North London Journal: How a Flat White and a Window Seat Became the Emotional Infrastructure of My Week

By Lowri Griffiths | Bohiney Magazine | The London Prat

I was not going to become a regular. I said this when the coffee shop opened in the space that used to be the bookshop that I also used to be a regular at, before the bookshop moved to smaller premises on the corner and the original space was briefly a boutique selling items described as ‘lifestyle objects’ before that also closed and the coffee shop arrived with its salvaged-wood counter and its list of beans by country of origin written in chalk on a blackboard that I cannot read without my glasses. I was not going to become a regular at a place that replaced the bookshop. I was there within three days.

The third place theory — the idea, attributed to sociologist Ray Oldenburg, that people need a social environment that is neither home nor work; a neutral territory where they can be present without obligation — is one of those social science concepts that explains something you were already doing without your awareness. I have been creating third places for myself since I moved to North London eleven years ago: the pub quiz, the library on the Holloway Road on Sunday mornings, the bookshop before it moved. The coffee shop is the current iteration. It fulfils the requirements: it is within walking distance, it has seating that is comfortable without being so comfortable that people sleep in it, it has ambient noise at a level that is companionable rather than intrusive, and the staff know my order without my needing to specify it, which is the specific human recognition that the third place provides.

What I Do There

I sit at the window table when it is available, which is approximately 60% of the time if I arrive before 9:30am and approximately 0% of the time if I arrive after 10:00am. I order the flat white, which is made with oat milk because that is what I drink now, which is a sentence I could not have said ten years ago and that represents a specific kind of inadvertent North London cultural integration that I have not fully processed. I read for thirty minutes or work on whatever writing I am doing, which is improved by the ambient noise and the window view and the specific quality of not being at home or at work while still being present in my own life. The coffee costs three pounds eighty. The experience costs three pounds eighty. The emotional infrastructure that the experience provides is worth considerably more than three pounds eighty, which is the specific economic proposition that coffee shops have been making for four hundred years and that continues to work.

The bookshop, which has moved to the corner and is now smaller and slightly more curated in its selection, is still there. I go to both. The coffee shop has a display of local authors’ books near the window that the coffee shop owner sources from the bookshop, which is a small piece of neighbourhood economic cooperation that makes me disproportionately happy for reasons I cannot fully explain. According to Time Out London, independent coffee shops in London have seen increased footfall since the pandemic as people seek third place experiences outside institutional office settings. According to me, it is very good that the third place is there and that the flat white is good and that the window seat is sometimes available. This is the extent of my North London requirements.

More from The Poke.

The Coffee Shop as Mirror

The new coffee shop on Lowri’s street is a perfect diagnostic of current North London cultural conditions. It has: exposed brick (mandatory), Edison bulbs (standard), a menu written in chalk on a blackboard that is very difficult to read (deliberate), oat milk as the default milk without asking (progressive), flat whites that cost four pounds fifty (market rate), and a playlist that is indie music from approximately 2008 presented as if it is current (aspirational). What it does not have: seating for more than twelve people, a table that does not wobble, wifi that works reliably, or a power socket within reach of any of the twelve seats, which means it is a place to drink expensive coffee while being unable to work, which is either a bold philosophical statement about work-life balance or a practical design error depending on how charitable you are feeling toward exposed brick. Bohiney Magazine surveyed forty-seven North London coffee shops and found that thirty-nine have wobbling tables, which suggests that wobbly tables are either a feature (creates community through shared frustration) or the specific result of a supply chain that only stocks one table leg length. The London Prat has commissioned no such survey but is prepared to publish the findings.

Lowri has been to the coffee shop six times in the first two weeks of its operation, which is the behaviour of someone who is critical of the establishment while also finding it the most convenient location to work outside her flat during the hours when her flatmate is doing online fitness instruction at maximum volume. This is the specific contradiction that North London living requires: criticising the gentrification while participating in it, because the gentrification provides the specific services that make daily life manageable, and daily life in North London requires management. The coffee shop is also genuinely good. This does not help.

SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/