The ephemeral art of coffee. There’s something about knowing that I roasted these beans at 9 last night… with friends here… olfactory cells anticipating this morning as the chaff wafted up into my face… and brewed them when I woke up. It’s all for that moment when the molecules interface with the cells on your tongue. The taste message is sent to the brain. Yes. The taste is rich and delicious. But again, that knowing… it enhances cooking and makes it art.

For several years, I have been brewing my own espresso at home. I work the night shift, so I want my lattes at about 8 or 9 pm. This year, I am roasting my own coffee beans!

I’ve always loved coffee. I remember when I was little, my mom would have ladies from the church over from time to time, and when they left the table, I’d go around and drink the dribbles out of the bottom of all the cups.

Years ago, there was no espresso available in Grand Marais. I just wanted a cappuccino! So I bought a commercial espresso machine and opened a coffee shop/art gallery and housed it in my 1948 Great Northern Railway caboose.

My cafe is my own kitchen now.