Coffee Time’s logo is adorably 1970s, with the font and coloring of a grocery-store loaf of bread—something with “Hearth” in the name. Indeed, when these windows glow in the gloom of an early morning, the joint is as hearthy as it gets; there are plenty of places to sit without rubbing elbows with people (grrr, people), and it’s open until the hospitable hour of 2am. Who needs vacuum pots and indie-grouchy baristas when you can drink coffee the way God intended it to be drunk: until the wee hours of morning, hunched over a laptop?

The layout is charmingly old and unhip, saying “welcome to my home” with mismatched and threadbare area rugs, multiple rooms with wing-backed recliners, and fake plants. There’s even a chessboard painted on a ledge separated by a wall, with an arched window so that the players can see each other (but, alas, cannot break out into a chess-boxing match). There are detailed murals on the walls, worn pews, and gorgeous sidewalk seating. In the ‘90s, this place was definitely the shit.

So what of the coffee? Well, it’s unpretentious, to put it gently. This place is more about hanging out, or maybe about playing a game of Dungeons & Dragons in the alcove without being taunted. And if you hate being sneered at by purists who won’t make you a mocha, there are two indulgent kinds here: cherry-sweet Black Forest and spicy Mexican. Go ahead with your vanilla-almond-mint-latte self—there’s no judgment here. There are also competent panini and pastries.

In a city where coffee is pride, where coffee is science, where coffee is art, it’s cool that Coffee Time skips gaily behind the tide, offering you an adorable place to curl up and read with an old-school raspberry mocha, sans attitude.