The Coffee House at the Grand: Coffee in the Theoretical Sense…read more
There are places that serve coffee, places that understand coffee, and places that appear to have received a brief description of coffee from a passing stranger and decided they had enough information to proceed.
The Coffee House at the Grand, unfortunately, landed somewhere in the third category during my visit.
The coffee itself was subpar. Calling it weak would be generous. "Brown water" is perhaps less diplomatic, but considerably more accurate. It had the colour of coffee, occupied the appropriate sort of cup, and was apparently introduced to a coffee bean at some point in its journey, but flavour seemed to have missed the appointment entirely.
A proper cup of coffee ought to have some character. It needn't leap onto the table and recite poetry, but one reasonably expects aroma, depth, richness, or at least some evidence that the beans had ambitions. This had none of those things. It was warm, brown, and liquid, which technically places it within shouting distance of coffee, but only in the same way that a puddle is within shouting distance of a swimming pool.
The service did little to rescue matters.
The atmosphere struck me as unfriendly, and the interaction lacked the professionalism one expects from a place trading on the appearance and vocabulary of a proper coffee house. There is no requirement that staff perform Broadway numbers while handing over a cappuccino, of course, but a little warmth, attentiveness, and basic hospitality are not extravagant demands. They are rather the point.
That was perhaps the strangest part of the experience: the whole place felt less like a coffee house and more like an impersonation of one.
The visual cues are there. The name is there. The equipment is presumably there. One half expects the next step to involve excellent coffee and pleasant service. Instead, the performance stops just before the important bits.
It reminded me of building a pub, hanging a Guinness sign outside, installing a magnificent wooden bar, polishing every glass until it shines, and then serving everyone lukewarm tap water while looking mildly inconvenienced that they came in.
There is enormous potential here because the concept itself works. A coffee house at a grand property should feel inviting. It should be the sort of place where one settles in for ten minutes and accidentally stays for forty. Coffee should smell like coffee before it reaches the table, taste like someone cared about making it, and be served by people who understand that hospitality is part of what the customer is purchasing.
Instead, my experience was remarkably forgettable, except for the unfortunate fact that it was memorable for all the wrong reasons.
Perhaps I caught them on an off day. Every business is entitled to one. But based on this visit, the Coffee House at the Grand needs rather less attention paid to looking like a coffee shop and considerably more attention paid to being one.
At present, the coffee is brown water with excellent public relations.
