A is for All Gimmicks

The 60s electric guitar pangs of a retro playlist. Soft conversation. Ghost hunters. The brightly colored walls of the Fairweather Cider Co. beckon to you with football players toting potted plants, flying flaming basketballs, and a horse with an eyepatch crossing a precarious wooden bridge. The room is spacious and low lit which feels somehow cooler in the summer heat. From the lights, paper streamers dance in the wind provided by the welcome air conditioner. A small stage promises karaoke nights and live bands with a QR code painted on the wall to the right that encourages you to reserve their private room. On the wall above the stage, a silent screen plays reruns of a ghost hunter show that’s as familiar as it is formulaic to all the ones that came before it. There are stools around bars, coffee shop and cidery alike, and long, tall tables that encourage you to spread out in its emptiness or socialize in the crowd. The wifi password is in block letters on a letter board on top of the otherwise empty bar. Large plants cling on for dear life while fake ones hang from the ceiling. (No judgment here since your own houseplants are hanging by a thread in your own home. Thanks, Texas.) 

The coffee shop is nestled in a corner with a single barista working his magic with the metallic silver shaker typically associated with cocktails. The coffee shop has no frills, but it doesn’t need clutter in the vast expanse of the cidery. Steel pipes hold wooden shelves where cocktail glasses and coffee mugs alike wait for new customers. A retro SMEG fridge in white is covered in witty magnets and post-its and dreamy, nearly psychedelic art finds its way into the corners to take you to a world of watercolors and abstraction. The menu is a single laminated paper on the counter in front of the sleek Square POS and it displays a short list of espresso and non-espresso drinks while the chalkboard beside it reviews the specials of the season or until supplies run out. 

Shakerato? Why not? You’ve never seen that on a menu.

“Shakerato at the bar!”

You know it’s you. There are only two other people here at 9:45 am and they’ve already got their drinks.

When you walk over, you realize that the coffee is in fact in a coupe glass. It’s cute. It’s fancy. It’s not what you’d normally drink espresso out of and the subversion of what is normal intrigues and delights you in a way you didn’t expect. There’s a bar across the room, but of course no sign of any coupe cocktail glasses. It’s a cidery, afterall. That means that if not always, often enough, All Gimmicks’s “old-world Italian iced coffee” is served in a cute champagne coupe that makes you feel like you’ve paid $15 for a fancy cocktail rather than $5.95 for an inspired iced espresso. Even if it’s typical for a Shakerato, presentation is everything, and you’re properly impressed. 

Back at your seat, you take a sip, and you’re elevated. There is no ice in the Shakerato, but it is ice cold anyway. In the Texas summer sun, it feels like a cool kiss, a blessing of relief down your throat that’s only a prelude to the way the espresso sticks to your mouth in all its bitterness and aftermath. And yet, the flavor is perfectly balanced. You ordered something that didn’t include milk for a purpose; you’re here to try the coffee. The bitterness is refreshing and palpable and smooth and the subtle orange vanilla you were promised is just that, subtle. To your great relief, you’re not drinking sugar, or at least, it doesn’t taste that way. Instead, you’re enjoying a Shakerato so perfectly balanced that even the foaminess of the espresso on your lips adds just the right texture to the overall experience. 

Lips. Tongue. Throat. 

The espresso is seductive in a way and you can’t help but wonder if it was all intentional; this was served in a champagne glass afterall, and even if you’re not one for bubbles, you can’t ignore how the long stem of the coupe feels elegant between your fingers. You wonder if you should order a second when you’ve yet to finish your first. 

Who knew such a place was hiding here? You found it on good ol’ Google Maps, but passing by, no one would see it. On your way, you passed it because it’s built-in to the warehouses and office spaces with only a food truck parked outside to tell you any different. You had to do a U-turn and even with the accurate directions from the disembodied voice of the app, you only assumed it’s there because you saw the Fairweather Cider Co. sign. It’s not until you’d pulled into the parking lot that you saw the small sign for All Gimmicks on the ground beside the door. Despite having a meager few friends and family to tell, you hope your own word of mouth gets more people here.

You walked in, hoping to get to the bottom of this lacking signage. The owner greeted you with warmth and a laid-back friendliness you attribute to the city first before anything else. He explains that a friend of his owns the cidery and that he was allowed to open a small coffee shop in the corner. 

It works. 

Perfectly. 

You’re curious as to how the atmosphere of the coffee shop is affected when the cidery is hopping or if that even happens since they close daily by 3:00pm. What’s an evening like in this space, or better yet, midday Saturday when you’d like to bring friends over? Unassuming as it is, the location works. It’s bikeable, if you’re careful, and it’s nestled among what can only be described as warehouses and office space for companies you’ve never heard of. You know it’s a little piece of gentrification moving in. You wonder absently if the owners of the cidery are from California, and you feel the snobbish counter-culture of Austin working its magic on your bias– don’t _____ my Austin and all. Afterall, the cidery sells CBD gummies as snacks. Eyeroll. Get with the times, Texas.

Still, you can’t help but cheer the place on. It’s not a single person’s fault, and likely, this place was empty beforehand, and who really knows the story behind that? (Should you look that up actually?)

The coffee shop is a one-man show. A brunette with kind eyes and a smile that is genuine, not just customer service, he helps people as they arrive and is happy to discuss other Austin haunts and promote their business in turn. He mentions The Little Deli. You love Little Deli. A little bit of your undue suspicion melts away. He’s personable, kind, and attentive. He keeps everything clean. You love it when people show care for what’s theirs.

You’ve been enjoying this masterpiece of an espresso for a half hour now. You look around the space to consider the others that have arrived at this same, tucked away coffee shop on a weekday when most people would be at work. Let’s air quotes that because WFH is real and WFA is a fun trick you can get away with if the company doesn’t find out, let’s be real. 

A woman has been working at her laptop since before you arrived, and now, she’s met with a man who arrived already talking on the phone. You feel a little awkward about that. He takes out his laptop as well. They’re clearly here for work in their hushed tones and oohs and ahhs over numbers numbers clients clients credits credits. You can’t tell who is training who on what– just that it’s business. They’re working together. She’s helpful. He moves around the table to show her his screen, and she’s attentive and patient. Business. Business. You tune it out. 

Meanwhile, a woman behind you is nursing a matcha drink of some sort. It’s green, so of course. She seems to be reviewing a stapled mass of papers that have paragraphs above empty spaces. OEQs? Probably. She’s likely a student that is reviewing class materials or notes. She charges her phone with her laptop, and as she flips through the pages, she favors the physical paper to the laptop, and eventually, the screen goes blank into power-saving mode. Unexpectedly, a girl arrives to join the student, and now you’re convinced they’re there to swap class notes, work on a project, or just study together. 

At this point, no one is sitting at the coffee bar, so the barista is left to his own devices- that being his cellphone. 

Now, you’re the only loner at the coffee shop- the only single person in a room that could hold 100 according to fire safety code. It’s time to pop open a book or journal. It’s time to relax with the pure bliss of a cool Shakerado. It’s time to become part of the experience of All Gimmicks, the little coffee shop tucked inside the cidery off Metric. 

In speaking with the barista, I learned about the Shakerato! Enlightenment! I also enjoyed their Matcha Lada drink. When a drink tastes like nostalgia, you know it’s good.  All Gimmicks is co-owned by two friends, and they’re also looking to open a new restaurant soon called Slammers Sandwich Shop!  Happy one-year anniversary to All Gimmicks! Good luck to you!