There’s a chain in the Midwest called Dunn Brothers Coffee. They have 48 locations. Each one is an independently owned franchise.
Best coffee I’ve ever had. Just spectacular.
Sioux Falls had two Dunn Brothers. They had different owners. I say “had” because one of the locations closed last week.
I had been to both of them, and there was such a remarkable difference between the two.
“My” Dunn Bros is the East Side location, and it’s… homey. I’m trying to avoid saying “kitschy” – it’s not – but it’s definitely quirky. They have a bunch of old books you can borrow, board games you can play, a fireplace (that’s never burning for some reason), comfy old armchairs, real plants everywhere (you have to dodge a hanging one to get into one of the chairs), etc. Plus, they sell a bunch of stuff in the back: greeting cards, books from local authors, and such. (Can I describe this without using the word “authentic”? …I doubt it.)
The West Side, which closed last week, is the polar opposite. That location was very… “manufactured bohemian.” It was meant to look unconventionally stylish, but it wasn’t. It was meticulously curated and decorated and coordinated and… perfect.
I don’t want to be hard on those owners, because they took a lot of pride in their restaurant and clearly had put an enormous amount of work into it. And it probably closed for completely unrelated reasons (the location was way out there on the west side; the one time I went, I was thinking, “Do people come out this far for coffee?”).
But the fact remains that “my” Dunn Bros is home. It’s inconsistent and organic and eclectic and wildly uncurated. I love it for this. When I walk through the door, I swear my blood pressure drops.
When I visited the other one – or in any place like that [insert average Starbucks here] – I felt mildly out of place, like I was messing it up or something. It was like if your house was pristinely clean all the time, and you were consistently the dirtiest thing in it.
I don’t know what my point is here except that the world is becoming incredibly homogenized. Everyone is trying to look like everyone else, and we’re all starting to regress to the mean.
It reminds me of American Idol – while the contestants on that show were no-doubt talented, the voting system guaranteed that the winners were always going to be the most inoffensive, mainstream performers on the stage. That usually sells, but it often leaves people looking something a little more thought-provoking.
For some things, I still like quirky, I guess? Can you manufacture that? And where’s the line between authentic and genuine, and sloppy and unkempt? I know it exists, but I doubt anyone could define it.
I really have no idea, and I have zero sense of style. But the pull of “my” Dunn Brothers is strong, due in equal parts to amazing coffee, great staff, and a mildly weird streak that consistently makes me happy.
