Fond Memories of "The Bean"

I was stuck at home this morning, at the mercy of the oil company to do our annual maintenance on the heating system.  I ended up having an early lunch.  We'd had roasted chicken on Sunday, so with the leftovers I decided to make some tarragon chicken salad.  It's quite easy..just some cut up chicken, add a little mayo, some salt, pepper and dried tarragon.  Sometimes I like to add chopped walnuts or pecans, but I didn't today.

Isn't it funny how food (the smell, especially) can whisk you back to somewhere else?  I worked at a coffee shop nicknamed "The Bean" in college, where I used to make this very sandwich for customers, topped with avocado slices.  That, and I learned the ins and outs of being a barista and really learned to appreciate coffee in its many forms.  .  My interview consisted of making sure I was a living, breathing person, and at the end I was given a key to the shop and told  to show up for the bagel delivery at 7am the next morning.  That was it.  I guess I have a really trustworthy face!

The owner, Delia (not her real name) was an absolute bear.  She was pretty short-tempered but she liked me, paying me 50 cents more per hour (plus tips) than anybody else.  And allowing my then-boyfriend Brian to call me from his naval deployment in the Mediterranean.  These were the days before cell phones were widely available and cheap as they are now...if he didn't get me at the house, he didn't get me on the phone at all.  Delia thought it was pretty romantic, so she told me to tell him to call the shop if he got five minutes.  (I'll always remember her for that.)

The coffee shop was a cute little place, on one of the main drags in Newport, RI.  It was fairly expensive, being Newport and all, but people came in all the time and we had lots of regulars.  Some of her specialties included fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies as big as your head, spinach and feta croissants, and she made a mean chicken and tortellini soup.  Her husband, Greg (also not his real name) was some sort of executive for some foreign car company and he spent most weeks in New Jersey, working.  On weekends he would come home and work in the shop as well.  They used to get into the most terrific spats, with yelling and drama and usually somebody throwing something in the kitchen.  She fired employees for trivial things, and often called them the next day to apologize and beg them to come back.    My friends usually came by for chai lattes and veggie wraps, and if it was slow I'd sit with them for a spell.  It sounds crazy, but I loved working there.  I loved the fast pace, the steady flow of people coming and going.  Working there fueled a desire to someday own my own coffee shop.

  After graduation, I would stop in from time to time, whenever I found myself in Newport.  (which wasn't that often.)  The last time I was there was in 2004, when my college roommate got married.  Delia wasn't there that day, but the place hadn't changed one iota.  Two years later, I was in Newport for a conference.  Pregnant with my first child, I stopped by to visit my old boss and her shop and to my chagrin, it wasn't there anymore. Delia had apparently sold the building, and the new owner had turned it into a tapas restaurant.  Now, I adore tapas, but the place will always be "The Bean" in my mind.

As for my old dream of owning a coffee shop?  It'll probably always remain a dream.  Having that kind of place is like being married to a business.  You put your all into it, and while I am an ambitious person, I don't know if I have the desire anymore.  But I still love the coffee.

Thinking of you today, Delia, as I relish my tarragon chicken salad sandwich.  Best Wishes!