Through a Barista’s Eyes: Discovering Life Beyond Coffee
When I push open the shop door in the morning, the first thing I do isn’t turn on the espresso machine—it’s to feel. My fingertips glide across the cool stainless-steel counter. Morning light cuts diagonally through the window, casting a bright triangle onto the wooden table—this very first moment of warmth and shadow becomes the day’s opening, silent image in my mind. I’ve grown used to observing with my eyes. When the grinder growls, the burst of deep brown grounds always reminds me of the soft crunch of leaves underfoot in a quiet forest. Tamping is the silent secret beneath the wrist—a breath-holding motion, soft and deliberate, meant to protect something quiet and unspoken. The amber espresso flows from the portafilter like silk. I crouch down, aligning my lens with the stream, gently tilting the cup to watch the liquid settle and kiss the ice—like a tiny, tender rainfall. People often ask me why I pay attention to such small, fleeting things. I show them the photos in ...