I’m sitting in the one that serves real coffee made from ground beans rather than a bunch of chemicals mixed with caffeine and water. It’s five times the price, but it’s worth it. The man behind the counter smiled at me when I insisted on a cup of the real stuff, giving me that gentle nod that people share when they meet another person who understands this need for real things. “Those are homemade,” he says proudly as he brings a small plate of biscuits over with my cup. “I baked them this morning. Free to customers who order the proper coffee.”