AN ILLUSION OF NORMALCY: COBB CAFE

BY AIDAN CESSOR PHOTOS BY JOANNA MA

Worn away by timeless, tired souls, the phrase “An excess of nostalgia” is scribed above the entrance to the most-feared, yet, in my opinion, greatest coffee shop on campus: Cobb Cafe (though I’ll admit I’m a tad biased as an employee). Ostensibly a tucked away student-run cafe, Cobb is akin to Jeppson’s Malört, the repugnant Chicago liquor used to trick outsiders. On the label, Malört used to read, “The first shot is hard to swallow! Persevere! Make it past two ‘shock-glasses’ and with the third you could be ours... forever.” Like Malört fans, devout ‘Cobbers’ appreciate the cafe’s eccentric charm– they revel in the hum of Cobb fridges (even if one of them is always broken); the enormous, eclectic collection of VHS tapes; and the personality of its wobbly tables. Cobb is conjoined by clashing descriptors: pretentiously unpretentious, bland, ear-splittingly noisy, but also affordable, self-aware, down to earth, and full of wit and spunk. Back in 2014, then-manager, Tova

Kadish labeled it as “Gas Station Chic.” The phrase has haunted Cobb ever since. While not entirely inaccurate, it makes us Cobbers seem more normal than our infamous reputation conveys. There are usually three types of responses you get when you mention Cobb to someone: (1) the unnatural discomfort they get upon entering, (2) the lameness of it, and more rarely, (3) how they enjoy the aesthetic. However, to truly understand what Cobb aims to express, one must understand its key components: time, place, and embodiment. In regards to time, Cobb is a whirlpool of it. While it opened in the ‘80s, you cannot quite put a finger on what decade it tries to be– somewhere between the ‘80s and ‘00s, sometimes drifting even further back. For place, the greasy, dingy basement enthralls customers into staying until closing, while whoever is on aux plays either wistful classical orchestral music or discordant noisecore. Finally, there is the dichotomy between the experience embodied by employees versus customers. Us employees enjoy the benefits of free tea and coffee (our oolong is delightful). But we also get to control the music, select which VHS to play, and bond over our shared tradition of bantering with the customers. When someone comes in asking for a caramel macchiato, replying, “We only serve drip coffee here,” never gets old. Customers, on the other hand, put up with all that to be a part of something greater: Cobbers.

Compared to other coffee shops, history is strikingly imbued within Cobb. Other coffee shops do have traditions for past generations, but Cobb’s atmosphere is composed of the small details left by old employees. The wall of employee photographs and vintage posters form an archival history of Cobb, and all of our easter eggs will be enshrined here until Cobb no longer exists. One such example is Clobb: Club Cobb. Created out of pure boredom and ties to WHPK, the studentrun radio station, Clobb was described as “where the worst parts of every internet subculture come together to have a high school dance.” Posters of my manager are the new wallpaper, while a mix of bassy house and synth-heavy New Wave reverberates within the dingy walls. Some could say, “it was like a movie,” a unique blend of comedy and tragedy that makes for a one-of-a-kind, truly UChicago experience. Our customers are spiritually satiated the moment they step into our cozy abode, but as for physical hunger, there are several options to temper a growling stomach, such as the prepackaged Asian or Middle Eastern meals

and the various fresh-delivered pastries. However, I believe that only one meal combo reigns supreme: the lentil soup and focaccia. Each mouthful of tangy, hearty, and fibrous soup is complemented by bites of focaccia with the perfect chewy outer crust, yet pillowy inner fluff. The bread’s saltiness is balanced by the smoothness of the soup. This heavenly duo lets me power through my mid-afternoon classes. Mix some sriracha in, and you will be dreaming of Cobb every night. I know I do.

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