Coffee and slop

It pains me to have to post a negative review of a place where I know the owners but this one is legitimate. As a southsider (the other side of the river) I frequent crossroads coffee and tea across from forest hill park. Additionally, as a grown adult, it’s nice to not catch stares and gaffaws for wearing a button up shirt which tends to happen at Crossroads “norte” which is frequented by a younger set more accustom to sporting the latest fashion trends and tarck biekcles. So with this in mind I rode in the direction of my work from my mechanics shop near Broad and Boulevard where the dino love juice burn machine was getting an inspection and made a quick pit stop for some bean juice and a egg n cheese bagle at “del norte”. As usual the coffee was great and the full bodied blend has had me turning spreadsheets into usable data all day long at speeds rarely seen by man or machine or monkeys with cigarettes at typewriters. In fact I chose to hit Crossroads up for this reason even though I could have stopped in numerous coffeeshops along my route and had considered doing so to get more caffine ingested prior to my arrival at work.

When I first entered the shop I was greeted by short lines and unusually appealing music that wasn’t some band I had never heard of and didn’t care to ever listen to. The ambiance was nice and it was a warm (relatively) morning so I chose to order and take my food with a cigarette on the patio. While the food arrived quickly, I can only assume that it was due to the fact that my eggs seemed to be still clucking when they came to me. I was reminded of Jethro, Jessie, or Elvis from the documentary “dancing outlaw” when I first glanced at my food and to quote him I considered telling the greasy hipster cook with euro mullet dreads and unkempt appearance that “if he don’t start fryin them eggs a little bit better than what you been fryin em’ you’re gonna wake up in a coffin.” Seriously though I’m not the cleanest, or most uptight, or really even mildly assholeish when it comes to these things but eggs are yolks from a freaking chicken and although I know, Mr hipster gutter punk douchebag cook, that as a vegan you wouldn’t even consider touching an egg but I used to enjoy them until you intentionally undercooked mine such that I felt I was literally ending that chickens life right there. With a full kitchen inside (or most of a kitchen) I expected that a simple request like two eggs with cheese on a bagle could include fully cooked poultry products and melted dairy on top but alas, I was subjected to the Nu-
Fred of bagle sandwiches. Like a recently arrived hipster, this bagle lacked the appropriate background to fit nice and seamlessly with entrenched groups and as such did little to entrench itself in my gullet before being spewed out as waste.

Go to Crossroads for the coffee, cute hipster girls, sexy older fan ladies, baked goods, and lunch sandwiches but be wary of hung over cooks with dirty hair. If you see one cooking, skip the meal or come over to “el sur” across from Forest Hill park and I am sure Will and Olivia will set you up nice.

Sent from my office toilet.

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