Give Me Two Weeks

Today I did milk training. This has been weeks in coming, so I am understandably excited. I am decently good, somewhat naturally, at steaming milk to the proper micro-foam levels. Yes, steaming milk is that serious. You'd never think so, but you'd know the difference if you tasted it. Trust me, you would. Big bubbles, bad. Small bubbles, good. But I did that and I did it well, and soon I'll be pouring rosettes like nobody's business.

It's odd to me how gratifying I find this process: grinding to the correct size in accordance with weather, age of the coffee, and 100 other variables that one must instinctually recognize; dosing the portafilter just so; cleaning the group, loading the portafilter, recognizing when the espresso you've exposed to water and pressure has given its best and it's time to stop the shot. Pulling a shot. It's beautiful, it's poetic, it's scientific -- and the best baristas make it look effortless, like taking a breath. Nevermind steaming milk while you time that perfect shot and pouring the aforementioned warm (not hot!) milk overtop golden-rust crema to create a pleasing design.

Give me two weeks. I'll give you pictures.

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I have measured out my life with coffee spoons. -T.S. Eliot