When Starbucks was exotic

It was Sunday morning and Mr. Sax and I took a drive. Years ago, when our son was a wee lad we called Boy and I had no horse and Mr. Sax did not spend entire weekends tootling on his horn, we took Sunday drives. These drives always ended in food such as fried onion rings and clam strips in Stamford at Dutchess, or lobster rolls in West Haven. With Boy grousing about his boredom, we explored diners and sub shops and pizza parlors all over Putnam and Dutchess. All over the county, we tried to expose him to every variety of local ethnic cuisine, including Italian, Indian, Chinese, Mexican, and Japanese. For a time we kept returning to Port Chester because of the mélange of inexpensive South American restaurants that had sprung up. This was before the hipper than hip BarTaco opened, now one of my favorite haunts. Sadly, Mr. Sax and I only irregularly take long Sunday drives. Many Sundays we make it no further than Mount Kisco, which, crazily enough, has become how I imagine it would be if we ever made it Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Thanks to a new wave of culinary entrepreneurs, Mount Kisco now supports many terrific and entertaining eateries. I love Little Crepe Street, owned and managed by Bonnie Saran, who first opened Little Kabob Station. One short strip of E. Main Street now boasts Mayan, French, and Indian cuisine, as well as first rate traditional bar food, like barbequed chicken wings. Closer to Metro North, there’s BGR Burger and Via Vanti. Only feel safe in a chain? There’s Cosi and Subway. Since Mr. Sax and I are now on constant diets, we are trying (in vain) to cut back on dining out. I pointed out to my husband that the reason restaurant food tastes so good is because it’s drenched in salt and butter. These days, the majority of our Sunday drives end in coffee. Lured by the campaign for Blonde Roast, we decided to give Starbucks a shot.

I haven’t been in Starbucks much since the last remodel, a couple of hurricanes back. I was never a fan of the gas fireplace, but the rest of the décor works. I appreciate the baronial feel of the communal table. I like the chalkboard art. The room seems larger than I remembered and was quite crowded. The atmosphere was urban and somewhat gritty. It didn’t feel or look like a Bedford suburb.

A grown woman driving a white Range Rover came in blowing bubbles from her chewing gum. That was kind of wild. Two very different but extremely tiny and perfectly accessoried Asian women came in for soy lattes. A young Hispanic guy wearing headphones occupied a large wooden bench, studiously ignoring everyone. Nearby, the overstuffed leather chairs were taken with people operating in their own universe.

“Who is that man talking to?” Mr. Sax asked when we’d taken our seats. “I think he’s talking to himself.”

“Nonsense,” I said firmly. “He’s addressing that woman across from him but she’s not listening. See how he keeps leaning forward and trying to engage her, but she’s not having any?”

“No,” my husband said.

Not wanting to stare, I shifted my attention back to my Blonde Roast coffee, which tastes exactly like every other Starbucks brand. The man was now gesticulating and animatedly chattering to no one. “Hmm,” I said.  

I recalled to Mr. Sax what a treat it was to drive to Starbucks when it first opened. There weren’t too many of them back then. In Mount Kisco, before Starbucks, there was a short-lived and poorly conceived place called Coffee Pickers that had very good coffee (the owner was a professional roaster), but the atmosphere was wretched. When Borders opened its café, Pickers immediately went under. Coffee Pickers’ walls were bland beige and the furniture was clumsy and worst of all, the floor was covered in plaid carpet. One day a friend grabbed me and dragged me out just as a lunatic was approaching us with a boiling cup she looked like she was about to launch. The place had no hip vibe at all, even if it did attract a small group of young women from England and Germany and Sweden, back when the local gentry still employed European nannies and au pairs.

“Remember how excited we were about Starbucks?” I asked my spouse. At one time we loved the chain so much we owned stock.

“Yes,” he said, crumpling his napkin. “A lot has changed but the lemon pound cake remains unparalleled and delicious.”