“Dada?”
A chubby finger is pointed at me.
I raise my eyebrows at the toddler staring at me, and give her a look that clearly says: Nope.
I end up talking to her for a few minutes, through baby babble, gestures, and some help from her actual father. Her name is Julia, she’s two, and she loves jazz. The jazz part I inferred from her breaking into dance when Sinatra starts playing.
I’m at Beyu, a coffee shop/jazz club in downtown Durham.
It’s a place that was introduced to me by Gwynne, one of my co-workers that I may or may not have mentioned on here before. Gwynne’s a major foodie, and has introduced me to most of Durham’s best restaurants and food trucks. I lovingly call her recommendations, “gweck-emendations”, something that I’ve told her and I can’t determine whether or not she thinks it’s funny.
Let’s assume she does.
Now, Beyu is no Joule. I say that with love. It’s not that it falters to Joule, it’s just not trying as hard. Where Joule prides itself on appearance, Beyu seems to be about substance – something obvious by the colorful characters that come here.
In addition to meeting Julia, the serenity of Moon River is interrupted by a white haired man bursting in.
“You’re ready for some barbeque, right?” he barks at the bartender.
I glance outside, and see a huge black truck towing an enormous BBQ smoker. She says yes, he walks back outside, and drives away.
Nothing else happens.
I’ve been looking for decent jazz and colorful characters since I moved to NC from Philadelphia, and it seems Beyu will be the spot to get it. As I write, sip my iced tea (comically served in a Bud Light glass, the irony of which I won’t ever get over, per my last post), I just listen.
There’s a lot of Sinatra. Fitzgerald. By the array of posters lining the windows, a lot of up and coming jazz artists that play here on Mondays and on weekends.
But there’s also the chatter of families. The murmurs of a woman wearing an oversized Nintendo t-shirt, as she reads a thick book. A man in a sport coat holed up near the window on the phone – conducting either a job interview, or asking someone on a date. His tone is casual, but his body language shows how anxious, nervous he is, as he hops up and down, eagerly staring at cars driving by.
It kind of surprises me how much I like Beyu. It’s not like Joule. It’s different, unfamiliar, and anyone just walking by, just another coffee shop.
But it’s gritty. I’m not greeted by my favorite pink-haired and pierced waitress at Joule, and exchanging looks of mutual hipstery admiration. Instead, I’m greeting by a tall, statuesque woman with beautiful black dreadlocks, piled upon her head, and wrapped in a colorful scarf.
“Hey, sweetie.” she says, her voice having the consistency of honey, or maybe maple syrup.
Again… I like it here. I’m surprised. But so far, Durham is full of surprises.
But really, really good ones.
(Don’t hate me, Joule. You’re still the hipster haven of my dreams.)