a pretty sweet poem I can take NO credit for…

The perfect shot. Not the click of a lens, not the falling of a heavy carcass, but the perfect shot. The heavy crema sitting atop the black liquid that can fuel you and warm you. The perfect pull from the beautiful silver gleaming beast, is it the best espresso you could ever have. The rush of caffeine filling your body and pulling you into a cup of warmth that smells like your Dad and your best morning at the park.
Everyday I give that shot out. I grind, tamp and wipe off the freshly ground beans and puzzle piece fit the machine. No pods or push buttons just pure time and precision. Testing my pull’s each morning. Testing before that scalding hot energy can even hit your lips.
The only thing that can upgrade the crema of an Americano is the beauty of a true macchiato. The beautiful dollop of velvet foam atop that abyss lake of black home, the foam that takes time to make. This foam that can be made beautiful and whipped makes your drink into a whole new experience. The pounding of stainless steel on a countertop to pop any unwanted bubbles of imperfection. Stirring this milk creation to give you the corduroy topping to this traditional doppio with a twist, this is satisfaction. The beauty of the perfect pull, the love and memory in just the scent can overwhelm your senses. You can smell, taste, hear and almost feel the memories come back as the black liquid pours out. The familiar scent of coffee, some ones boss, some ones dad, another’s teacher or mother; everyone knows a true coffee drinker and this smell will take you back to them. The sound of beans grinding, the blackening of palms and fingertips, and finally the pouring of a beautiful shot. The love I hand you in a double cupped 12 oz. It is so much more than you know, and I hope you enjoy.

-autumnb