Contrast
Many years ago, back when Instagram was still the shiny new playground, a friend looked over my feed and tossed out an offhand comment that changed everything.
“Have you noticed your high-contrast photos get twice as many likes?”
Once I saw it, I couldn’t un-see it. Since then, contrast has been my secret lens: street signs, book covers, coffee-bag labels. Anything that pops against its background seems to whisper, Look here first.
Signals
We’ve recently begun the real adventure: physically looking at properties. It’s thrilling and terrifying, hopeful and heartbreaking all at once. Each place we see becomes a question about what it might become:
« Is this space laid out in a way that aligns with our vision? »
« Does it flow naturally toward the areas we plan to activate, or does it feel awkward, like we’ve stumbled into a stranger’s home? »
« If I were arriving here for the first time, would I feel excitement about what lies ahead—or would I instantly want to turn around and leave? »
This elusive quality—the intangible thing about a place that pulls us in, makes us feel welcome, comfortable, excited—is central to everything we're trying to build.
A Local Table, A Global Conversation
"Don’t ask me how this scales. Ask me how this spreads." — Dan Barber
Not long ago, every fine‑dining menu was judged by the same yardstick: How close could the chef land to the canonical duck confit, the flawless bouillabaisse, the perfect coq au vin? Today, we arrive at restaurants with a completely different hunger. We don’t want the same dish executed immaculately. We want a dish that could only have been imagined here, on this soil, by these hands.
Coffee, oddly, still lives in yesterday’s dining room. We slip into a new café, puff up our critical feathers, and decree, “I shall judge thee by the merit of thy flat white! …Ooh and may I have a cookie, too?” In response, most specialty coffee bars around the world have converged on a single, safe template: same gear, same drinks, same pale pastries, delivered with the same earnest smile.
Which leaves us with the same restless question the restaurant world faced a decade ago: What’s next?
Lots of Dreams
Nearly everywhere you look today two brand names are lashed together by the stylish little “×”. It’s supposed to signal partnership, a promise that something new will be born where those strokes cross. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s just ink.
I’ve come to believe that real collaborations, the ones that matter, start long before any press release. They appear at the back of the mind like a shape in fog, gathering detail so slowly you’re not sure when it first arrived.
The Good Life
One question that comes up—both from other people and from myself—when planning this countryside coffee concept in France is: Why do this?
I could just keep doing what I’m doing. Roasting, tasting, testing, training. I love the craft, and I love the community I’ve found through my work.
But when you live your days chasing new projects, watching the industry shift around you, a restlessness can creep in.
Worth the Wait
When people come to visit us—even if we’re only a short train ride from Paris—it will still be a bit of a journey. Most will come for the coffee. But at some point during their visit, they’ll be hungry. And there’s the rub.
We’re not interested in serving industrial pastries made elsewhere. Everything we offer, we want to make ourselves. That choice carries consequences—not just what we serve and why, but how. Without a service staff—or potentially any staff at all—how do we design a food workflow that feels just as intentional as our approach to coffee?
Digging Deeper
When I was little, maybe six or eight, we lived in a modest suburban house with a backyard that felt impossibly large. Huge trees lined either side, and the far end touched the land of a local animal doctor, so occasionally a lost duckling would wander up to our door.
It was there, with my mom, that I first began gardening.
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…