(Today’s article is by recurring guest writer Luke Frazier. Luke and I share a love for Old City Java where we both often work and bump into each other. For a deep dive on owners Shaun and Meg and the history of the spot and their other location, Wild Love Bakehouse, check the article here from 2015.)
Because I’m lucky enough to be able to work remotely, I get to sample a variety of work spaces. Right now my dining room table is my primary office location and I have it set up just how a want it. But sometimes it’s good to get out and work elsewhere, and Knoxville has been great in providing ample alternatives.
Since I’ve lived downtown, I’ve worked in at least 10 different places that I can walk to where I simply open my computer and do my thing. These include two different libraries (Lawson McGhee and McClung Collection) that provide embraceable work space. Both are a little bland for my taste, but being among books is never a bad thing, and the (mostly) focused vibe begats productivity. The issue with both is no coffee.
So I’ve done my tour of coffee spots and I can make pretty much any of them work for stretches at a time. The long-ish walk over to Honeybee in South Knox is worth it when I feel like a ramble, they have nice counter window space and a great cold brew. East on Magnolia, Likewise Coffee is also a bit of a walk, but I like the way they have a variety of rooms to choose from and a reasonable breakfast sandwich. Straight up Central Street can take me to Wild Love Bakehouse where the treats never disappoint and you can watch bakers in action. But it’s Old City Java (OCJ), right around the corner from my apartment, that has become my favorite. There are a bunch of reasons, but partly it comes down to unreasonable doors, windows to nowhere, and an art-reach for the ages.
Place and space are fluid concepts, and interpretation always dominates both. What constitutes a comfortable setting for one individual may be skin-crawlingly unpleasant for another. Lots of dollars can get spent on creating a look & feel for a shop or restaurant or market or bar; fortunes are lost and found when the right atmospherics are combined with the right aesthetics and a place becomes a hit. When it comes to Old City Java, I’m not sure what resources went into the decorating decisions, but they work for me in a big way, creating an expressive and authentic space that feels welcoming and real.
The entrance off the street provides a narrow path straight to the coffee counter (don’t miss large round porthole-like window on your left). There is a second entrance off the alley, and tables out there for warm enough days. Overall it’s a busy and congested order area, and the cream & sugar and water station create “excuse me, I just need…” exchanges on a consistent basis. There’s little space to wait on pending custom drinks, so you might have to stand in somebody’s way momentarily. Just stare at the pastries and consider giving in to the temptation.
It’s all good because the vibe produced by the baristas is friendly and affirming, they work hard and efficiently caffeinate all seekers. They are a positive crew, nary a bad attitude in the bunch. They also have interesting things to say when you stop and chat. Plus, the music is almost always something to appreciate, even if it’s not your style. The variety is such that you won’t get stuck in an overly-earnest coffeehouse loop of doom soundtrack. Once you’re served, head up a slight rise into the big room.
This is where the true OCJ dimensions are revealed. It’s a bit of a hodge-podge of tables, benches, chairs, a cast-off couch, and three tall seats at the window bar. There’s an official “Old City Java Tiny Library” where current inventory includes an authentic Dramatists Play Service copy of an Edward Albee play among a cubbyhole of theater titles, a clean copy of Don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements, and a few classics making the rounds.
One title that recently caught my eye is The Glory of the Stars by E. Raymond Capt of the Archeological Institute of America. Wherever this vintage 1976 small press paperback came from, it certainly belongs here. Once you take in the existence of the ceiling fresco homage to Van Gogh’s Starry Night spanning the entire room, you’ll probably have to agree.
Evidently the ceiling has been painted this way for decades, preceding the current owner. It’s simply amazing. It works on so many levels without being intrusive or overbearing. It’s comforting and inspirational, and the pendent lights compliment rather than interfere. Somehow it doesn’t try too hard to be seen, if that makes any sense at all. It blends in rather than demands attention.
Similarly, the entire north wall of the room adds a dimension that defies logic, mocks linear understanding, and playfully messes with your head. It is a wall of unreasonable doorways that don’t open, windows that reveal nothing, shutters protecting against unknown forces, and missing parts and pieces. One table I sit at offers a reach through to the cold concrete dividing OCJ from its next door neighbor. But even while I’m emphasizing seemingly truncated avenues of perception, there is a part of me that wonders if I just haven’t found the right key to these pathways yet.
Perhaps these doors and windows lead to java-dimensions yet to be explored, or provide a shortcut to the skyway above the painted ceiling. Maybe all those years of good coffee aroma have loosened the space-time fabric, and there is a way to revel in a good caffeine buzz for eternity by climbing through one of those windows. You never know.
In the meantime, I’ll remain grateful for OCJ as a great space to work in.