The Pull vs. The Pour

If my life were a film … this would be the scene where the audience starts yelling.

You know the scenes. Your favorite character living through their story in real time as you watch from the comfort of third person. You’re aware of the setting, the motives of all other characters, and can sense the weight of the decisions being made as we inch closer to the climax. You yell, ‘No, the other door!!’ hoping to shift the burdens of fate as it acts swiftly upon the people you care about. You’re bought in to their story, because you can see it as your own.

I think the power in these moments is granted through the privileged position of third person. When we can take a step outside of our current and direct circumstances, we are able to make sounder decisions. If you’re anything like me, then you know being able to do that is incredibly difficult, if not impossible in some cases. So, we need to rely on others to support, confide in, and yes, yell at us to choose the other door.

The other day, I met with my good friend BJ who I had almost started working with again (we had spent some quality time in the auto industry working at Land Rover). Fate intervened and prevented it just a few short months ago and we’ve been on our separate paths ever since. For those of you that know, and maybe for those who do not, I work a dual life. Coffee founder, owner and roaster by night, and auto sales by day. Too often of late my days have been filled with more and more dim-lit and empty showrooms. Some evenings I can hear the wind shake the windows as the door locks threaten to burst. The lights outside flicker as the rain pelts the hoods of cars left unopened. For days on end it seems. Old bones this dealership.

He said he was about to drop a bomb on me and to get ready. I thought he had a job for me. Instead, he turned his body toward me and with the calmness of a close friend said, ‘I think you need to leave the auto business. You need to go all in on coffee.’

I didn’t realize that London would be an awakening disguised as tourism. Fresh off yet another red eye flight, we knew we only had a couple of days to recreate, and curate, new memories from our time in this city four years ago. There are always the staples to visit, and now that we had friends with us, we wanted them to experience what we had felt.

London, to me, resembles NYC. It’s expansive, has been through a lot of change and continues to inspire travelers. Yet, it does so with a certain degree of class. People move through the city with a polarizing confidence — perhaps due to the adornment of mackintosh coats and tweed blazers. Or instead, it could simply be that like people, cities too have personalities and those who move here adopt the status quo and those who grew up here know nothing better. What I do know for certain is that London inspires curiosity and inches us closer to something that lays dormant within us.

A few years ago, we had read about the Borough Market and living in Seattle, couldn’t help but draw parallels to our very own Pike Place. When I was making a must-visit coffee list for our second go round, I had the privilege of doing it from an outside perspective. It was here, then, that I was introduced to a proper flat white, and one, now, that I was so desperate to recreate.

Monmouth Coffee Company | @monmouthcoffee | https://www.monmouthcoffee.co.uk

Three of the six of us were either sick or too tired after the flight to immediately begin the venture, but we didn’t let that stop us. I had spoken about how silky these flat whites were so we walked through the city market, passing bakeries, florists, charcuterie and many other booths until we approached Monmouth from the left. Inching closer, the people packed into the market like sardines, and I grabbed my camera to snap a few photos of the outside of the building. After four years of autopilot in an auto job leading nowhere, we were back.

On the approach, one can either peek through the glass case on the right to select one of many freshly roasted beans that the employees will happily bag for you, or, you can order and patiently wait while a seat comes free at the massive community table that takes up most of the square footage, err, meterage of the floor plan. We chose the latter.

To give you an idea as to how busy this place is, I need you to picture the most insane coffee line you can. The Starbucks at Pike Place comes to mind for me, but then imagine if you will, none of the employees allowing themselves to be rushed. And now bring your headspace to the reality that they pour perfectly velvety and silky flat whites adorned with various art — and they don’t even flinch. Non stop. All day. Dialed in. Unfazed by the demands of the public. Steadfast in their commitment to quality. Monmouth remains a pillar of the London coffee scene, and I will always make time for those who choose to act in line with themselves despite outside interference. A true class act and one I am proud to support.

The next morning, we knew exactly where we needed to go. It had been on the list the first time we ventured to England, but we weren’t able to make it happen. This time, we wouldn’t dare leave our experience to chance.

We got ready, and hustled out the door with the light only barely reflecting off the surface of the River Thames. The tour boats had not yet started, and only a select few early risers walked among us before they disappeared underground — the sounds of foot traffic and train tracks echoing beneath our feet. The tube of course. London itself feels like controlled chaos. An amalgamation of backgrounds, disciplines and individual dreams moving with intention along a shared path. I can smell the muskiness of dirt, grime and metal on metal contact as if a silver spoon were to be placed on my tongue. The demands of dreams don’t tread lightly on our senses.

As we approached Ozone in the Shoreditch, I could sense the fisherman beanies and aprons even before walking into the dimly lit building.

Ozone Coffee | @ozonecoffeeuk | https://ozonecoffee.co.uk

Ozone feels like a combination between highline coffee and incredible brunch. Usually, a place can either be defined as ‘coffee first’ or ‘food first,’ but the reality is that Ozone, at least the Shoreditch location, is both. A true compromise that allows both sides to shine. They know what they want to be about, and they make it happen.

The six of us sat and enjoyed a round of flat whites for the table. And after everyone finished everything on their plates, I popped downstairs into what felt like the coffee version of Fight Club. This is where the roaster was housed. Lived in. Edgy with many stories to tell. Heirloom pieces are that way because they are fit to do the job, and their caretakers trust them to do it. As stewards, friends and compatriots of others and of machines that do our bidding, we are indebted to them.

I love how places like this can inspire you to dream. When I really get into my feelings about coffee, I tend to walk up to the counter and order a second coffee while the group waits for the check. It’s a way for me to escape the noise, and to be present with a space. To really commit to being there with it. I believe roasters, and the places that house them have their own energy. Looking around Ozone — now multiple days away from home as this was a continuation of the NYC trip — I could feel my mind start to wander. If coffee could taste like this … what the fuck am I doing still working in the auto industry?

“If my life were a film ... this would be the scene where the audience starts yelling.”

If we’re not careful, there may come a time where we start hearing the ghosts of the decisions we didn’t make.

Close friends are something we need to nurture and hold close to us. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him what he dropped on me that night. And, if I’m being totally honest, it isn’t what I wanted to hear. Sometimes, there is this internal tug of war between what you know to be the right move, and what you have the courage to act on. It’s easier to keep moving along the status quo, even if you are confident that taking the leap of faith would be worth it. The coward in me wanted him to have a job offer so I could take it. The easy route takes prisoners.

But as an outsider, he had the ability to see me. Truly. And to speak into the room what I didn’t have the courage, or right words, to say. Maybe he sees in me what he can’t have right now. Maybe he sees the version of me that gets excited when I talk about the coffee places I’ve seen or the coffee truck pop ups I have not been able to spend enough time developing for you. In a time when we need them, the best of friends don’t yell at you to choose the other door. They place a hand on your shoulder, and guide you toward it.

On the final morning, we woke up in a daze. A long day required more rest, but dreams have a way of slipping by when it’s too late.

We made our way toward what would end up being the single greatest cortado of my life. I remember walking across Tower Bridge that morning. The air was light and the most beautiful reds, pinks and oranges filled the morning sky. The city was coming alive. Every tube ride reminded me of how quickly this life can move. Every café a reminder of how good craft feels. Every alley and corner pub an invitation to remain awake in a life that wants to put you to sleep until it’s too late.

The stone grounds of abandoned castles still reside at the heart of the city still surrounded by modern buildings. A reminder in this neighborhood of those who have lived before us. Perhaps chasing a dream, perhaps living one. On that walk, my feet stopped aching and I slipped into a euphoric haze of freedom — the kind you don’t want to wake from. Somewhere in that moment, I saw just how much I’d been hiding in the auto industry. London stripped away the excuses. I can’t reclaim the years I gave to the wrong path, but I can make amends by choosing the right one now.

Prufrock Coffee | @prufrockcoffee | https://prufrockcoffee.com

That quest to Prufrock had several moments where my mind was unburdened by the mental sludge of my auto job. Do you ever have those moments where you ask yourself what in the actual/proverbial fuck am I doing? Because same. These thoughts felt welcomed as we traversed through old castle grounds, gardens, cobblestone streets and markets on the way to an almost cottage-esque coffee shop.

I have been to a lot of wonderful locations and shops for coffees and have experienced the entire spectrum of roasts from city to anaerobic to co-fermentation you name it. And a cortado is a beautiful challenge to a roaster, a barista and quite literally every person along the chain from planting the seed to the final milk pour. Since the ratio of espresso to milk is 1:1, the milk cannot hide a bad roast, a bad espresso shot, or honestly, even save the milk from itself if steamed improperly. With little room to work with in the cup (generally four ounces), the margin for error is miniscule. What I had in that cortado glass was the most divine coffee of my life. The flavors to me were that of a chocolate wafer on a graham cracker with an ever so gently spread fig/berry jam. The balance and expertise in this drink set me off the actual edge. I ordered another. Same result. I couldn’t understand how this coffee was prepared so perfectly, and perhaps, I was not meant to.

Reaching flow states of experience should tell us we are connected to something both outside and within ourselves. I know that traveling and reporting on these ideas in this blog provide opportunities to engage in that type of creativity and it irritates me to my core how long I have allowed myself to be removed from it. I hate that I have allowed a modest salary and the illusion of safety to dictate, for far too long, how I should be living this one life I have. I know with absolute clarity of mind that I can create a roast that matches, and eventually exceeds even the most incredible coffees I have tasted. I want to be the best. I want that for you. As my customer, I think you deserve that of me.

I remember coming home from this trip and working through the Fall darkness until we got to where we are now. I’ve since made a commitment to myself and to this journey and that means I have made a commitment to you, my customer.

London wasn’t an escape for me at all, but instead, a preview of the life and skills we can create and develop for ourselves if we have the courage to do so. Those outside perspectives can inspire wonderful things when timed with opportunity. With every coffee experience, I grow stronger. In my skillset. In my resolve. In practicing the difficult art of being honest with myself. With the right guidance and a little grit, I believe we can blossom into the main character we so desperately want to root for.

I used to think London was just a city I loved.

Now I believe it was a version of me I’m finally ready to become.