A café that truly respects people—a cozy NYC space run by a Frenchman and Korean woman

Text and photos by Huang Zhijun, excerpted from *New York Studies*, published by Times Publishing

Williamsburg in Brooklyn was once an industrial zone, but rapid gentrification in the 21st century transformed many former factory warehouses into spacious restaurants and shops. Unlike dining in crowded Manhattan, where you’re often shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers and can’t help overhearing conversations,

Yet for some reason, cafés in Williamsburg—like those in Manhattan—have few seats, and lingering even five minutes more might make the owner worry about losing a latte sale—except for one independent café run by a French man.

This café is tucked away on the edge of Williamsburg, surrounded by an area more like the less-gentrified East Williamsburg. Graffiti aside, across the street is an overgrown vacant lot, next to a Chinese-owned steel processing plant where sparks and hammering echo constantly. It’s the last place you’d expect to find a café, yet it perfectly matches my vision of what a Williamsburg café should be. My first visit felt like a dream come true, and ever since, I’ve set aside at least one day a week to spend the afternoon there.

The café is housed in a repurposed warehouse, with ceilings nearly a full story high. The French owner has a generous approach to space—despite an area that could easily fit dozens, he’s only placed three sofas for fewer than six people. Some walls retain the warehouse’s historic texture, with peeling paint and exposed red bricks, but the overall vibe is far from clichéd industrial style. Three large windows flood the space with natural light, complemented by handcrafted wooden tables and chairs and a wall of potted plants.

While many NYC cafés shut off Wi-Fi or limit usage due to financial pressures, this place still offers free internet. But the signal is suspiciously weak at laptop-friendly tables, only to restore to full speed in the sofa area where you have to balance your laptop on your lap. Call the French owner clever or cunning, but it’s an elegant strategy to attract customers while boosting table turnover.

The French man and his Korean wife (who speaks fluent French) run the café, so in addition to coffee and baked goods, they’ve created a bagel sandwich with Korean beef bulgogi and kimchi—completely winning over my Asian palate. Their “muesli” is also generous, with a plateful of seven or eight fruits mixed with oats, honey, and yogurt, perfect for a summer lunch.

Everything about this French-Korean-run café seems perfect, yet online reviews are sharply divided.

Before my first visit, I read a netizen’s complaint about the Korean wife being overly enthusiastic, greeting every departing customer with her piercing voice: “Have a wonderful day!” Unfortunately, English is probably her third language, and her accent is thick. Sometimes I can’t even understand her Korean-French hybrid speech, leading the commenter to suggest the café hire “locals” as staff.

The Korean wife’s voice is indeed a bit sharp, but in Williamsburg, where most staff are cool, aloof hipsters, I treasure her energy and greetings. I also wonder how any New Yorker can’t embrace the city’s greatest asset: diversity. So after my first visit, I went online to praise everything—the decor, coffee, food, and even the Korean wife—just in case the Parisian thought New Yorkers were so narrow-minded.

But what draws the most criticism online are the many rules set by the French man and Korean wife.

A framed sign at the counter states that customers cannot use phones inside and must take calls outside or in the stairwell. Yet New Yorkers are so used to doing as they please that when reminded by the French man or Korean wife, they take to the internet to complain—claiming they only talked for seconds, spoke softly, and yet the Parisian couple cranked up the music and rudely kicked them out.

Due to the small-scale operation, the café also has a minimum spend. But while most NYC cafés let customers sit freely, New Yorkers here struggle to adapt—complaining about sharing a tea between two people or accusing the owners of pressuring them to buy something immediately or risk being kicked out.

The sofas are another frequent source of conflict—sometimes for shoes brushing the cushions (prompting swift intervention from the French man) or for moving the furniture (drawing urgent objections from the Korean wife). One commenter even concluded: “This is a café only for Europeans and Asians. Americans, don’t embarrass yourselves.”

Yet to me, most of these complaints aren’t issues at all. Phones should be used quietly in public spaces, and calls should be kept brief—or taken outside.

But some New Yorkers act entitled, oblivious to how their loud conversations dominate the entire café. A friend once proudly told me how he told a man who’d been walking around loudly on his phone for twenty minutes to shut up. This shows the café’s rules aren’t unreasonable—many customers just prefer to lazily stay inside rather than take a few steps outside.

I also don’t get why people resent being asked to make a purchase. Even if too many New Yorkers treat cafés like offices while sipping coffee, a café isn’t an office—buying a juice or bottled water is the least you can do. When I visit a café, I’m usually eager for a cappuccino to perk me up, with no time for staff to urge me. Besides, I’ve seen customers linger for minutes before ordering the cheapest Americano, and they weren’t scolded by “that French-speaking couple.”

True, the French man and Korean wife are a bit obsessive about shoes touching the sofas—some customers genuinely just graze the edges. I think this conflict mostly stems from cultural differences (Americans even put shoes on beds). But New Yorkers should also understand velvet sofas are hard to clean—every time a customer leaves, the Korean wife pulls out a small vacuum. NYC streets are filthy, so leave your shoes on the ground. If you want to stretch out, the café has plenty of wooden chairs, or just take off your shoes—the Parisian couple won’t mind. As for moving sofas? A café isn’t your home.

Yes, the café’s cozy decor makes many forget it’s a public space, a business, and a couple’s home—neglecting basic etiquette as strangers, consumers, and guests. Yet instead of reflecting on their own rudeness, the corrected customers blame the French man and Korean wife for being harsh, then lash out, trashing the café over everything: slow Wi-Fi, bad tea, loud music, AC too cold, heat too weak...

As a regular, I finally couldn’t stand it and decided to speak up. Since the French man had responded to critics with, “We’re not for everyone, and not everyone is for us,” I added that this isn’t Starbucks—where even homeless people can walk in, pee, and leave. This is a café for people who understand respect. Soon, several others defended the café, and I was relieved not all New Yorkers are selfish and unreasonable.

Weeks after my defense post, I visited again. The French man immediately asked if I was the one who stood up for them. Never having revealed my identity, I shyly nodded. He winked and thanked me; the Korean wife became even warmer, treating me like a major shareholder—offering me hot water and *The New York Times*.

In my last week in NYC, despite being swamped, I hopped on the subway to Williamsburg to say goodbye. The Korean wife, upon hearing, was visibly emotional, gripping my hands and asking why. For a $13 cappuccino and muesli, she refused to accept the change. Knowing how hard it is to run an independent café, I dropped $5 in the tip jar—only for her to give me two pastries baked by the French man as a gesture of thanks.

Before leaving, the Korean wife hugged me tightly, and the French man shook my hand, mentioning their ten-year lease with the landlord. Smiling, he said their café would stay open for years unless there’s a fire—and urged me to visit again when back in NYC. Honestly, having known them less than six months and rarely chatting, I never expected such warmth from this Parisian couple. My mother guessed it’s because when they were most isolated and frustrated in a foreign land, I was the only one to speak up for them—and even rallied others to support them, touching the couple deeply. That night, with NYC temperatures below 5°C, my heart felt unusually warm, all thanks to the French man and Korean wife.