Cilantro Chaos: Why We Love (and Loathe) AUC’s Favorite Coffee Spot
- Contributing Commentary by: Nour Abdelmoniem
If you’ve ever wandered through AUC’s bustling campus, chances are you’ve heard it before you’ve seen it—the symphony of clinking cups, the distinct spin of an espresso machine and the murmur of eager discussion that intensifies as the queue moves forward. Welcome to Cilantro, the coffee shop that is as much a part of university life as overdue assignments and chaotic group projects. With the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee, it’s a place where caffeine-fueled fantasies come true and where patience is truly tested. But the truth is that Cilantro is more than just a coffee shop; it’s a love-hate relationship, and on most days, a rite of passage. Conveniently located near the heart of campus, it looks more like a social hub, even from the outside. Professors lean over papers with red pens in hand, friends catch up over hot cappuccinos, and students tap frantically on their laptops. The go-go-go energy surrounding the place is electric, almost infectious.
But then there’s the line. Oh, the line… It spills out of the counter area, winding awkwardly into the seating space. And yet, no one seems to leave. It’s like there’s an unspoken agreement that Cilantro’s flaws add to its allure. So, what makes Cilantro the focal point of AUC campus? For one, it’s affordable. Where else can you get a tasty chicken wrap, a flaky croissant, or decent coffee without breaking the bank? Students have come to love (and budget for) their pick-me-up drinks and snacks from Cilantro. The menu—simple yet reliable—has become a staple in many lives. “It’s the only place where I can grab a filling sandwich and a coffee without feeling bad about my weekly allowance,” said Sarah El-Masry, a business sophomore who admits she spends more time at Cilantro than she does in her actual classes. The occasional scorched espresso, inconsistently foamed milk, and the never-ending wait for your name to be called, become part of its charm. That’s not to say Cilantro is perfect. Far from it. The lines, for starters, are infamous. You might as well kiss your caffeine fix goodbye if you’re not willing to give up a good ten to fifteen minutes of your life. Then there’s the element of uncertainty. The croissants are either fluffy with a perfect golden crisp or disappointingly stale. What about the lattes? Will the game of Russian roulette be suspiciously sour or delicious? “But knowing that it’s never totally perfect brings a strange kind of comfort. Like, you’re buying a story to share with your friends later; not just a coffee,” says Ahmed Moukhtar, a senior majoring in political science.
Even the employees appear to be struggling against the relentless barrage of requests, their expressions a mix of resolve and mild exasperation. It’s both amazing and a little unsettling to see them manage orders with mechanical precision. And yet, in spite of everything, there’s a warmth to their service—a smile here, a little apology there—that reminds you that they’re also human. I guess part of what makes Cilantro so intriguing is its role as a social equalizer. Everyone stands in the same queue, sips from the same paper cups and waits for the same overworked baristas, regardless of whether you’re a renowned professor on your fifth cup of coffee or a freshman juggling with your schedule. In a campus that is normally split by majors, cliques, and schedules, it’s a unique shared experience that connects everyone. “Cilantro is where you can really see campus life in action,” said Dr. Hala Mansour, a professor of psychology who often holds informal office hours at a table in the corner. It’s more than just a coffee shop; it’s a space where people interact, share ideas, and forge communities. Yes, it’s messy, but that’s part of what makes it authentic. Cilantro is a great example of university life in many aspects; it’s hectic, unpredictable, and occasionally frustrating, but also vibrant, full of energy, and oddly comforting.
