Brewing Nostalgia: Coffee, Memories and a Bicycle Business Possibility

Let’s take a trip back to New York City in the early ‘90s—a time before Starbucks became a household name, when coffee culture was defined by corner delis, diners, and the iconic blue-and-white “We Are Happy to Serve You” and "World's Best Cup of Coffee" cups. For me, this was a time of survival, discovery, and a growing love for everything adults loved that weren't really on the radar for kids my age, one being coffee, which would stay with me for life. At just 16, I was navigating life in New York, “homeless” in the technical sense but never without a sense of purpose. Coffee became one of my lifelines, at least during the day—a source of warmth, comfort, and energy during those cold days of swinging from payphone to client.

Back in 1992-1993, during my time in New York, Starbucks had yet to leave its mark on the city. The first location wouldn't arrive until 1994, so New Yorkers turned to a rich tapestry of local spots to get their caffeine fix. One standout was Tiffany Restaurant—a classic diner known for its hearty meals and strong, straightforward coffee. Like many iconic establishments, Tiffany Restaurant has since closed its doors, leaving behind only fond memories of its warm, no-frills atmosphere. Ordering coffee there was simple: you’d get a few packets of sweeteners to choose from—usually sugar, Equal, or Sweet'N Low—and two or three small containers of half-and-half. It wasn’t fancy, but it hit the spot, and you left content with what you got. Another gem was The Coffee Shop near Union Square. Erik, a friend and sort of boyfriend I met during my time in the city, introduced me to this spot, claiming it had the best coffee around. While the coffee was a bit strong for my taste, a more than generous splash of half-and-half and a heap of sugar transformed it into a sweet reminder of my childhood, sneaking sips of my parents’ Folgers or Piggly Wiggly brand coffee.

For those on the go, corner delis and bodegas were the unsung heroes of NYC’s coffee scene. Often run by hardworking immigrant families, these spots offered quick, affordable cups of coffee in those iconic blue-and-white cups. There were also an incredible amount of Dunkin Donuts locations that offered, not only a place for random homeless people to camp and hope they flew under employee radar but also served what's one of my favorite cups of coffee to this day. And let’s not forget, for those of us who made their way out of the city and into New Jersey, the ubiquitous 7-Eleven, where a big cup of coffee cost just 79 cents. Sure, it was often old and bitter, but it got the job done.

During those days, I sometimes dreamed of starting my own portable coffee shop—a business built onto a bicycle. Imagine pedaling through the streets of New York, serving up steaming cups of coffee to the masses, just like a hot dog vendor. I swear if I used Folgers, Chock Full o’Nuts, Maxwell House, or even A&P-branded coffee, none of the customers would have known. My idea was simple: offer coffee just a few cents cheaper than the corner stores and restaurants, making it accessible to everyone.
Had I had the resources to build something like that and the mindset to step away from the easy money of hustling, I might have turned that dream into reality. Even now, the idea of a bicycle coffee shop feels like a fun, practical business—something I could see myself doing in retirement, perhaps after a knee replacement or two. It could be a way to stay active, connect with people, and share the joy of coffee, one cup at a time.

Coffee wasn’t just a drink during those days; it was a symbol of comfort for me. Whether it was a strong cup from a diner, a quick fix from a corner deli, or a bitter brew from 7-Eleven, each cup carried a sense of normalcy and warmth that I desperately needed. Even now, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee takes me back to those days when I would walk the streets of New York—a time of survival, discovery, and that odd dream of a caffeinated future.

Coffee has a way of weaving itself into our lives, doesn’t it? It’s more than just a drink; it’s a source of comfort, a ritual, and sometimes even a dream. I’d love to hear your coffee stories. Do you have a favorite café or a special memory tied to a cup of coffee? Let’s chat in the comments—I’m all ears (or should I say, all beans?). And hey, if this story resonated with you and you’d like to support more content like this, your kindness would mean the world to me. Here’s to more coffee, more stories, and more dreams. ☕💜

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From Mama's Kitchen: The Story and Recipe—Celebrating My Mama's Spaghetti

Hello, dear readers! (and my sister, Becki),

Today, I want to share a special entry dedicated to my mama's spaghetti, a dish that was loved by many in our family, even though it wasn't my personal favorite due to my aversion to tomatoes. This story is meant to highlight the uniqueness of my mama's cooking and to clarify that her spaghetti was truly cherished by those who enjoyed it.

A few days ago, I wrote about my humorous journey with spaghetti and how it was never really my thing. If it seemed like I was making fun of my mama's cooking, I want to set the record straight, that was not my intent. The story was not about her cooking, but rather my general dislike for the dish, no matter who cooks it. While I may have a love-hate relationship with spaghetti, I have great respect for my mama's culinary skills. She excelled in Home Economics during her junior high and high school years, and many of her recipes were based on what she learned during the 1950s and 1960s. Her spaghetti sauce was homemade, and though ketchup was added sometimes, it was never the main ingredient. This addition of ketchup was likely due to the occasional absence of tomato paste, adding a bit more acidity and texture to the final product.

To be fair, my dislike for spaghetti somewhat stems from my dislike of tomatoes, bell peppers, and onions—all of which my mama loved and used generously in her cooking. Despite my distaste for these ingredients, there were some dishes my mama cooked that I absolutely loved, like her fried pork chops, tuna casserole, and even liver and onions, which I enjoyed despite my usual dislike of onions.

Back to the tomato thing—although I didn't like tomatoes, I did love lasagna and pizza, both of which my mama and my sister were amazing at making. My sister, Becki Manning Dannelly, especially loved our mama's spaghetti. This post is dedicated to her.

Pheroldine “Dee” Manning Lyons' Spaghetti Sauce

Ingredients:

• 1 pound of ground beef (the ratio doesn’t matter because we got whatever was on sale or cheapest)

• 1 cup chopped onion

• 1 cup of bell peppers, diced

• 2 cloves garlic, minced (she usually just used minced garlic from a jar or garlic powder)

• 1 14-ounce can of whole tomatoes, drained and cut up

• 1 14-ounce can stewed tomatoes, cut up, reserve the liquid to add to sauce

• 1 6-ounce can tomato paste

• 1/4 cup parsley (I don’t think she ever had any on hand and since you don’t taste it, it’s not important)

• 1 tablespoon brown sugar (dark or light, she used whatever was on hand)

• 1 teaspoon salt

• 1 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano, crushed

• 1/4 teaspoon dried thyme, crushed

• 1 bay leaf

Instructions:

1. In a saucepan, combine onion, bell pepper, meat, and garlic; cook until meat is browned and onion is tender.

2. Skim off excess grease; add the rest of the ingredients along with 2 cups of water.

3. Simmer, uncovered, until sauce is thick, which usually takes a few hours. Your house will have a distinct tomato-ish smell; stir occasionally.

4. Remove bay leaf.

Serve over hot spaghetti pasta, or like my mama would do, just dump the hot spaghetti into the pot as a one pot wonder and stir it all together then serve on a plate…with a squirt of ketchup on top or grated parmesan cheese if we had it (and if the container wasn’t empty from my sister and I randomly eating handfuls of it).

Don't forget the garlic bread! Mama would use whatever bread we had on hand for garlic bread—hot dog buns, hamburger buns, sandwich bread, and if we were lucky, she made some from her delicious homemade sourdough bread.

This sauce recipe was sort of the same she used for her lasagna but without the bell pepper, which we didn’t get often because it involved a bit more work. But when we did, it was basically party night for our family. Especially since she doubled the ingredients to ensure she had enough meat sauce to fill her 9x13 baking pan that she used for everything from cake to casseroles. I’ll share her actual recipe for lasagna in the future, but for now, enjoy my mama’s spaghetti and feel free to make your own tweaks.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. I'd love to hear your thoughts and memories about your own family recipes in the comments below. If you enjoyed this story and recipe, feel free to share it with your friends. Your support, whether through comments or contributions, means the world to me and helps keep this blog going!

Happy cooking!