A homemade sign hung between pillars on the front porch of our 80-year-old-house-turned-café as folks shuffled in, hot for a taste of the coffeehouse experience.
We think they liked it. We’ve been here ever since.
Who is Bob? Bon Bernstein moved from his hometown of Skokie, IL, to Nashville in 1988 to join the reporting team at the Nashville Business Journal. He convinced himself he’d spent a year or two in the city, gaining experience, before moving on to a bigger and better city - or, at least one that offered more than a single sushi spot, one Indian restaurant and, if allowed to dream big, a spot to see arthouse films.
But Bob had it wrong! He liked Nashville; it was his career choice that was lacking. Sure, Nashville wasn’t Chicago, but it was an easy place to be (a term he coined for the city and later stole from himself to use as a slogan for Bongo Java). As the daily grind of reporting on trivial matters and the pressure of deadlines grew tiresome, Bob found himself missing something: the coffee houses he did lots of writing, some studying and a bit of coffee drinking at back in the Windy city.
Nashville, a place filled with songwriters, artists, poets, and a few employed folk, did not have a coffee house! Where would the youths of Nashville go to pen moody journal entries while fancying themselves the next Great, American Novelist? Where would the brightest minds of Nashville’s music scene meet to develop their next drone polka project? And where could you enjoy a soy latte?
Bob convinced himself he could open such a place. Armed with years of burger-flipping, table-waiting knowledge, and all the life savings a writer could possibly have, he quit journalism a few weeks before his 30th birthday. He took the ideas floating around his head, taught himself how to use Excel, and created what he thought was a business plan. Decked out with photocopies of Far Side and other cartoons about coffee, the plan read more like a comic book to bankers than a serious proposition. Plus, a Master’s in Journalism from Northwestern, however prestigious, was not much of a credential for running a cafe.
Some of his friends thought he’d lost his mind and was on the path to losing all his money, but Bob found others who wanted to invest in the project: a friend of a fellow journalist, two guys who watched the Bears with him at the local bar, and friends he met volunteering. Without these folks who saw promise in a business plan laden with comics, Bongo Java would not be. Bob is forever thankful for them.
Lore
We’ve done, and seen, some things over the years. Here are a few stories:
Old-time regulars will remember what was likely the only Dim Sum cart at any coffeehouse in Nashville. Our crazy founder (Bob) found a creative chef (Mindy), and put her daily specials on a cart that was wheeled around the already overcrowded dining room by our actress-turned-waitress, Mary. When it got too busy for the kitchen to stock the cart, Bob loaded it up with muffins, oranges, and Pop Tarts - all of which sold out (especially the Pop Tarts).
One couple met on the front porch of Bongo Java and were married in the dining room (they had no money). Because it was Bongo, the ceremony was held just after the Sunday Brunch Rush. There’s a rumor that their child was conceived in the back room, but that was before we installed cameras, so there’s no proof.
We’ve been sent Cease and Desists by:
- A California produce company. A long-term employee channeled the logo (a beret-wearing bébé) of the produce company we bought from, and drew it in all sorts of scenarios complete with deep, philosophical pronouncements. It turns out the bébé was the farm owner’s granddaughter - and he was not amused.
- Some giant coffee company. They did not like that we named one of our blends Charbucks. I guess the C&D wasn’t that serious, because we still sell Charbucks.
- The Elvis Presley Estate. The King folks were upset about an art show we threw, where several paintings featured Elvis doing all sorts of mundane tasks - including washing the dishes.
- And Mother Theresa herself. She laughed about the cinnamon bun that looked like her, but wasn’t fond of us calling it the Mother Teresa Miracle Bunor theImmaculate Confection. We settled with her attorney, who we debated on Fox, by calling it the NunBun.