The last place had a nice long run. But the owners got complacent, went on an extended vacation and hired Portlandia cast-offs to run the joint. It was all downhill from there.
But, like the move that brought me there, I wasn't willing to completely forsake my morning ritual, until I found a viable substitute. And just when I least expected it, along came Water Avenue Coffee Company.
They roast their beans on site, and damn well, I must say. They kill it on the Americano, charging an equitable $2, though they call my version (very little water) an "Italiano" - a little contrived, but I'm not judging. And like all roastaries worth their metal, these guys serve up the array of pour-over brewing methods that bring out some crazy flavors if you're totally committed to the "experience."
Cool space (if not a touch "precious" - a descriptor to be discussed in greater length with the following post - coming soon ). Close to work. Nice staff. The music's never great, but it's certainly, no Paul Simon Graceland. More trance-y electronica. Fine for my purposes. This appeared to be a relationship that could last.
And then, without even consulting my pre-work-self - with complete disregard for the fragile balance that is my morning refuge - my work-day-self accepted a new job on the other side of town. And just like that, my new-found morning paramour, would be ripped from my loving embrace.
I sit here now, soaking in my final days with Water Ave., recounting our short, but passionate lives together. We had a real good thing going, and yet, we may never see each other again.
So to this sweet little shop, tucked under the east side industrial bridges, you'll be in my heart forever. And maybe, just maybe, our paths will cross again in this crazy, mixed-up world.