Paul International Airport. He’d chosen the Alle Aamin Coffee Shop on Cedar Avenue in the Cedar-Riverside neighborhood of Minneapolis, home to most of the Twin Cities’ Somali residents. When he arrived, his guest was already sitting at a corner table. Nader stopped to order at the counter before bringing her a cup of coffee and what looked like a pancake. “This is canjeero,” he said, placing the breakfast treat in front of her. “It is a type of Somali bread, and the coffee is called qahwe, which is coffee mixed with cardamom and cinnamon.” Delaney sipped the coffee. “It’s not bad.” “Not bad?” he replied, sounding offended. “You Americans don’t know good coffee, even with all of your fancy-sounding combinations ordered in a Starbucks. In my region of the world, coffee is sacred.” She broke off a piece of the canjeero, tasted it, and frowned. “I prefer a scone,” she said. “No doubt a tribute to your Irish heritage.” He glanced around the coffee shop and said, “I chose here so you could get a taste of Somalia and also because it is unlikely anyone will recognize either of us, unless we bump into Leo Mezzrow.”
