Seinfeld's Soup Nazi in Manoa

I’m at Coffee Line, working, and it's becoming a little too bohemian for me...all the conversations are distractingly lively and empassioned and I can't concentrate. Frustrated, I get up to leave when a woman comes in who hasn’t been here in almost twenty years. "What a beautiful surprise!" she marvels, finding that the coffee shop she used to frequent as an undergraduate is still around.


Now run by a different owner, Dennis, it’s really the kind of place you don’t forget. The outside sitting area is airy, bright, and lush with foliage and filled with mismatched seats and tables that Dennis says he found in the trash. Even more crammed is the kitchen, filled with pans, mugs, plates and bric-a-brac on every surface. Where does he even prepare the food? Dennis is sometimes likened to Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi in his strictness and eccentricity, for which you get a sense on his menu which includes baked potatoes (when have you ever seen baked potatoes at a cafe?) and “Big ‘hippie’ sandwiches” and a coffee menu in which he admonishes people who don’t bring reusable cups for coffee-to-go.


Though intending to leave, I find myself buying a coffee and sitting on the stool in front of Dennis as he brews it. He took over this cafe 16 years ago, in his retirement. He’s here and open everyday because he likes it.“I don’t need a vacation from this,” he says. That’s the best kind of job, right? “It’s not a job,” he responds firmly.


It’s past 3, and it’s time for his run and workout at the gym. He’ll return in about two hours for dinner service, but we’re allowed to stay and hang out. It’s finally quiet, but now, all I want to do is push work aside.