Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

Finally at the end of my week in Milwaukee. I’m chillin’ in the Milwaukee airport waiting for a slightly delayed plane and hoping that my Seattle connection in Minneapolis will still be good. As much flying as I do, I really haven’t had much trouble that hasn’t been self-inflicted.

The week started off with a jolt (or the Jolt That Wasn’t) when I pulled up to a coffeehouse close to my client’s offices that I’ve relied on for the last four years, including as recently as last month, to find the place deserted and weeds already pushing up through the asphalt in the parking lot:

(click any photo to enlarge)

I was pretty sad, since I’d come to like the family people that ran the shop, and they knew my drinks and quirks. If there’s any difference between the two. They had opened the shop in an old gas station, getting some tax credits or other emoluments in exchange for fixing up a “brownfield” site. I presume that whatever essences still seeped from beneath the floor only added to the impact of the coffee and quality of the crema in my drinks.

Before this place opened, I actually carried a nifty little Capresso mini-espresso maker on business trips. Just about the time this shop opened, the steamer wand on the mini broke off from too many bendings and straightenings due to airline baggage mishaps.

Fortunately, espresso has percolated into the cultures of even the most stoic midwestern venues, and I’ve found a worthy replacement shop not too far from the hotel I use. One good early sign - they seem to have a whimsical sense of humor. Here’s the front door handle: