The Bar

07:15 · Tuesday · Dial-in

Before the door opens

The first hour belongs to the grinder. Marcus pulls three test shots, adjusts two clicks finer, and logs the dose in the shift notebook. Water temp sits at 93.5°C for the natural Ethiopian on bar; yesterday’s humidity pushed extraction fast and nobody wants to serve that to the 08:00 crowd. A regular peeks through the glass — we wave, but the lock stays on until the pour board is updated and the batch brew tank is flushed. This is the quiet discipline the name points to: measure, taste, adjust, then welcome.

11:40 · Thursday · Service

Mid-morning flat white run

Office workers from Cecil Street discover Blair Road when the lifts in their building run slow. Between 11:00 and 12:00 we pour more flat whites than any other drink — double ristretto, five ounces of steamed oat milk, no latte art contest, just symmetry in the cup. Priya calls out origin notes to a first-time guest: “think dark chocolate and red apple, not citrus today.” The guest nods, takes a sip, and says it tastes more like hobnobs. We laugh — palate variance is part of the job. The board behind the bar lists the current espresso, filter, and guest roaster; nobody has to ask what’s on.

15:20 · Saturday · Retail

Afternoon bag, afternoon brew

Saturdays bring the home brewers. A couple buys two bags — one washed Central American for their V60, one natural for a friend’s new espresso machine. We grind the filter bag on the spot and write a starting recipe on the sleeve: 15 g in, 250 g out, 92°C, two-minute pour. At the brew bar, a teenager watches a barista bloom a pour-over and asks why the coffee puffs up. We explain degassing and CO2, hand over a cupping spoon to smell the dry grounds, and suggest they visit on a Monday cupping if they want to go deeper. The shelf empties faster on weekends; we restock Sunday evening.

17:45 · Sunday · Close

Last call on the ledge

Thirty minutes before close, the pastry case holds two caneles and a half tray of banana bread. The batch brew switches to decaf — a Swiss-water process Colombian that actually tastes like coffee, not cardboard. A solo reader at the window finishes their book and orders a cortado to go. We knock out the grouphead, wipe the steam wands, and pin tomorrow’s origin card to the pour board. The street outside Blair Road goes quiet. Lights down, grinder covered, door locked. Same routine tomorrow, minus Monday — that day belongs to cleaning and cupping new arrivals.

Allergen note: Menu items may contain dairy, gluten, nuts, soy, and eggs. Cross-contact can occur in our open bar. Taste profiles vary — we describe flavour as guidance, not guarantee.

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