The first ever cafe mortel, or Death Cafe, in America was held in Columbus, Ohio. They are a phenomenon, apparently.
Part dorm room chat session, part group therapy, Death Cafes are styled as intellectual salons, but in practice they tend to wind up being something slightly different — call it cafe society in the age of the meetup. Each is led by a volunteer facilitator, often someone who has a professional tie to the topic (Ms. Pellicano, for instance, is a grief counselor). The participants include people of all ages, working and retired, who are drawn by Facebook announcements, storefront fliers, local calendar listings or word of mouth. Women usually outnumber men.
Judging by the Donne allusion in this article’s title, “Death Be Not Caffeinated,” a poet should qualify as a leader, as one “who has a professional tie to the topic.” I like the rules, too.
The Death Cafe movement has a few ground rules. Meetings are confidential and not for profit. People must respect one another’s disparate beliefs and avoid proselytizing. And tea and cake play an important role.
“There’s a superstition that if you talk about death, you invite it closer,” said Mr. Underwood, the organizer in London. “But the consumption of food is a life-sustaining process. Cake normalizes things.”