but with a floral aroma to it.

Holiday Spice:
This was their seasonal offering, a holiday brown ale loaded with cinnamon and nutmeg. It was a great blend of sugars and spice that made this one go with the season.

Demon DPA:
This is their double IPA, a stronger hops, a stronger beer. It was smooth going down, and there was a light aftertaste, but that thing had a strong, hoppy bite. Very tasty!

Milk Stout:
This was a variation of a classic rich stout, smooth and flavorful. It wasn’t overpowering at all; it was very dark, sweet, and milky, and the roasted malts tasted like coffee.

My favorite out of all of them was the Milk Stout, seconded by the Pale Ale. I bought a pint of each before the night was through, Jimmy had another Holiday Spice. It was a great way to sample everything they had in the house. Their food menu is a whole different story!

Led Zeppelin 2 @ Paradise Rock Lounge
Boston, MA
01/12/2011
J&B straight

It was right in the middle of “Dazed and Confused” that I realized what it felt like to attend a Led Zeppelin concert. The only difference was that these guys were not the original members of the band. I couldn’t tell however, because they looked exactly like the original members during the time in which they created their following. Unless Led Zeppelin played at Paradise Rock Lounge back in the day, there was no other distinction. Did that actually happen?

It was the culmination of Kulp’s 30^th birthday celebrations. His girlfriend and roommates put all the bells and whistles on what I can only call a frenetic pleasure-fest of the senses. Before I knew it, I was drinking J&B straight, licking gobs of chocolate alcohol-infused whip cream off my two, good fingers, and sampling bits of a Lincoln-log, fried Philly Cheesesteak abomination, better known as “The Kulp.” It’s due to appear on http://www.thisiswhyyourefat.com/ any day now.

The night sped up when I half-ran from Cambridge Terrace to Paradise Rock with J-Lew. We thought we were late, but the show had not started. Typical. People got there within minutes of us, and it eventually turned into the apex of everyone’s night. Opening with “Rock and Roll” was the most appropriate entrance, testing the limits of everyone’s expectations. I was right there, two layers away from the stage, leaning in and taking a glimpse of the moments felt by millions across time and space.

At first, the levels were out of whack. The rock was too much, and the mixers had to find a balance before people’s head’s exploded, before “Dazed and Confused” turned up. I rocked at that point, screaming “Go!!” and “Yeah!!” while the band jammed on. Then they played “Since I’ve Been Loving You,” and there was a moment in the confusion when I truly felt unlike any other. They played “Stairway to Heaven,” and it felt like the lighter in my hand was my soul, burning out in satisfaction. It made me think the end was near, and then they gave me more.

I lost sight of my friends when the band finished their second set. I stayed to buy a t-shirt and talk to the roadie selling swag. It turned out the band wasn’t finished. They came back and played a two-song encore to a reasonably smaller crowd. One of the songs was “Moby Dick,” and an outrageous drum solo ensued for close to five minutes. When the show was over, they talked with the few people remaining, including myself, about the nature of their cover band, and the intimate relationship they have with the music and the era. Almost like a religious mission, they tour the country, spreading the word of one of classic rock’s greatest acts.

I bled from the hand, not realizing it until the lights came on. The rich, red coagulation on my index finger only enthused feelings of rebellion and rock, and when the roadie made me aware of it, I wrapped it up in the newly-purchased tour shirt. After the show, the band members were nice enough to sign it, impressed and concerned about the blood stains I proudly presented. I unfortunately had to wash the shirt, but the memory, much like the song, remains the same.

YOU CAN BE A WESLEY @ Great Scott
Allston, MA
1/20/2011
Victory HopDevil Ale

Stepping into Great Scott for the first time in several years felt liberating, as if I had broken some taboo against enjoying myself in Allston. Indeed, it felt energetic to be there again; the indie-rock lovers of Boston were slowly filling the bar as the opening act, “You Can Be a Wesley,” took the stage. Four solid players of garage-pop rock flooded the speakers and made me thankful for showing up within minutes of arrival.

The vocals lifted the sound of the band, and at times the band carried them, and me, and the rest of us to an interesting place. They played this one song, “Old in Florida,” and it had me closing my eyes at times to take it in. A music video was well-deserved for this song, and even after that plug, they continued to make use of Great Scott for over an hour. Not knowing the band beforehand truly made this experience worthwhile. They certainly know how to hit the fan with head-banging rock.

It’s a great progression of indie-label music, and they just kept flowing, even after the audience stopped clapping their hands and beating their heads. Mild frenzies of musical sensation made me smile for most of their performance. Their last song made me shiver when they switched from major to minor keys. The force of their percussion radiated something chemical around the stage, and people like me were simply blown away by their on-stage talent. I almost feel like ruining the moment by asking what that last song was, but maybe it’s better I leave that to my imagination.

Before leaving the bar, their bassist Nick gave me one of their last limited edition poster prints from a previous show at Great Scott. As an original, I thought you’d like to see it. Check out their new music on Myspace!

Dorchester, November

I’m in my coworker’s car with his girlfriend and 2-year old son sitting next to me, and we’re heading from work to Dorchester and Blue Hills Avenue. The conversation was between him and me, sitting right behind him, about work and the people we work with. His girlfriend sat shotgun and their kid sat next to me. F-bombs and judgments enveloped the air, for good and for worse, and I composed myself as best I could while the kid listened blindly looking out the back window.

A Jamaican super-mix was playing track forty-two, and a brief interlude of melodic vocals helped me escape the fact that people live differently out here. “You’re in the hood now,” he said, laughing like he was joking, “Deep in it.”

Why wasn’t I concerned? Why didn’t I care about the kid or the girl, or the three loiterers inside the gas station while I bought a bag of Fritos through bulletproof glass? The company I had, and the randomness of it all… it was too odd for the neighbors.

My coworker is changing his fate with the help of this job.

We sat in his apartment and shared a Dutch over business talk. It reminded me of nights in Rolling Green when I was younger, drinking and philosophizing about all things. Except back then, I didn’t worry about my safety.

By 7pm, I was wishing I was home, and I felt like he felt the same way. He drove, so he had to drive me back. He quickly changed into something more comfortable while I packed my things. From Perry Ellis Portfolio he changes to light blue Levi’s and a flat white sweatshirt. He threw on his winter jacket and completed a fashionable picture. Maybe he knew; he didn’t really notice, or care.

He was thinking about going to Foxwoods. He could have been using that as a cover for more sinister shit, but I’ll never know. I said my goodbyes and waited for him in the hallway as he said bye to his family. It was a sincere picture; in a “last time” sort of way. It had a genuine impression on my memory. He lifted his head to her through the door, said “I’ll be back,” and closed the door behind him as we rolled out of Dorchester.

Riding the rails from Boston to New York I occasionally take a break from my laptop to gaze out the window. Maybe it is because I am looking for it now, but it seems that there is a lot going on in a country, or at least a region, who is supposed to be falling behind. Most of the trip takes me through coastal Connecticut, and all along the shore line there are men and machines building with steel and moving rocks and earth. Sights like this give me hope. I do not fear that that life blood of this country, the men and women who work every day to build and then maintain it, are falling behind, they are just maintaining a vast infrastructure that has suddenly been awaken by an urgency broadcasted from the other side of the globe. I hope that America will be able to put its wreckless ways behind itself and embrace the future by investing in the people and infrastructure that made this countries greatness possible.

7:50AM

Life is really great when I just look around without judgment; things are always happening, and when I turn my head in wonder, something interesting, something worth living to see is always there in front of my eyes.

This morning I looked upon the sky, walking to work down Seaport Boulevard, and I saw a plane fly right over my head. It was massive, its wingspan openly soaring through the still morning air.

An hour before that, a beautiful display of rising sunlight radiated through hazy slivers of gray in waves of blue, pink, orange, red and yellow.

The sun had not yet shown its face, and I felt inclined to take a picture.

It’s strange how my eyes look to the skies today.

I should thank the woman who lived in the apartment before me, because she left behind a quarterly subscription to edible Boston, a seasonal dive into local gastronomy for food lovers all around. If you’ve recognize the word “gastronomy,” its your kind of magazine.

I didn’t realize how involved people were; choosing peppers for certain dishes, stories from starting your own bee farm, making a signature root beer, finding the best cheese farms, apple farms, meat farms and wine. Every flavor for every pallet is covered in this magazine.

After stories and articles they usually include several tasty recipes that incorporate the local, home grown products they wrote about. It’s an enriching connection for the reader and foodie within.

Starting off their fifth year in production this Summer, edible Boston is pulling up their sleeves and getting more involved with the edible end-product. “This year,” writes Publisher and Editor Ilene Bezahler, “we decided to focus our attention not just on the farmers in our area but also on the chefs who are connected and working closely with them.”

This is an exciting opportunity; an endless source of culinary talent is available here in Greater Boston (a city that loves its food fresh and its dining fine), and edible Boston has a big chance to get closer to our city’s source of quality in the local food businesses sector.

Learn more about edible Boston at www.edibleboston.com

Last night was a strange night for me, filled with deviant detours and unusual circumstances that I am unable to get it out of my mind. I personally am afraid that some instances from last night may have scared away some friendships and social acquaintances, along with my self-respect and understanding of people in general.

My plan was to pick up some packaged goods and spend a relaxing evening by the fire (otherwise known as my computer or television). Instead, plans got twisted. My friend, David, came into town for the night. I thought he was coming into town just to fly out to San Francisco. He neglected to mention that his flight was the following day. That being said, the girls (Jey, Lay, and Tray) made a point to contact me and tell me the good news, and that they were getting dinner in Davis Square at The Boston Burger Company with him. I was requested to attend by the highest authority. Instead of pushing for my ‘pick up and drop down’ plans for the evening, I decided to dress comfortably fashionable and make my way out to Davis.

Wearing my comfy black sweater and Martin+Osa jeans and the Zara Man jacket for cover, I made my way by foot in just over twenty minutes. David and the girls have not seen me in months (almost a year in David’s case). At any rate, we fell into conversation like it had only been days since we spoke. David and I actually talked sports briefly (and we both know neither of us really enjoyed sports), even if it was only about how UMass teams were a joke.

David’s ways have not changed, yet he is certainly finding himself during this period of transition in his life. As I write this he is in the sky, off to California, to see a woman he loves. Have a nice trip, David!

After the burgers, we split ways with Lay and Tray, and I walked with David and Jey to her house. She has a nice house, nice roommates, a nice setup. Because my earlier plans fell through, and because I was in Davis, I decided to ring up my old coworker who lives right down the street. Turns out he doesn’t live right down the street from Jey at all, and a laborious trek through the backwoods of Somerville rendered some eclectic conversations between David and I.

We stopped by a package store and picked up a bottle of vodka, taking swigs back and forth, and opened up about existential futility as we tried to hail a cab on an empty overpass. Our costly cab ride took us back to this place, and we hung out for a special meet and greet during the World Series broadcast (an upset for anyone who hates the Yankees). We made a quick exodus back to my place before too much time was lost. My roommate was waiting for David, probably upset that he missed out on the dinner event.

My old coworker is a solid guy who looks up to me with respect. I have been to his place before, and it always had something to do with the recreations we enjoy. Last night, I felt like I used his respect to my advantage, and I feel somewhat guilty about it. That, in addition to dragging David along for such an impromptu visit, made the situation all the more taxing. I had to actively keep David in our conversations about work and life by breaking down inside jokes and events, an experience that David later confessed to me was rather autobiographical. I wonder if my old coworker thought the same way…

David and I bonded a great deal last night for the better. Him and I never speak on the phone anymore; he is always busy with school and work, and I am always busy with work and life. We are lazy and inconsiderate. Ten minutes of time is not hard to put aside for good conversation. I consistently guilt myself for not calling him more often, but now that guilt is gone because of all the fun we had together last night. We talked about so much, random as it may have been from time to time, and still we worked on a fast-paced connection of minds; an understanding felt by long-lasting friends. Our eyes were red, tired, loaded, and eccentric.

And we still had shit going on next day. David had a 9:00am flight to San Francisco, and I had to go to work the next day.