the barista

years ago, in my late teens and early twenties i was a barista. years later, i took a break from office work to be the assistant manager in another cafe. the first place i worked is long gone, but i still have a t-shirt from it – even more precious now that christchurch city no longer resembles the place i knew when i lived and worked there.

in london, it is the man with these hands who slips out of our warm bed to make coffee in the mornings. he shares my passion for exquisite coffee and we have our own espresso machine.

because we drink espresso, our sitting down for coffee together doesn’t last long. we don’t linger over cups of milky coffee, we choose instead to enjoy the fleeting moment with something smooth and strong – unadulterated, unsweetened, simple.

I’ve never tried cold brewed coffee before… and, rather than trying to find it in the wasteland that is west london*, i thought we would make our own.

* with a few exceptions. starbucks is not one of them