Zen and the Art of Coffee-Making

My windows are open, the breeze is coming in, past the tiny flowers that have opened on the branches of the tree outside our apartment. Even now, I'm dreaming about coffee.



I wonder if every coffee professional goes through these emotional undulations: The weeks during which a barista spends afternoons pretending not to hear when people lean over the machine to say "Where's my drink?" or "I said 'decaf,' do you have it ready yet?"

And then there are the weeks when jokes come easier than rolled eyes, when the shots run perfectly every time, when waking up early to open the store feels great because of the cool air and the perfect blue of the sky.

"Barista Zen" I call it, in the interest of completely misappropriating a legitimate philosophy, religion and way of life to make an insignificant point.

As a celebration of this springtime caffeine nirvana, I will now share a crappy haiku that I composed myself right now, sitting on the couch:

crowds, milk, beans, shots, build,
listening to hall and oates:
more lattes, more bliss



Find a job you love, and you'll never work a day in your life. —Confucius