Making it Happen
Lauren Sagnella
“We’re out of pulled pork!” Jessy Dixon shouts over her shoulder from the kitchen.
At the register, Shanon Harris tells customers, “We have steak or chicken tacos instead.” She rings up their order and dashes out to get more beer from the café’s sister restaurant a block away.
In her absence, Jessy juggles orders while making tacos in the small kitchen next to the counter.
About ten minutes later, Shanon returns with a large box of assorted beers that she needs both arms to carry. She tells Jessy that the host for comedy night is late but should arrive soon. It’s 7:22 p.m. and the show was advertised to begin at 7:00 p.m.
A couple walks in the café, looks around, and perhaps sensing some disorder, leaves.
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This is “After Hours” at Sugar Hill Café in Hamilton Heights, Harlem. It’s the café’s second try at an evening program. They first began experimenting with the idea last May. At the time, they advertised evening hours as a speakeasy where guests had to direct message them on Instagram to get the password (“Ask for the Man in the Green Hat”). They offered cocktails, live jazz music, and sometimes an open mic night. But not many people came, so they dropped the idea in early summer.
In November, they began trying again, this time with a different menu of events: Trivia Thursdays and Standup Comedy Fridays.
Trivia Thursdays are hosted by Amy Fess of NYC Trivia League and fueled by a mostly musical theater playlist. Amy has a clear voice that alternates between authoritative with precise diction, and singsong. With a microphone in hand, she starts one night with “OK guys, it’s time for triviahhh!” Rather than say, “No phones allowed,” Fess tells participants, “We only use human brains!” She sings along softly with emotion to everything on her playlist from “Reflection” from the Disney musical “Mulan,” to the angsty “Zombie” by The Cranberries. The audience is mild and respectful. On one occasion, a player orders tea. On another, a couple orders hot chocolates — one with almond milk.
Comedy Fridays attract a very different audience: mostly standup comedians and their friends. On Fridays the drinks are stronger than tea.
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This is the second comedy night at the café. Jessy and Shanon have modified the space to create a nighttime atmosphere. Not all the lights are on, so it’s darker than usual. The space is a small, underground, L- shape that can hold about 30 people packed in close. Where both sides converge, there’s a microphone stand and curtain hanging from the basement’s wooden beams. The pattern is white and black floral that reminds me of inkblot tests. This is the “stage.”
In the audience are Jessy’s father, brother, and boyfriend. During her short breaks from the kitchen, Jessy makes sure they’re cared for with drinks and conversation.
In addition to working at the café, Shanon is producing the show and performing, too. She moves swiftly between positions: she takes an order, checks her notebook, then looks at her phone. It’s 8:00 p.m. and the host has still not arrived.
Shanon interrupts my conversation with one of the standup comedians, Kyle Gillis. She seems stressed, but her tone is cool and casual. “Hey Kyle — uhhh, do you want to host the show for a minute?”
Kyle smiles and laughs, says yes, then turns to me. “This is the second time this has happened to me this week,” he says, “but the first time doing it without an edible.”
He steps up to the microphone, which keeps cutting in and out. Shanon tries to fix it, but Kyle is unfazed: “I’ve done a show with a hairbrush — I don’t care.”
After some tinkering, Shanon gets the microphone to work, and Kyle opens with, “My name’s Kyle and I’ll be your substitute teacher this evening.”
The audience of about 25 people is a little stiff. Jessy’s family and boyfriend look on, and she looks on at them. Her father and boyfriend stand out for two reasons: her father is the oldest audience member, and her boyfriend looks like a 90s heartthrob, complete with long hair and a flannel. They both get heckled for these things but are good sports. Her father plays along with a comedian’s jokes about erotic writing. Another comedian calls out the boyfriend’s looks. “Thank God that I know that Jonathan Taylor Thomas is right here. You sexy mother fucker!”
In response to this joke, Shanon lets out a big laugh from the behind the counter and looks at Jessy, who puts her hands over her face with a quiet laugh and what seems like slight embarrassment.
The comedy show is officially underway … and funny.
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At 21 years old, Jessy is the manager of Sugar Hill Café. Shanon, 23, has only been doing standup since September of this year.
They’re both very young, yet together, they’ve managed to extend the life of a small Harlem café and turn it into what they hope will become a neighborhood staple filled with regulars and something most of us have been lacking since the pandemic began: joy.
Jessy, a Vermont native and former AmeriCorps member, has a hardworking, earthy gravitas about her. She works about 50–60 hours a week at the café and her responsibilities include everything from fixing the internet to supervising the “After Hours” series. She convinced the owner to give her the manager position and explained to me, “I’ve never been someone confined by my age.”
The idea for the comedy show originated from Shanon through a conversation with a regular customer at the café. She started standup after a terrible week where she experienced a breakup and death in the family. Once she started, she went all in: “Comedy is the one thing I haven’t felt apprehensive about. In comedy, I can do whatever I want.”
Once I ask Jessy about her relationship with her coworkers. She tells me there are currently five staff members who “happen to be female” working at the café. She elaborates, “We’re all young women who empower each other.” She trusted Shanon’s comedy night idea and worked to bring it to fruition.
Shanon, who’s also a writer, posted about the newfound community on her blog “Unadulterated:” “Tonight, I am running my own open mic (open to all, as comedy always is), in the humble café of my employment. In any other world, a beginner, not even a month into the craft, is a no one. But I’ve made more friends in these past few weeks than I have in five years in the city, and we’re all just… making it happen, for ourselves and for each other.”
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When Shanon gets up to the mic, she’s met with the most applause of the night. Jessy, who usually is multitasking, focuses her attention on her coworker and friend.
Shanon’s set is different from other comics: rather than talk about sex, drugs, and mental health instability, she speaks about being a misunderstood young white woman. She jokes, “White people don’t understand me. Black people don’t trust me. Jewish people neither understand or trust me.” It’s met with a big laugh.
It’s clear that she’s found her place, for at least a little while, in comedy at the café. When her set is done, there’s a huge applause and she smiles bashfully, then retreats to her normal place behind the counter.
The show ends soon after and at 9:03 p.m. the host finally walks in. Shanon doesn’t seem to mind. She walks up to him cheerfully and tells him about the night.
Jessy comes out from behind the counter, kisses her boyfriend, and greets her dad and brother.
They both have a skip in their step. Despite the hiccups, they made it happen.
