Tribeca Café

I had to spend a good part of today doing some research at Hartford Hospital. So I decided to make a little detour on the way home and treat myself to a coffee at the Tribeca Café in Glastonbury. Daughter Cordelia lives only a couple of miles from the place, and can't stop raving about it.

I'm not quite sure how the café came upon its name. It's in a section of Connecticut that couldn't be more suburban. I guess that the owner wanted a name that would convey hipness: TriBeCa is hip, and this place is hip, too, although in a different way.

The café is beautiful inside--reminds me of the old Xando's in New Haven--and very clean, and the coffee's delicious. It's got plasma TVs, including one in a private room furnished with chic sofas. You can close the French doors and, for the price of a cup of coffee, watch your favorite program in privacy and style.

Outdoors is a patio with what's described as a "fire pit." It's more like a wall of fire--a bed of blue glass chips atop a brick wall with a propane-fueled element buried inside, apparently. Cordelia reports it's pretty spectacular when it's lit. I'll have to go back one evening and see for myself.