Mule Kick: Dark Green, Pistol fading downward.Įlectric Cherry: Blue, Cherry OR pistol with lightning bolts around it.ĭer Wunderfizz Machine: Dark Blue, Question mark. Stamin-Up: Yellow/Orange, Person running with "swirly legs".ĭeadshot Daiquiri: Black/Grey, Person with a crosshair over their head OR skull being shattered. Speed Cola: Green, Hand with a gun magazine.ĭouble Tap: Orange, 3 bullets with a cartoony explosion in the middle of them. Quick Revive: Light Blue, Person standing up out of a grave. Jugger-Nog: Red, Cross with a bullet through it. Also, I was unable to grab screenshots of some of the perks so this still may be helpful for a few of them.
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I called the 800 number and waited patiently for about ten minutes for a representative to answer.I was planning on removing this once I figured out how to paste images into the guide, but I'll leave it here just in case. Luckily, Eight O’Clock Coffee was kind enough to provide contact information on the bag so I could gain some clarity. I asked for a Rachel and I actually got a solid Aniston: bland, but slightly promising. I marveled at this pleasantly mediocre coffee before me.
“Definitely a natural,” the other agreed. When the final drops settled into the carafe, my colleagues quickly came to the same conclusion I had: not good but definitely not bad. My co-workers agreed that we should make a cup using a Kalita Wave. That citrus note that the chalkboard claimed was in the coffee was there, even if it was faint. It wasn’t good either, but this coffee had none of the char and cigarette ash that I was expecting. Once I had determined that the black cup of coffee wouldn’t burn my tongue, I tipped back that medium cup of ingenue-esque drip and braced myself for the worst. Having walked a few feet in any direction, I’d gotten just about all I could out of the Central Perk experience, and I exited the SoHo shop to walk to work in the East Village. The coffee was pre-ground and my request for whole beans was met with a smile and a shrug. As I waited for it to cool, I went to the merchandise counter and purchased a pound of it for $7 (rising price of coffee, my ass). I approached the counter and asked, “ Can I have a coffee that tastes like Rachel, in a not-creepy way? Something daffy and annoyingly relatable?” A kind woman handed me a cup of the Central Perk Roast promotional coffee. If I am not so well-versed in Friends, I have even less experience with the 155-year-old grocery store coffee brand.
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It looked not entirely dissimilar to the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Met, save for the fact that these were bland digs from the late nineties.Īt the coffee counter in front a dormant gold espresso machine, enthusiastic staff members in Central Perk aprons handed out free cups of Eight O’Clock Coffee. A roped-off section sported mannequins with costumes worn by the cast at various points throughout the show’s run. A television played episodes of Friends near the signature orange couch where fans lined up to get pictures. In an ideal world, Jennifer Aniston would have appeared so I could ask her what the ending of The Break-Up really meant.
When I entered the modestly-sized shrine to those zany New Yorkers with oversized Greenwich Village apartments, I found few surprises. I scoffed as I stood in a line with a ten-minute wait, though it was nothing compared to the opening day line, which boasted an hour wait time as if one might be greeted with frankenpastries in the shape of David Schwimmer once they finally made it inside. Entering this iteration of Central Perk, my cynicism meter was on high. A chain of Central Perks kept Friends fever alive in Dubai from 2006-2010. This is not the first Central Perk to emerge, though it appears to be the first in the city. It was with little excitement that I entered the Eight O’Clock Coffee pop-up designed to look like Central Perk, the cafe where, for the first three seasons, Rachel frequently proved herself to be as inept a barista as Hannah Horvath. Friends is not only still beloved ten years after it went off the air but also inspired more recent successful shitcoms like How I Met Your Mother and The Big Bang Theory.
Sure, there was always a naughty undercurrent, but these squeaky-clean New Yorkers were never subversive enough to keep me glued to the television. The show’s accessibility never appealed to me. I was certainly one of the 52.46 million viewers who watched Rachel and Ross finally get together for-real-no-take-backsies, but it was maybe the tenth episode I’d ever seen. I must admit I’m not the ideal person to cover a pop-up coffee shop dedicated to the twentieth anniversary of Friends, one of the most popular sitcoms in television history.
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