Back in the winter of 2005, when Rob Loomis and Jon Pruden first opened their coffee shop Borjo (then known as Port City Java) in Norfolk’s burgeoning University Village shopping district, across Hampton Boulevard from the ODU campus, they thought they were safe from the threat of the corporate behemoth better known as Starbucks.
Their contract with the college contained a clause that prohibited the construction of a competing coffee franchise within the bounds of the Village. But what the Borjo boys didn’t know was that the University Village Bookstore, rising directly across the street from their cafe, in the shadow of ODU’s Ted Constant Center, was technically not considered part of the Village Shops.
And so, it came as somewhat of a shock early this year when the bookstore announced plans to open a coffee shop of its own.
Loomis, who by then was Borjo’s sole owner, was offered first dibs on the bookstore’s space. But he wanted no part of it.
"We had worked hard for three years to create the kind of place our customers want," says Loomis, a 1989 Norfolk Academy graduate. "That’s not something that’s easily transferable. Plus, I wasn’t about to abandon this great corner location."
The "kind of place" Loomis is talking about, of course, is nothing new, and it extends far beyond simply serving a good cup of joe. It’s the communal atmosphere, the ineffable sense of repose and peace that’s so hard to find in today’s fractured rat-race of a culture. That sense of sanctuary and communion, opines Loomis, is the "X" factor behind the tsunami of coffee shops that has washed over the nation during the past two decades, from the franchised networks of Caribou Coffees, Coffee Beaneries, Bad Ass Coffees, and, yes, Starbucks, to the independent one-of-a-kinds like Borjo, or Elliot’s Fair Grounds in Ghent, or Prince Books Coffeehouse in downtown Norfolk, or any other roots-rock java joint anyplace in America.
"A good coffeehouse," says the 37-year-old Loomis, "serves as a community living room in a way that nothing else can. There’s something wholesome about sitting in a comfortable chair next to a window, reading a newspaper beside somebody else who’s reading a book or working on their laptop."
The indies, notes Loomis, have the freedom to put their personal stamp on a shop in a way the franchise chains cannot. Loomis’ stamp was shaped by his winding journey from Norfolk to U.Va. to Japan, where he taught junior high school English for three years, to Southeast Asia, where he backpacked through Thailand and Indonesia, to South America, where he hiked the Patagonian Andes, to San Diego, where he surfed when he wasn’t suited up as a Japanese corporation’s sales rep in California and Mexico, and finally, to Seattle, where he spent a lot of time in coffee shops while his Brazilian-born wife Nathalia was finishing her architectural studies. Then it was back to Hampton Roads, where Nathalia now works for a local architectural firm.
With that kind of background, opening a coffee shop seemed like a perfectly natural thing for Loomis to do.
"I just kind of take what comes across my plate in life," says the wry, soft-spoken son of a professor (his father is a lecturer in philosophy at ODU) and a priest (his mother is a retired Episcopal reverend). "I try to keep it interesting."
Things got interesting indeed after Loomis rejected the bookstore’s offer and–who else?–Starbucks stepped in.
By then Loomis had built Borjo into something close to the vision he had when he started: from its base of fiercely loyal customers (a predictable cast of professors and students, along with a mishmash of moms, dads and teens from the nearby neighborhoods, topped off by the standard melange of would-be poets and hipsters hunched over their PCs, sipping at espressos, munching on muffins, taking a break now and then to step outside for a smoke); to its interior design (paintings and photos by area artists adorn the walls; soft indie rock wafts out of ceiling-hung speakers; the cozy flames of a fireplace warm a corner nook beside a bookcase stuffed with offbeat magazines; tables and counter space abound, along with an array of soft chairs and a sofa, as well as seating outside); to its staff (mostly young ODU students, some tattooed, some dreadlocked, all wearing black Borjo T-shirts bearing the shop’s motto "Fairly Serious Coffee" on the back); to its light fare–salads, sandwiches, soup–fixed fresh in the kitchen; to occasional live entertainment, ranging from acoustic music to poetry slams.
"I can’t say we weren’t worried," says Loomis of the Starbucks invasion, "but in addition to everything we already had to offer, including better coffee, I had another idea that had been brewing since we first opened."
That idea was, in a word…beer.
"Think about it," says Loomis, "and I’m not being original here. Coffee and beer are two of the most convivial beverages there are. So why shouldn’t they both be enjoyed in the same setting, with the same atmosphere?
"When I was in Seattle," he continues, "some of the coffee shops I liked best sold beer and wine as well. You could grab a glass and read the paper without being the creepy guy who’s drinking by himself. If you go into a bar or a restaurant alone, sit down, open up your laptop and order a drink, you look kind of weird.
"Plus, in a coffee shop you don’t have a waitress or bartender bothering you about whether you’re doing okay or do you want another. And a woman can come in and have a drink by herself and not constantly get hit on."
It took a few months to leap through the city’s ABC licensing hoops, but finally, this past July–just weeks before the Starbucks opened–the baristas at Borjo began drawing glasses of Bell’s Two-Hearted Ale and Magic Hat #9 on tap and uncorking bottles of Gouguenheim Cabernet Sauvignon and Cielo Pinot Grigio by the glass.
It’s been almost four months now since the two businesses began going head-to-head. Borjo’s coffee crowd has continued to grow, and word is steadily spreading about the adult beverages.
"We’re still in the fledgling stage," says Loomis. "Not just with the fact that, as far as we know, we’re the only coffeehouse in South Hampton Roads that sells beer and wine, but with the fact that a lot of people don’t even know we’re here at all. A lot of people have no idea that this whole development is back here behind the Coliseum."
The more word gets around, the stronger Borjo will be for its David-versus-Goliath faceoff with the big boy across the street.
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