Category Archives: Creative Writing And Humour

Way back in 2008, I popped into Cafe Roma on Commercial Drive in Vancouver – a cafe that has more than a little history for this old part of Vancouver and for me, a big piece of childhood memory too!

One sunny mid-week Spring day, Dave, a contributor to the CoffeeCrew.com  website, and I sample the espressos and cappuccinos and taste some delightful locally baked treats.

It reminded me of a unseasonably hot June of 1968, some 40 years earlier, as I walked down East 6th Avenue, Vancouver, towards Commercial Drive.

This was the first trip off of Vancouver Island and the first trip on the fairly new B.C. Ferries and what started as a day trip turned into an overnight adventure as mom decided to hook up with some cousins in the big city.

Mom, who grew up in a multicultural enclave in Montreal, Quebec and spoke 3 languages, including conversational Italian, had brought me over to Vancouver for the weekend to visit the Pacific National Exhibition and to see a piece of the big city. And what a cultural shock it was for a 11 year old to see something so different than sleepy small town Victoria B.C.

Mom’s cousins lived on East 6th Avenue around 2 or 3 blocks from Commercial Drive – a big old character house the likes of which I had never seen before. The original block of houses remain in Vancouver to this day and walking the tree lined sidewalks in 2018 is like a trip through a time tunnel.

On a Saturday morning in June 1968 I started the day with my cousin Dennis by heading out for an exploration. Only in the late 60’s would it seem perfectly normal for a couple of 11 year olds to head out into the urban jungle for a look see.

Turning onto Commercial Drive on this sunny Saturday late morning, Dennis and I walked down wide sidewalks past Italian delis, corner grocers and bustling cafes.

The street had a life of its own. From a child’s perspective, everything seemed brighter, louder, busier and decidedly more fragrant. For a naive kid from small town Victoria, I might as well have been on another planet.

The aroma of strong coffee, cured ham and fresh fruit drifted over the concrete beneath my feet. I stopped for a moment in front of a busy cafe. It seemed to be packed with men, young, old, mostly old men entangled in a circle of loud conversation and broad hand gestures. They spoke Italian, a language my Montreal raised mother used with me when she was displeased.

A young couple caught my eye. They seemed disconnected from this humming umbilical of community.

A girl, likely in her twenties, wore a canary yellow sun-dress and her male friend a wool suit. The suit seems softened by a few years worth of wear and somewhat sticky considering that it was a hotter than usual summer. Between his sips of strong looking coffee from an impossibly small cup and her demurely drawing from something that looked like a milkshake, they talked in a musical banter – words only they appeared to understand.

Dennis grabbed my shoulder and pulled me along. I looked back at the couple nodding and laughing. The girls hair moved up and down held in place by a daisy-yellow hair broach. Now walking again, Dennis steered me into a green grocers hardly a door away from the cafe. With 90 cents in my pocket, a lot of money for 1968, I bought a Butter-finger chocolate bar, some pixie-sticks (fizzy candy in a paper tube) and a cola.

We exited the store and turned left towards the cafe again.

Caffe Roma is now buzzing louder as we strode towards my cousin’s avenue. The table where the young couple sat was now empty save for a cup and a glass. I spot them exiting onto the boulevard, hand in hand, her dress burning a permanent image into my mind, the itchy smell of his suit offering contrast. They vanished into a pulsating hive of urban humanity – a Saturday morning blend of shoppers, smokers, the odd smattering of fashionably clad hipsters and one wide-eyed child – me.

I look in the cafe window again flashing forward to the present. I stand outside of Caffe Roma on Commercial Drive and time has stood still just for me. The reflection in the window looks alternately young and slightly older.

Clouds pass by offering a broad selection of flattering light. CoffeeCrewcontributing member Dave watches me for a moment before holding the door.

“Colin, let’s get some coffee…” he says.

The smells and sounds of the the Cafe and the street envelope me like an old gloved hand. For a moment I hold in my palm the paper tubes of fizzy candy and a half-eaten chocolate bar. Dave asks again, “What are you going to have, Colin?”

I order my usual when I am in a cafe for the first time – double espresso and a snack. In this case, they have very tasty looking apple turnovers. I get one.

The intensity of the Italian coffee and the tangy sweetness of the pastry are the perfect match. As I sip the beverage and feel the caffeine perking within me, I can almost hear the whispered conversations of the young lovers from so long ago at a nearby table. Where are they now? Have the years been kind? Most likely, their grandchildren are half-grown up, much as I was in 1968. I think about my marriage, now almost 2 decades in length, and how in places like these, time just stands still.

In the final moments before we leave for our next stop on the drive, the owner pops by to gather up our spent cups. I tell him the coffee is fabulous. His expression is priceless and without words – a combination of ‘of course it is son…’ and ‘I have a cafe to run today…’

As we step onto the still vibrant sidewalk of Commercial Drive, two ten year old boys approach on skate boards. One sails past me like a low flying seagull.

The other swishes to a stop and is immediately hypnotized by the activity in the cafe, the noise, the smells, the starling chatter of the old men.

The cycle continues season by season, year by year through the generations. We are thankful for our memories and the time we have ahead of us. Thanks for the memories Vancouver!

A few months later in 1968, Jimi Hendrix would play a stellar concert at the Pacific Coliseum and a couple of weeks before I arrived in Vancouver Robert Kennedy would be assassinated in Los Angeles during his presidential bid. Here in 2018, Caffe Roma is now part of the history books – but while in Vancouver, you can visit The Drive – Do so. You will be glad you did.

Colin Newell lives and writes about stuff in Victoria. His friend and associate, Dave Reimer, studies business at BCIT and will be soon heading off to China for some exploration.

My family and I used to live in Bangkok, which is where I went to high school.

It was in Thailand that I grew up on Starbucks frappuccinos. I was more of a tea drinker back then and had not yet acquired the taste for coffee as I now have. Following high school, the University of Victoria became my new home. My favourite haunt for plowing away at essays and term papers was the Caddy Bay Starbucks. My taste for coffee has developed since then and my palette has definitely expanded to include bolder, more exciting coffee.

I mean, I used to shun cappuccinos for goodness sake! It was all about experimentation. I progressed from the very sweetest frappuccinos, to caffe lattes to the americano. One of the main experiences that made me realize the potential for coffee and flavor was not at Starbucks. And it is one of the fondest memories of my life. After completing my first year at UVic, I spent my summer vacation in Bangkok.

My mother had travelled to Hong Kong with my siblings (in my absence). And since I’d be in Bangkok for several months, my mother was generous enough to treat us with a trip to Hanoi. A kind of mother and son only adventure. Since my interest in coffee was at an all-time high, we decided to find a place that sold the national brand, Trung Nguyen.

I had previously read about a particular kind of coffee only found in Vietnam, known as “chon” coffee. “Chon” is a furry creature similar to a weasel. What’s so fascinating about the chon coffee is the way it is produced. After the weasel is fed coffee beans, and partly digests them, the beans are collected from the weasel droppings and processed into a very special coffee ground. As my mother and I learned at the Trung Nguyen café, the chon coffee is made in a single cup filter and drunk over ice. Our barista poured hot water into the filter.

The coffee slowly dripped from the filter into a cup and formed a very thick liquid. The taste was like no other coffee out there. It was chocolatey and sweet with a lovely aftertaste that lingered. We were so excited about the drink that we bought one of the special filters each, along with a few pounds of the coffee.

It was a learning experience for me since I realized delicious coffee can be quite simple to make once one has the right ingredients and filters. After returning to Victoria I bought a Bodum French Press, which is my choice brewing style these days. It’s ironic that I used to crave sweet coffee drinks since I prefer black coffee today. The “chon” experience also prepped my taste buds for future coffee adventures. Whatever samples we’re offered at Finnerty Express (where I work) I have no fear of daring. Even if they once originated from the insides of a furry forest creature.

A rebellious act – I grew up in a home where coffee was prepared by emptying a kettle over a small mound of Maxwell House instant grounds.

My father would fill his mug to start the day while my mother poured the remainder into a thermos. I never understood how he could drink something that looked cloudy and oily and smelled bitter.

It never appealed to me in the least. When I entered my teen years and started getting out of the house with my friends, we often ended up at restaurants and cafes.

One of our favourite haunts was the Old Towne café on lower Johnson.
The narrow establishment was full of indie cred: it was dark, the original brick walls had been exposed, they had swings at the bar, and they served amazingly rich, dark coffee.

I shunned it at first but eventually I grew tired of watching some of my friends get refills for their cups while my hot chocolate ran dry.

My first few mugs were more sugar than coffee but gradually I was able to drink it almost black and there was no turning back. I felt, somehow, more grown up ordering coffee instead of Coke or hot chocolate. I didn’t rebel through smoking or drinking alcohol; my rebellion was caffeinated.

The Old Towne eventually relocated but I continued to patronize them and my coffee habit blossomed. After a stint in England (where the norm for coffee seemed to be instant) I returned to find the Old Towne Café had closed, though other cafes and coffee shops were springing up around the city.

I moved beyond drip coffee to espresso drinks, amazed by the richness of café mochas and the creaminess of café lattes. Once I moved out of my parents’ home and started buying my own groceries, I tried different roasts and blends of beans at Murchies, gradually finding my preference (very, very dark roasts it seems).

Wanting more, I learned how to brew my own espresso with a stovetop Moka Express. Coffee got me through University and through many years of late evening shifts but once in a while a girl’s gotta sleep and I started looking for decaf.
Decaf really shines in espresso drinks; if they are well-prepared, the flavour is the same.

Don’t get me wrong, I have caffeine in my veins — some days I drink an unreasonable amount of coffee – but being able to sit and sip coffee drinks late into the evening and not lose sleep?

That is its own form of rebellion. –Cheryl DeWolfe

For me, it all started gradually. There was no transcendent “a-ha” moment brought on through a single sip that has served as the bedrock for my appreciation.

Rather it has been an evolution brought on through countless cups, gradually forming and refining itself with time. Consequently, coffee has not only changed me but subtly shaped many of my experiences, often setting the frame for some of my fondest memories.

Growing up in the Midwest led me to seeing coffee in a distinctly pragmatic light. Coffee gave added purpose to those Sunday mornings spent lazing over the paper and a reason to idle away countless hours of my youth at the nearby truck stop, non-essential but useful in its own right. It was not until I moved West that I began to develop an appreciation that would take on a life of its own.

Upon arriving in Portland, unbeknownst to me at the time, I began my descent into the complex and wonderful coffee subculture.
For the next few years my weekends were punctuated with forays to various cafes throughout Portland trying out every roast under the sun.
Despite spending countless hours at a cramped table at Stumptown with one eye on my studies and the other firmly fixed on the roaster, I remained blissfully ignorant of the place specialty coffee was taking on in my life.

It wasn’t until years later when I found myself in a subterranean café during a sweltering Taiwanese summer eagerly awaiting a vacuum pot of Sumatran that I became fully cognizant of how important the beverage was to me.

Until that time, I saw good coffee as a mild indulgence that one could easily do without or easily replace with some alternative. Unsurprisingly, I, for some reason, was unable to do this but had never given that much mind. As I sat there watching the water simmer, I quickly reflected on the magnitude of this revelation.

Thinking back, I realized that many of my best memories were framed around the simple pleasures of the beverage. From a doppio in a Sicilian bus depot to the cramped confines of an Austrian coffeehouse in a tent, my memories rapidly danced from cup to cup. Slowly I began to accept the implications of my newfound awareness and smiled.

Since then I have allowed my passion to take an active role, guiding me to countless new encounters which have led me to a whole world of flavors and a greater appreciation for the nuances of each bean. All of these experiences have reinforced my personal belief that the small pleasures of life are often the most fundamental to our interaction with the world. It may have taken a while but I finally came to realize that an evolving appreciation of coffee has been, and will continue to be, an essential element of my daily life.

The smoke billowed out from the deep, cast iron skillet, the wood fire blackened the bottom of the pan as the heat blackened the crackling coffee beans.

A long life of hard work and worry marked the face of Senora Pastora who had graciously allowed me to “help” her out.

Her age was indeterminable but her command of the process was not.

“Don’t let them sit. Keep stirring” she commanded and I obeyed.

To protest was futile. Rural Nicaragua in 1987 was a place filled with complex and bloody politics, poverty, passion and a coffee culture that comes from living and working in a place whose primary source of income was that little red berry grown in high mountain plantations (fincas), harvested by families of workers and processed into a cash crop on patios in the hot sun.

Yes, the politics of taste came together in every cup of coffee.

Rising at dawn meant a tractor wagon ride shared with old men, women and children up the dusty road to the finca, high up on the mountain range that cradled my village.

We were to spend the day picking coffee berries so the crop could be sold on the world market.
The back-breaking toil was punctuated only by a brief tortilla lunch and frequent rifle shots – a sniper was being chased across the mountainside below.

Working beside me was a young mother, the weight of her pick dragging the basket down from around her waist, her children and their half-full baskets at her side and her AK47 slung over her shoulder.

At the end of the day I managed to laugh when weigh-out netted me enough cash to repay the cost of my cold tortilla lunch. I was there to ‘help’.

Another day and another truck ride up another mountain to another coffee finca was shared with a bare-foot volunteer healthcare worker, working his way around the region, inoculating young children against the crippling disease of polio.

Throughout the day he served the long line of amazingly patient children who waited under the shed roof, while the de-pulped beans dried in the burning sun on the patio.

Coffee has changed my life.

Every coffee is specialty coffee.
Each bean tells a story.
I select my beans on the basis of potential flavour and following a set of criteria that includes tasting justice and health for those who grow it, pick it, move it, roast it, and serve it around the world.

Every time I roast a bean I take a brief look over my shoulder to see the grin on the face of Pastora, still shaking her head at the miracle of a young gringo helping a geriatric Latina campesina in her open-air kitchen.
Every time I put a cup of the beautiful brew to my lips I can taste the struggle of communities of people to find justice and meaning in a world where decisions made half-way around the world can change your life forever.

Here’s to you.

Kevin Flaherty lived and worked in the jungle of Nicaragua in the late eighties – finding himself and the meaning of the World around him… where the real story of innocent folks trying to earn their next meals by picking a cash crop that was pre-sold on the international market because they had no choice. And getting shot for it….. became his World.

My caffeinated life began before I understood the word caffeine.

My Irish grandmother would serve me Nescafe in evaporated milk when I was barely a ‘tween.

It was the culture in the old country and I loved the taste from the first sip.

Fast forward to 20 years of age and I found my first cappuccino in a shanty town outside of Lima, Peru.

I drove to the mountains, I watched the beans roast in the cast iron and I drooled as they pulled the espresso and topped with milk foam.

I drank like a blind man seeing for the first time. Four years later when I returned to Victoria, I knew I was a changed woman. After a few Baby Gaggias, I lucked out on a Nuova Simonelli who stayed with me through my twenties and thirties.

When I sought what I thought were greener pastures in 2006 in California, naturally my Simonelli came with me.

I wept when the the shipper broke my beloved machine for it had survived 2 marriages and many moves. And yet it still worked, even with no housing.
The machine looked sad, exhausted and I knew it’s day to retire had arrived. I sold many of my things on Ebay in order to buy another machine for I could not bare to be without espresso.

It was there I discovered the beautiful Atomic. I tried for 3 years to find an Atomic at a price I could afford.

I went to every garage sale, every thrift store but I have not faired well in my effort to obtain this beautiful piece of art.

It is a piece that fits well with my old world soul.
My coffee day is intricate, romanced.
I hand roast my beans in a hundred year old cast iron pan that has such a coffee patina, that it shines.
I steam raw organic milk and I finish with organic maple syrup from my beloved country.
These tastes I have acquired from years of travel, of tasting, of experiencing coffee.
I have a love affair with coffee that no man has rivaled.

Yes, I am in love.

The last cappuccino I had the day before I left Victoria was at 2% Jazz.

And when I return this fall to my beloved Victoria, it will be the first cappuccino I have.

Former publisher of Real Blues magazine, Cheri Lynn loves coffee and music – and really, really, wants to win OTTO!

My childhood was spent in a home where everything had a price tag on it. My parents boasted how little they spent on each item. Long before product expiration dates became the norm, my mother would wait until the stores back then would decide to let old product go for a song, then swoop down and buy cases of elderly boxed mac & cheese, canned veggies, powdered milk, and instant coffee. I knew something was missing.

During trips to the homes of friends and family,I marveled at the explosion of flavors, aromas, and the beauty of thoughtful presentation. Restaurant trips were few and far between, usually McDonalds.

On the rare occasion when we’d go out for breakfast, my parents would always marvel at the coffee. "Restaurant coffee," they’d exclaim, as if there was some fantastic secret hidden from ordinary mortals.

In a desperate bid to break out of this dreary existence, I joined the military in 1978, where I traded one type of monotony for another. Fortune smiled upon me, and I had the great good luck to go to Italy on a training mission.

My instructor was a much older woman named Myra, who set about teaching me from my first moment in Italy. On my way to the appropriately named mess hall for breakfast, she steered me off base to a small coffee house. I argued that I didn’t like coffee.

Myra informed me that I’d never had coffee and owed to to myself to try the real thing. I had my first cappuccino and my first espresso that morning.

The delicious scent of roasting coffee teased me while we stood at the bar drinking our coffee. It was love at first sip. Myra had to drag me away. That trip I drank more coffee than water.

Visits to trattorias, gelaterias, and other culinary attractions further changed everything I’d thought about food and drink. Then we went back home. I mournfully told Myra it was like being introduced to color, then going back to black and white.

She patiently explained that I could enjoy Italian style coffee and other varied delights, but it would take searching. And I wouldn’t find them at McDonalds. I sought out coffee houses, looking for that elusive cup that would bring back the magic of that first experience in Italy.

There were so many different roasts! And beans from every part of the globe to taste. After many disappointments, I learned that there wasn’t just one coffee I loved, there were many. And the highest priced coffee wasn’t necessarily the best. Since then, my gustatory adventures expanded to single malt whiskies, wine, a bewildering array of cuisines, and an appreciation for the people all over the world who grow my food and produce the tools that make eating and drinking not just a necessity, but art appreciation.

And it all started with that first magical steaming cup in Italy. Thank you Myra!

My Life in Coffee – Otto Contest Entry

How specialty coffee has changed my life… By Christina S.

Recently, coffee has succeeded in saving my life. How might a hot liquid beverage be able to so profoundly influence or rescue an individual from said harm and danger? I answer, quite bitterly, with university final exams.

I am a 19-year-old commerce student at the University of Victoria. Before coming to university, coffee was of no interest to me. My parents drank it every morning… I just hadn’t grown into the taste yet. In the morning, I’d opt for a whipped cup of hot chocolate to get my day started.

In my first year, I slowly adjusted to the increasingly difficult workload that comes with the package of being a full-time student with a part-time job. I was looking for something to keep me going from an early morning to a late night. I found some great friends who had great work ethics, but they also came with something else – caffeine addictions.

I couldn’t figure it out… how my friends were managing great grades with such busy lives. As we spent more time together, I realized that their expensive coffee shop triple-shot latte additions might be aiding in this endeavor.

Needless to say, I began experimenting with my now chosen drug of choice, caffeine. Now, I’m not saying I was peer pressured or coerced in any way… but I was hooked! The intoxicating aroma of coffee began to seep into my senses and I couldn’t give up the chance to give it a shot. Not only does coffee give me the energy I need to get through a cram session, but it also makes me feel genuinely happy. I consider myself a very levelheaded, happy individual, but when I have caffeine in me, I have a whole new appreciation for the day!

I survived first year thanks to great friends, expensive textbooks, and a rather obscene amount of java (both coffee and the programming language). Now as I enter my third year, I no longer see coffee as a fuel for studying, but as a social beverage. I get to spend time with my friends at the local Victoria coffee shops… chatting as we gather around our favorite drinks of choice.

Now, I am excited to announce (Twitter anyone?), that I am moving in to my first real home here in Victoria. I am looking to christen my home with my first ever espresso machine so I can invite my friends over and impress them with my (soon to be developed) café barista talents. I dream of a home that I can call my very own, and that can also be a great place for my friends to spend time. You never know, by September I might have my own drive by coffee window in my condo… Who needs school anyways? 😉

My life with coffee

In early 2007, at 63 years old, I had been drinking drip-brewed Folgers, Starbucks, and Edwards coffee. It was a hot breakfast liquid and no further thought was given to it.

And then 2 years ago I visited my son in Nelson B.C. who had recently acquired a Saeco Aroma and Baratza Virtuoso and was using Oso Negro coffee beans. He made me a strong Americano and I was hooked halfway through my first cup. It was coffee that tasted good beyond my wildest dreams. He suggested that I get an Aeropress and start doing research on Espresso machines and burr grinders.

I immediately got an Aeropress from Espressotec.com and was soon drinking very good coffee twice a day with ground beans from Starbucks. But, not as good as the coffee my son had made for me.

After 8 months of research and some emails to Colin Newell I finally decided on the Rancilio Silvia and Rocky grinder which arrived from Espressotec.com on March 2, 2008. Thanks to Coffee Crew and Mark Prince at Coffee Geek for the article “How to buy an Espresso machine.” And I must say that while the coffee from the Rancilio combo was quite good almost immediately there is a learning curve. I learned to temperature surf, tamp light or heavy, that beans have the most flavor about 4-8 days after roasting, that humidity and lack of humidity affect the tamp and/or grind, that high water temperature scalds the coffee. At about 3 months I had most of the parameters under control and could consistently get very good coffee.

I should point out that I have tried lattes – learning to steaming milk properly was a breeze – but very shortly I found that I prefer an Americano, adding about 2 parts water to 1 part espresso. My wife prefers about 3 parts water.

I have tried a number of single origin coffees from 49th Parallel, Discovery, Drumroaster, Starbucks, Intelligentsia, Cafe Fantastico, and other places, and they were all very good but I keep returning to Causeway Fantastico (another recommendation from Colin Newell) – It’s the coffee that best suits my need for a lot of body, rich taste, great crema and a hint of sweetness.

I have discovered that the learning never ends. Over the past week I have noticed that my coffee just wasn’t as full bodied as it should be. And then I remembered how dry it has been here in Victoria over the last week. So this morning I changed my grind to one notch finer but didn’t tamp as heavy. Bingo, another great coffee.

I have learned that the Silvia needs to warm up for 20 minutes plus, then wait through two more heating cycles and then do the shot between 110 and 130 seconds after the heating light goes off. It gets me great coffee every time and occasionally it is a shot that is so good I can hardly believe it.

I am a nut about cleanliness which I know really helps quality – brush, run hot water through and wipe down after every shot. Clean basket, portafilter and dispersion screen after every shot. Back flush with water 2-3 times a week. Remove screen and accompanying pieces and along with basket and portafilter boil them for 10 minutes in water with ½ teaspoon dishwasher detergent every 2-3 weeks. Back flush with a touch of dishwater detergent every 2-3 weeks depending on usage – average of 6 shots a day (2 glasses x 3 pulled shots.) Remove and clean water tank at same time. Rinse, rinse, rinse after any cleaning – at least half a fresh tank through everything. Use only Brita filtered water.

Recently on a trip back from Nelson we had breakfast at an unnamed restaurant in Princeton (but you can see it from the Chevron). Food was great. But I said to my wife, “What do you think about the coffee?” “Well,” she said, “It is hot and brown.” And doesn’t that just say it all. Once you have your own espresso machine and a good grinder there is no coffee like home.

Thanks: to Coffee Crew for all their help on this journey, to Geir Oglend and the Drumroaster for the best Americano I have had anywhere, to Derek at Cafe Fantastico for helping me with many discussions on how to get really good shots.

And while my Silvia will always be my weapon of choice I would like to try and learn a few other machines.

Coffee has never been within the realm of my curiosity till only recently. I have always had a Cuppa Joe here and there without realizing the potential of the flavors that could be extracted from what I was drinking.

My first real experience of coffee came to me in my freshman year at UW Madison in Espresso Royale. I actually had my first good cup of coffee just before doing my math homework. I was just hooked at how intricate and startling the flavors were.

Flavors come naturally to me as I really like to cook and come up with crazy dishes all the time. I just never had the opportunity to try a well brewed cup of coffee till I entered University. This initial dose of coffee provided me with the driving force that put me in search of the perfect cup of coffee and the ideal way of making it. I have always been a fan of using the traditional methods of making coffee, so a lot of my initial experimentation was based on the French press and stove tops.

There came a point, shortly after my sudden coffee interest, where I ended up in a state of addiction. Initially I thought I was addicted to coffee, but I wasn’t. I was addicted to finding my favorite coffee and the best brewing method. Fortunately Madison had lots of great coffee shops around and quite a few of them actually roasted their own coffee in house, so I was exposed to a lot of local coffee experience.

Towards the end of my University education I started up a company called Medarwin and to be honest I lived off coffee shops. I literally would organize meet ups with my fellow entrepreneurs at different coffee shops every day. I got to know the roasters and baristas really well. They helped me learn a lot about the different origins of coffee and how coffee gets roasted, which was very new and interesting to me at the time.

As a Mechanical Engineer, I naturally was very interested in the equipment used to make coffee. I would order beans from a different places every time and brew my coffee mainly using the Bialetti stove top espresso maker. I really liked stove tops mainly because I felt I had more control over how I brewed lightly roasted beans. A lot of it had to do with the extra heat that the stove tops are known for.
The heat build up on a stove top roasts the coffee in its own way giving it a very unique flavor.

I have always wanted to bring my coffee making experience to the next level and with a lot of research I found out about the Atomic. I just fell in love with the design and after some fanatical searching I found a BREVETTI ROBBIATI Atomic for a decent price.
Wow, when it arrived with my new Baratza Virtuoso, my coffee experience was brought up to the next level of infatuation and further experimentation. From my limited experience and immature experimentation I found a combination I have felt works best for me.

Beans:
Ethiopian Yirgacheffe
Brazilian Bourbon
Kenyan AA
Favorite roaster – Intelligentsia
Gear:
Brevetti Robbiati Atomic Espresso stove top
Baratza Virtuoso
Aeropress

I have always been looking into innovation and new designs of coffee machines.

When I first got to know about the Atomic, I fell in love with the design and I just wanted one in front of me. I have had a very enjoyable experience with it, but I think it’s time for me to take on a new design and leave my Atomic in the beautiful state that it’s in.