LACKAWANNA COFFEE — Restaurant in Jersey City

“Snob, Not Nerd: A Love Letter to My Local Café”

“Confessions of a Certified Coffee Snob (Without the Pretentious Baggage)

Let me start with a confession: I’m a certified coffee snob. Not just by my own account. I've taken the online quizzes, checked the boxes, and yes, I qualify. I care deeply, almost absurdly, about a good cup of coffee. But let me be clear about something else:

I am not, nor will I ever be, a coffee nerd.

You know the type. They talk with an unearned sense of authority, waxing poetic about ratios and terroirs, with a tone that says you’re clearly not worthy of this brew. They take the simple joy of coffee and turn it into an exclusive club. Me? I just want damn good coffee, made by decent people in a space that doesn’t make me feel like I’m walking into a pretentious gallery of bean elitism.

Which is why finding that café—that rare, perfect coffee spot—is a borderline spiritual experience.

The Snob's Criteria Here's what I look for:

Exceptional coffee, obviously. Life’s too short for average espresso. Genuine, friendly humans behind the counter who know how to handle the morning rush with grace and a little humor. A space that feels calm, clean, and thoughtfully designed—not sterile or overly curated, just intentional. No whiff of snobbery toward customers. If I feel judged or condescended to, no matter how good the flat white is, I’m out. You can’t bribe me with crema.

There’s a place...my place, that nails all of it. Brutalist design meets quiet pockets of solitude in an industrial-height space with a private mezzanine that somehow still feels intimate. The flowers, the art, the artifacts? Minimal but deeply thoughtful. Nothing screams “Instagram backdrop,” but everything whispers: someone cared when they made this.

And the people? A damn delight. A rotating crew of fascinating, kind, slightly weird (the best kind) individuals who just get it. No unnecessary small talk, unless the moment calls for it. No airs, no scripts. Just good energy.

They know my drink. They remember my name. One of their experimental concoctions—some wild alchemy that should’ve been too fancy for my taste—became the only thing I order now. I still don’t care for fancy smamchee brews. But they got me. Somehow, they got me.

It’s not just the beans or the barista’s pour technique. It’s the feeling of belonging without needing to prove yourself. It’s the fact that I can walk in, take a deep breath, and think, yes, this is where I’m meant to be this morning.

If you’ve found a spot like that...hold onto it. Cherish it. Let them know they’re rare. Let them know they’re valued.

To the sexy team at you-know-who-you-are: You have all my money and all my respect.

Signed, A proud coffee snob who finally...

This reviews an afternoon visit on August 17th.

On food, this review focuses on my order and my friend's order. The orders were different types of iced black coffee. The taste was not good. For me, I threw away my coffee with a third left. For my friend, he commented it could be the worst coffee he drank from a cafe. This friend is also a food & beverage entrepreneur and international restaurant group manager. This view of worst cafe coffee prepared follows tasting from hundreds of establishments.

On service, my friend and I waited for at least 3 minutes at the front of the line with 2 folks behind the counter. Presumably, both were baristas because they were handling the equipment and ingredients. This would have been an understandable deviation from normal operating procedure, but then the next customer also waited several minutes at the front of the line when there were no other orders being prepared. A review from reviewer named Y wrote about the unexpected service quality 6 months ago. This review shares a similar negative...

I never write reviews but I’ve been living in the area for quite some time and have had horrible experiences from the coffee here. Last January, I drank one of the specialty drinks, ran on a treadmill, and had the WORST stomach pain of my life. A feeling of stabbing for hours, cold sweat, something I wouldn’t want to wish on anyone. Fast forward a year, I thought that was one fluke and this February I did the same and got a standard oat milk vanilla latte. Went to ShopRite with a friend, and the same thing happened but instead I was cursed in a supermarket public restroom. I’m not sure if it’s how they make their coffee or the milk they use or something tainting it in the process, but as someone who drinks coffee almost every day, something I’ve never experienced before and the events were isolated to this coffeeshop. I have nothing against the staff and think it’s a very conveniently located place but just thought I would share...