The baristas’ lament (a poem of sorts)
A barista is the last hand on the coffee. It goes through many hands. Then it goes to my hands. Then to my guest: my customer. If it’s not perfect, it’s completely my fault. It’s not that if it’s not perfect, it was ruined in my hands. It’s that my hands, and all the hands that came before, are my duty. The farmer may ruin the cultivation. The roaster...