In Memory of KeDavi

There used to be a great - and I mean great - little coffee shop in Plano, at Spring Creek and Alma, called KeDavi (pronounced kuh-dahh'-vee.) My roommate Liz was their number-one recruiter. How she found it first, I don't know, but she took everyone there. And once you tried one of their frappucinos, you were hooked. End of story.

They had one called the Funky Frapp, that had an entire banana blended into it. Liz also loved the Hazelnut one, with an extra shot; I always liked the Mandarin Orange. The frappucinos were thick and rich, hand-blended to the perfect slushy consistency, and they came with these giant straws as big around as my thumb. The cafe itself was a cozy little space, with groups of overstuffed chairs and occasional tables with chess sets and decks of cards. There were internet stations along the walls, for those who preferred a dose of Java with their java, and two or three wrought-iron tables outside for those who favored coffee and cigarettes. It was a great place to chill, to talk, to try something slightly new and get comfortable with it quickly, a great place to come back to. And that's what Liz did - almost every day, in fact. We, the not-so-regular regulars, used to tease her about her habit...but deep down, we understood.

Another friend of mine mentioned today that she'd like to go to KeDavi and try a frappucino. She'd never been there, but she too has heard the legend. I told her it would be better if she went with Liz, that she needed to get the personal introduction from the unofficial spokeswoman herself. (Besides which, I was there earlier this week, a little too soon after eating dinner, and I got a large Mandarin Orange with an extra shot - when I should've been content with a small, regular. I spent the rest of the evening with my stomach ready to overflow, and my brain bouncing off its cranial walls! So I felt I needed a few more days before I'd be ready for another KeDavi encounter.)

Now that I've heard the news, I'm regretting - unreasonably - that I passed on KeDavi this afternoon. Somehow I believe that if I would've said yes, it might still be there. Instead, I got a call from Liz this evening saying that she'd driven up for her daily fix, only to find the windows covered in brown paper, the smokers' tables gone, and the storefront space empty! Everyone is in a bit of shock. Nobody saw this coming - how could we? We thought Liz's business alone would keep our favorite coffee shop running well in the black for years to come!

Sadly, the suddenness of it all makes me wonder what might really have been going on. Could KeDavi have been run by some kind of alternate League of Red-Haired Men? What exactly was in those frappucinos that made them so addictive - and do we all need to be drug-tested now?