I see I posted this on a thread about hipsters 8.5 years ago. It still seems relevant, both in life and re TA. We still refer to coffee shops as looking a bit Bolivian, and give them a wide berth. 
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We made a terrible hipster-related mistake a couple of years ago, which is a masterclass in how not to be assertive. We were out for the day and went into a converted ticket office in Battersea which is now a coffee shop. Now, I like coffee. I am not a connoisseur by any means, but I do have strong views about it. I don't like weak coffee, especially when it's very milky, so more often than not when I'm out I order filter coffee. This is quite often also disappointing, but it's not as bad as weak milky coffee. My husband is a lot less fussy about coffee than I am and generally prefers to go for a cappuccino, as he positively likes milky coffee that isn't bitter. He hates black coffee.
Accordingly, when I noticed that this place had what was described as drip coffee, I assumed this was a modish way of saying filter coffee, so I ordered that. Rather to my surprise, my husband said he would have it too. The first warning sign was that both the people serving became slightly animated by our choice. They told us at some length about the beans the coffee would be made from (Bolivian), gave us a description of the flavour notes and a detailed comparison with last week's beans. This is the point when things went wrong. Instead of saying 'Ah - I think in that case this may not be for us - could we have instead....', we nodded and smiled, and sat down as instructed. The place was tiny, so we were inches from the two workers and felt inhibited from talking about what might be about to happen, but I could tell that my husband was full of foreboding, as I was.
Worker 1 then brought us two small glasses on saucers. She explained that to get the full flavour of the coffee it ought to be drunk at 50 degrees C but when it was first made it would be hotter than that. Pouring it into glasses would enable it to cool down more quickly. We expressed great interest.
We then noticed that worker 2 was hunched over a workbench pouring a little water into a filter balanced above a glass jug and waiting for it to drip through before adding a bit more. It took about ten minutes to produce a jug of coffee. When he brought it over, he explained about the temperature thing all over again and gave us a timer, which he set, so we could see when two minutes were up. Only then did he think it would be at a suitable temperature to drink. We nodded and smiled.
There was of course no milk. Neither of us dared to ask for any, as we thought the workers might weep at the pollution of the coffee. We waited the requisite time, as we dared do no other, and poured the coffee out. At this point it became clear that (a) there was enough coffee in the jug for about three glassfuls each and (b) neither of us was going to enjoy them. It was very clearly a connoisseur's drink. It didn't taste like coffee, more like some kind of herbal tea. It was acidic and rather thin and didn't have the lovely fullness in the mouth you get from the plebby coffee I like. My husband thought wistfully (and not out loud) about adding sugar but dismissed the idea for fear of being kindly but firmly told that this was not the done thing. We got through most of the coffee.
My husband then pusillanimously asked me to go up and pay, knowing what would follow. Workers 1 and 2 stopped what they were doing to ask me what I thought of the coffee. I did my best. I said several times that it was 'Interesting'. Then we beat a hasty retreat, getting out my extra strong mints to get rid of the taste. It was hours before I could face coffee again.
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I would actually enjoy hearing Tom try an approach like this in Ambridge, particularly if Jazzer happened to be his first customer.