It’s not a day I’ve been dreading, exactly, this taste-test at ‘The World’s Worst Coffee Corner,’ but when I see just how little of the coffee at ‘Tony’s Café’ customers are able to drink, I worry. The servings are generous, by default. The menu above the counter suggests that larger sizes are available, though I have to assume this is a joke. The sitting area is empty, presumably due to the smell. It’s like someone learned to dry cat urine and has decided to burn it.
Burnt is Tony’s take on bad coffee. This I’ve read. The liquid he produces is paint-black, thick, and oily, served in special cups to combat the acidity of the brew.
But its drinkable- that’s the rule. The two cafes, racing each other to the bottom, both produce something that is legally a beverage. That is technically coffee.
It’s expensive. That’s what gets me. A tourist tax for coffee so bad that it’s a joke. I take a sip and barely hold it down. It seems to shrivel and dry my tongue. My throat tries to reject it but I coax the liquid down and it settles inside me, seeming to fizzle. I worry it will leave a hole in my stomach. It will likely emerge in much the same state it was consumed. I assume I’ll piss fire later, so little of the beverage being worth the effort of my body to process it.
‘It was ‘Joe’s Joe’ first and ‘Tony’s Café’ soon after: two little shops that produced such lackluster coffee in such close proximity that, when a local news article chronicled the journalist’s disgust at leaving one and winding up at the other, a race to the bottom was born. An annual competition sees crowds in the hundreds flocking to Edmonton, Nebraska to taste and be disgusted by the worsening coffee of these establishments.
The shape of the contest has changed over the years. ‘Joe’s Joe’ held a winning streak in the mid-nineties before it was revealed that their recipe had veered into the actually-toxic. ‘Tony’s Café’ held their own when points were still awarded for poor customer experience, employing deeply uncomfortable chrome stools and highly attractive, but cruel, baristas. Bizarre rules have been employed to keep things fair. The coffee must be vegetarian, for instance. It must pour with the viscosity of water. It cannot be served frozen or boiling. It must be served in a paper cup.
‘The World’s Worst Coffee Corner’ recently made The Post’s list of ‘Stupid Places to Spend Thirty Dollars,’ and the recognition has rekindled public interest. Lines are longer, now, which only serves to deepen the experience.’
I buy a very expensive bottle of water from a nearby mom-and-pop and attempt to palate cleanse while my digestive tract complains about the few drops of Tony’s. Then, it’s on to ‘Joe’s Joe’ where I’m given the option of roast in an atmosphere that is breathable, at least, but that smells nothing like coffee. This, it turns out, is because ‘Joe’s’ practices a long-term soaking process which produces a liquid that is hardly tinted amber but painfully, painfully sour and so highly caffeinated that my head begins to throb before the first drink has left my mouth. I pass out and wake up on a couch in the café several minutes later and overhear the men at the counter suggesting I’m the second collapse in the day, that the recipe will need to be tweaked to qualify as edible.
A loyalty card has been placed on my chest, a single punched coffee on my way to the 10th free.
-traveler
