A Label Worth the Coffee
A label seems so small. It's just a slip of paper riding on the side of a bag. But for me it carries the whole promise of the project. It has to tell our story in a single glance: hand‑craft, contrast, quiet curiosity. It also has to survive the inglorious journey from roastery to countertop without bleeding, smudging, or costing more than the coffee inside.
A few months ago I told myself, half‑jokingly, that I would try lino‑printing again—something I hadn’t touched since high‑school art class. That same evening, on the way to dinner, I passed a shop that sells nothing but professional lino supplies. Serendipity yanked me off course. I rearranged my roasting schedule, squeezed through their door the next morning, and spent an hour with a lino artist who spoke about gouges and brayers the way farmers speak about weather. When I explained our coffee project he nodded and said, almost off‑hand, “Why not make paper from your old jute sacks?”
Shouts & Murmurs
Unnoticed by some, but constantly impacting the experience for everyone. One’s willingness to stay, to relax, to enjoy. Noise.
The two girls laughing and practically shouting at each other from just across the table in an attempt to tell a personal story which unfolds inevitably to the displeasure of the entire room. Crashing dishes which momentarily cut the hearing out of one of your ears.
As someone who has worked behind the counter but is also continually a client in many different coffee shops—noise is something that consistently has an enormous impact on my experience.
Made by Hand
This is a project I want to build slowly. To spend years refining and growing. To make something that carries the best of what I’ve learned—and everything I still want to explore.
I’ve drawn since I could hold a pencil. Studied fine art. Worked as a graphic designer. I’ve been a florist, delivering bouquets by bicycle. A shoemaker, sewing one-off bags and stockings from scraps. I’ve made jam from family recipes and inherited a cookie recipe laser-etched onto a cutting board in my mother’s handwriting.
And coffee…
Lay of the Land
For those unfamiliar with Paris—or with how the city fits into the wider map of France—it helps to know about our layered public transit system, which is constantly being remodeled and expanded. The three main layers of rail travel here are the Paris Metro, the TER, and the TGV.
The Metro is without question the most iconic. Just saying the name conjures images of white-tiled tunnels with arched ads, and well-worn subway cars rattling through the dark while the Eiffel Tower’s spotlight swings its nightly arc over the city, keeping watch.
But the layer I want to focus on here is the TER—Transport Express Régional…
Mixing It Up
Blending remains taboo in specialty coffee.
Say the word and you can feel the room stiffen—how dare you muddy a prized geisha with something else? For years, we've celebrated purity: single origins, single varietals, singular stories. But as I cup hundreds of coffees each season, I find myself wondering... what if we’ve misunderstood the true potential of the cup? What if we stopped treating coffee like a solo act—and started treating it like a canvas?
Art Repeats
As tools become more precise—roasting machines that hear first crack before we do, pour-over machines that mimic expert hands—we find ourselves asking: does precision diminish the craft? If the machine can do it, what’s left for the artisan?
Fertile Ground: The Invisible Garden of Workflow
Let's talk about workflow. In a coffee space—especially one centered on intentionality—workflow might be the most crucial element behind the scenes, without which nothing in front of the scenes would flow at all.
I've come to see prepping a workflow as gardening. The gardener knows that what appears above soil—the vibrant blooms, the fruit-laden branches—depends entirely on what happens beneath the surface. A gardener dedicates 90% of their effort to soil preparation, understanding that this invisible work determines everything that follows. Similarly, planning a coffee shop's workflow carries exponentially more importance than simply arranging equipment.
Coffee
Over the past few years I've been fortunate enough to meet coffee producers and to talk with them about what they do, some of the problems they face, where they see the future of coffee heading, and what we might do about it. As a coffee roaster and green coffee buyer by profession, I've been a part of the planning process, contract negotiations, calculations of how many bags of green coffee needed to last a certain number of months, and the last minute adjustments which are needed when there is either a delayed container, a quality control problem, or a strike at the docks. I've also become more aware of the reality that, as a small scale roaster, my ability to make a difference is somewhat diminished.
Coffee in the Countryside
Imagine coffee from one person's vision, working directly with a single producer, harvesting and processing an exclusive batch, then roasting it on-site with specific intentions. Imagine spending weeks perfecting recipes, making house-made milks, crafting cups, hand-painting labels. The menu would skip flat whites and lattes for unique drinks you've never tried but somehow feel just right. This is countryside specialty coffee in France—what it should be and what I aim to create.
These are my initial project notes: why I'm creating it, its uniqueness, why it belongs in today's coffee world, and my ongoing research. I'll detail everything from space design to equipment selection and menu creation.