Coffee Is it bitter

Author: Chen Danyan
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-05-01
Features: This book is a collection of Chen Danyan's travels over more than ten years, introducing the cafes she has visited in dozens of countries. There is the "Two Ugly Sisters Cafe" in Paris, a famous writer's cafe by the Seine River; and the Eagle Cafe in West Berlin, the closest cafe to the Berlin Wall. In this book, what is savored is not just coffee, but more the culture and charm of different lands. With her profound cultural background, the author uses delicate and insightful penwork to show us the origins of each small shop, the mood of each row of seats, and the appearance of each patron. Accompanied by richly layered images and meticulously crafted decorative details, the entire book is imbued with the rich cultural aroma of coffee. Sweet as love, bitter as life, black as death—this is coffee, this is life. This book is one of Chen Danyan's travel essays on European culture, a collection of texts filtered from her 11 years of traveling in Europe, introducing famous and lesser-known cafes around the world. Illustrated and beautifully presented, it is a pleasure to read. Leisurely reading such exquisite prose is like holding a cup of "sweet as love, bitter as life, black as death" coffee—a rare enjoyment.
Porto: Old Hotel Cafe
One summer day in Shanghai, around noon, I went to the Peace Hotel to wait for someone downstairs. When I arrived, I realized there were several coffee seats there, but we only said to meet in the coffee seats without specifying which one, so I started looking. That day, there were few people in the lobby, and the sunlight outside shone like a bright knife, while inside it was dimly lit. The old yellow light shone upward from the black cast-iron lampshades, illuminating the high ceiling. The curtains were low. Suddenly, I thought of an old hotel cafe in Portugal, in Porto, on the edge of Europe, and they were very similar. At that moment, I suddenly looked at the old hotel beside me. Its ceiling was also high and dimly lit, just like the cafe in Porto.
Portugal is a poor country in Europe, unlike Germany, which often repairs hotel cafes to be prosperous and wealthy, still retaining the dim and decadent charm of old Europe. The day I visited was in the morning, and the rising sun illuminated the crowded streets and puddles on them. The streets were bustling with traffic but carried the chaotic atmosphere of a poor country. Under the lighted ceiling, the brown chairs and tables seemed so small, so secluded, comfortably lost in thought, isolated from the world. The black cast-iron used in the building was elegantly curved. It was the Jugendstil, once widely popular in early 20th-century Europe, which could be seen in many places in Germany, France, and Spain. However, they had been carefully, or relatively carefully, restored, looking very new. The best-preserved and most dignified Jugendstil can be found in a church in Switzerland, where you would think they fit the respectable middle class. But in the cafes of Porto, it was different. Like the Peace Hotel, it was carefully preserved but not renovated, perhaps because it couldn't afford to renovate as elegantly as Germany. There, you could still see the sediment of time, the wear and tear in frequently used areas, carrying a certain lyrical and outdated style of the artisanal era, like the fading old Europe.
Rich European cities, like Munich, have repaired themselves meticulously, but unfortunately, they have lost much of the charm of old Europe. Porto, however, couldn't afford such extensive repairs, and the Peace Hotel, far in East Asia, unintentionally preserved the old Europe. They even retained heavy, similarly styled armchairs covered in brown leather. The leather was old, with some cracks. A heavy glass was placed stably on the small table. Sitting down, you felt spacious. A warm breeze swept over your feet from the brown floor. In the corner, there was a row of wall niches surrounded by black cast-iron, once used as old radiators heated by boilers. Now, with central air conditioning systems, they are no longer in use, like a mark. If you drink juice here, you hold it in an old-fashioned glass, thick and yellowed. Sitting there, you look at a long bar, where the bartender has his hair perfectly combed with pomade, but the black collar ends on a white shirt with frayed cuffs. He doesn't look like the bartender in a modern hotel.