In the deepest, dankest, most poorly lit corner of Backlund's Dock District, sandwiched between a fishmonger who only spoke in riddles and a warehouse that may or may not contain sentient barrels (they blinked once), Klein Moretti stood before a rusted metal door that exhaled brine.
Etched into a dented brass plaque in what looked like harpoon scratches were the words:
"The Salty Bean – Coffee Strong Enough to Drown a Kraken"
Klein adjusted his collar. "This feels less like a café and more like a side quest I forgot to finish."
"Technically, you are finishing it now," said Danitz, popping up behind him like an annoying mustache-bearing ghost. "I told you about this place last year after that Kraken thing, remember? The coffee's haunted, but it's real good."
Klein narrowed his eyes. "And you decided now was a good time to bring me here?"
Danitz shrugged, holding up a punch card. "I only need one more visit to get a free Rum Mocha Volcano. And maybe cleanse my soul."
The door creaked open before Klein could retreat, releasing a waft of air that smelled like burnt cinnamon, sea salt, and mild spiritual danger. A ship bell chimed above them—not a pleasant ding, but a low, growling "ARRR" that Klein was fairly sure came from the taxidermied parrot skull mounted beside it. The skull winked at him.
Inside, the café looked like someone tried to convert a ghost ship into a Starbucks and gave up halfway.
Ropes dangled from the ceiling. Fishnets held up bags of beans labeled things like "Mermaid's Roast", "Black Tide Arabica", and "Don't Ask". Nautical maps, some animated and whispering secrets, lined the walls. A barrel near the counter was steaming ominously. Probably soup. Hopefully.
The menu was written entirely in sailor's cant and blood-red chalk.
"Welcome to The Salty Bean," said the barista, a towering woman with a peg leg, a hook hand, and a tattoo of an octopus strangling a coffee cup. "First time?"
Klein nodded slowly. "Is there... a menu for land-dwellers?"
She cackled. "Don't worry, darling. I'll translate. You want mellow hallucinations or full divine revelation?"
Danitz waved from the counter. "I already ordered! Got the Gunpowder Espresso, extra black!"
The barista gave him a knowing look. "We keep a cot in the back for regulars who pass out mid-sip."
Danitz was already holding a frothing mug labeled "Gunpowder Espresso (Double Shot, No Regrets)", his eyes wide and vibrating.
Klein weighed his options. "I'll try the Kraken's Cream Latte. That sounds... vaguely survivable."
The barista grinned. "Brave man."
It arrived in a mug shaped like a sailor's skull, complete with gold tooth and an eye patch. The foam had been whipped into the shape of a tentacle, curling around a tiny ship cookie. Sea-salt caramel drizzle glistened like treasure, and small edible pearls sat atop like barnacled gems.
Klein took a cautious sip.
And suddenly, he was the ocean.
No, not figuratively.
He could taste the depths, the pressure, the dark, endless pull of the abyss. But also: lavender, vanilla, salted cream, and the complex richness of dark roast beans aged in barrels that had definitely been cursed once or twice.
He blinked. "I can hear whale songs."
Danitz, already halfway through his espresso, was vibrating. "I can see sound. The espresso is speaking to me."
Klein scribbled furiously into his notebook:
"Velvety. Deep. Sinister undertones of stormy regret. I'm 98% sure I just glimpsed the dreams of a drowned god. 9.5/10. Would drink again after signing a waiver."
The barista slid a plate toward him. "You're gonna need this. House special: Abyssal Chocolate Torte."
It shimmered.
Dark as guilt, dense as a prophecy, and dusted with sea salt and crushed void berries, the slice oozed slow, molten sin. Klein cut into it and the frosting sighed.
He took a bite.
And ascended.
The richness cascaded in waves—bittersweet velvet, smoky spice, dark magic folded into every layer. Memories surfaced. Regrets softened. He forgave himself for that terrible hat he wore in university.
Danitz took a bite and wept softly.
"I understand my childhood now," he said.
Klein was about to respond when the floor rippled.
He blinked. "...Did the café just sway?"
"Oh, that's the Tidal Surge Frappe someone ordered," the barista said. "Sometimes it opens a portal to the deep."
The door burst open with a splash. Seawater flooded in ankle-deep. A glowing tentacle flopped inside, slapped a pastry off the counter, then vanished with a burble and a very offended-sounding squawk.
Klein calmly took another bite of cake.
"Worth it."
A coffee mug floated by. Danitz grabbed it and drank whatever was in it without blinking. His eyes began to glow faintly.
"That... might've been seawater," Klein said.
"I see eternity," Danitz whispered. "It tastes... nutty."
The barista rang a bell that let out a cannon blast. "Tide's going out! Everyone grab a rope or a regret!"
With practiced grace, patrons began securing tables, chairs, and loose pastries as the floor began to tilt ever so slightly, as if the entire café had decided to set sail. A mist rolled in from the espresso machine. A sailor in the corner was composing a sea shanty about cinnamon rolls. A coffee bean scryer next to him was quietly sobbing into his cappuccino.
Klein's table began to drift.
"I think we're adrift," he said, standing on wobbling feet as a lifebuoy drifted past. "Danitz, how are you this calm?"
Danitz was cradling the Kraken's Cream Latte mug like it was a sacred relic. "I'm not calm, Klein. I'm just too caffeinated to panic."
The barista handed them both paddle spoons.
"Row toward the counter. If you end up in the Beanstorm, I'm not coming to get you again."
Klein stared at her. "Again?"
"You wouldn't remember. Beanstorm erases about thirty minutes of memory and all your childhood nightmares."
They rowed. Sort of.
It was less rowing and more desperately poking at floating biscotti to stay oriented, but eventually, they made it back to solid floor. The barista handed them each a reward sticker that said "I Braved the Brewtide" and a coupon for 50% off their next dangerous drink.
Danitz immediately tried to redeem it.
"Sorry," she said, grinning, "valid only during full moons on Tuesdays after surviving direct eye contact with the Brew Kraken."
"Of course it is," Klein sighed.
Before they left, the barista offered them a to-go pastry: The Whispering Macaron.
It pulsed faintly in its paper box.
Klein turned to Danitz. "We're not eating that."
Danitz opened the box. A faint whisper echoed: "Eat me and know the flavor of forbidden truths… and raspberry."
Danitz closed the box. "Okay, yeah, no."
They stepped outside. The sea breeze slapped them like a wet scroll.
Klein looked back at the café, half-expecting it to vanish in a puff of steam or get swallowed by a wave. It didn't. It just flickered once and changed the "OPEN" sign to "HAUNTED."
He looked at Danitz. "I'm writing this one up as 'dangerously delicious.'"
Danitz nodded solemnly. "My soul feels caffeinated."
---
"Atmosphere: mildly cursed.
Ambience: nautical chaos meets caffeine cult.
The Kraken's Cream Latte offered a sensory baptism—one sip and I remembered the taste of shipwrecked dreams and possibly my past life as a seagull.
Dessert: The Abyssal Chocolate Torte? A dark miracle. Rich enough to pay rent. Tasted like secrets whispered by the sea.
Unexpected flood? 3.5 stars—would've been 4 if I hadn't lost a sock.
Written calmly while feeling my heartbeat in four separate timelines.
Overall: haunted, hydrating, and disturbingly delicious. 9.7/10. Will return with a towel and a life preserver."
---
Next Chapter: Klein investigates a mysterious teahouse said to only appear during eclipses.
Will the tea be delicately floral or spiritually destabilizing?
Will Klein finally find a peaceful, non-cursed place to enjoy a quiet snack?
(Probably not.)
Find out next time in The Fool's Gourmet Tour!