It’s Frank’s Fault
I missed going with Frank and Belle to the Anathallo/Good Night, States show on Wednesday. Turns out there were a number of local baristas there. And at some point a conversation happened that involved me in absentia, which Frank told me about on Friday.
The conversation had to do with “the cafe in my head”. Regardless what that was, it seemed people wanted to work there. And for that I am truly gratified. Amazingly gratified, even. Pretty much everyone who was there is a better all-around barista than yours truly (although I can beat them all at pulling shots of Esmeraldo) so any respect has more to do with philosophy than talent, I suppose.
At any rate, as it seems I may be leaving coffee shortly (involuntary, but necessary), I figured I might as well start a list of stuff I want in my next cafe, should the opportunity arise.
And I hope it does.
For now, the cafe in my head is more like a rave. Every so often when the stars align and the right people are available. A night of madness behind a bar in some warehouse converted just for that purpose just for that one night. And byob. IPA and single malts and Fernet-Branca all over the place. Frank can DJ.
