“i live for your coffee,” said the lady for whom i was walking barefoot on midsummer asphalt while trying hard not to slosh the latte art. she was four doors down, the mother of a friend, and had managed to flatter me into whipping up a brimming beverage, hand delivered and laden with jargon about downdosed-for-sweetness blahblah surfactant-conscious foaming blah. and suddenly, i felt like a competition-circuit barista — all ego and flair and not a clue how to speak to the common man.
well, ok. not fair. let him who hath not pontificated over origin cast the first stone. incidentally, this was the texas lady who supplies the guajillo honey so central to one of my most popular custom drinks. she’d delivered a fresh sack of goodness, and i couldn’t very well refuse her the brew.
still, it’s things like this that make me wonder: why am i doing this like this? does the luster of fringe geekery wear off? will the tedium of roasting eight micro batches a week — for an ever-growing phalanx of sippers and swillers — ever grip my throat and refuse to let go? and if i were to listen to the hoardes of hearty counselors urging me to give it a whirl, go into business, do what you love, take a chance (you’re young!), leave the corporate world, seize the blog success, capitalize on the low barriers of entry, use the web, shun the establishment, evangelize the masses, etc. … would it be enough to sustain one’s self through the rigors of entremanureship?
it’s funny. pulling a string of near-perfect shots with the preferred blend (pictured above), i thought, “i could do this.” then, wrestling with a blend reminiscent of scorched death adder at the cypriot’s studio, i thought, “never.” which prompted brooding postulate the first: taste, it appears, makes all the difference. even with regard to the future! add to that a corollary, the gratuitous brooding postulate the second: this is what the pros lack — experiential diversity!
at least, that’s how this blog is rationalizing its commitment to grinding amateurism.