A Pallet and a Plan

Our project may still be on paper, but it’s important to go through what a typical day could look like. This will give us a clearer picture, help us to avoid potential problems, and see aspects of it that we hadn’t yet considered.

Coffee delivery day. The truck pulls up.
“Bonjour monsieur, vous allez bien?”
The driver waves as we unload sacks of green coffee, our coffee. Batches we helped to harvest and process. The smell of jute mingling with damp stone and the hum of our little electric mini-truck. It’s a bit beat-up but it gets the job done.

This is how it starts. Not with fanfare, but with a pallet and a plan.

Receiving and Roasting

Back at the barn—the atelier—we unload and stack the bags, careful to keep them dry and stable. We open the first: humidity 10.2, density 701. Excellent. Moisture below 13% means no bacteria risk. We divide the 30-kilo sack into twelve vacuum-sealed 2.5-kilo bags. That size gives us precision and efficiency. Our Roest P3000 can handle 3 kilos, but we go a little under. Less stress on the machine. Better heat control. Easier profile development.

Batch one is for espresso.
Development time: 1:30.
End temp: 206°C.
It’s a washed and fermented coffee, which means a delicate cellular structure. Heat penetrates faster. Sugars caramelize quicker. We keep the roast lighter to avoid overdevelopment—but not so light we risk grassy notes.

Batch two: 204°C, 1:00 development.
Batch three: 202°C, 0:45 development.

No tipping. No scorching. Our machine uses convection heat—roast defects like these are rare. Straight from the cooling bin, we pop a bean and taste. Not for balance yet, but for promise. For signs of where the cup might land.

Then we wait. One week, minimum. Letting CO₂ release. Giving the coffee space to breathe before it tells us what it really is.

Craft and Calibration

We return to the atelier. Three batches on the cupping table. Blind test. First: defects—green or roast. Cupping reveals flaws that espresso hides. Then we pick a favorite for filter, maybe one for espresso. But cupping isn’t enough. We test in context.

We pull shots. Dial in. Adjust grind. Our espresso setup uses high-extraction baskets and 16g double shots. That’s intentional. Less coffee, more flavor. Less waste, better resource use. Every espresso recipe is built to stand on its own or to pair with milk in a way that’s complementary, not camouflaged.

This is when the workshop becomes a studio.

We use puck protectors and compostable paper disc filters. Some see these as extras—we see them as tools of intention. They keep the shower screens clean. They distribute water evenly. They give us clarity and a silky mouthfeel.

We test our house-made milks. Hazelnuts grown on-site. Some fermented into black hazelnuts—like black garlic—using techniques from The Noma Guide to Fermentation. Surprisingly chocolatey. We find our sweet spot: 40–50% black hazelnuts in the blend. That becomes our “mocha,” made without chocolate. Just milk and espresso, both of our own making.

We add a final question: what about honey? From our own hives. A syrup of equal parts honey and water. Does it belong in the drink, or beside it? We test. We refine. Each decision has to be earned.

The Work We Love

This is the craft. The quiet, obsessive, hands-on work that connects every part of the process. It’s why we roast. Why we blend. Why we build and rebuild. Why we show up to try again tomorrow.

As the sun sets, someone eventually has to pull us away. Remind us to eat. Close the door on the day.

But we’ll already be thinking about what’s next. Because this is what we dream of. Not a store. Not a brand. Just the work. And the cup.