Walcha Coffee

It’s 7pm, a surprisingly warm 10°C in Walcha, and the roaster is still humming away.

One of the reasons we tend to roast in the evenings is so we’re not disturbing our neighbours and other businesses around town. The downside? Sometimes dinner happens in the roastery.

Tonight was a little special though.

Tomorrow we head off to the Golden Bean, and with Jazz spending his birthday separately, we decided to celebrate a day early. So between batches of coffee, we shared some lasagne, had a few laughs, and enjoyed a quiet family moment while the roaster kept doing its thing in the background.

Running a coffee business means birthdays, dinners and family life don’t always happen at the most conventional times. But honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy birthday, Jazz. Looking forward to seeing what this next year brings.

Sometimes the best part of the day isn’t ticking something off the to-do list.

Today, it was the drive home.

The New England countryside was putting on a show, and there’s something about those open roads and big skies that helps put life back into perspective.

Then I got back to Walcha and finished the day with a fantastic espresso.

Good coffee is always a pleasure. Great espresso can stop you in your tracks. But what makes it even better is sharing it with someone who appreciates it just as much as you do.

Sitting there with Jazz, enjoying that moment together, talking coffee and life, was a pretty special way to finish the day.

Sometimes the simple moments end up being the ones you remember most.

Coffee still blows me away.

After all these years roasting, brewing, judging competitions and tasting thousands upon thousands of coffees, I still get excited when I come across something truly special.

Tonight Paul and I spent some time cupping a few coffees together and honestly, we were like a couple of kids in a lolly shop. Every cup seemed to reveal something new. Some were bright and vibrant, others were complex and layered, and a few had us just looking at each other and saying, “Wow.”

One of the things I love most about coffee is that there’s always something new to discover. Every origin, every harvest, every roast tells a different story.

Nights like this remind me why I fell in love with coffee in the first place. Not because it’s my job, but because it’s endlessly fascinating.

And sharing that experience with a good friend who gets just as excited about great coffee as I do makes it even better.

A little tip that costs nothing and takes all of three seconds.

Whenever I’m heading somewhere, instead of just punching in the street address, I’ll often search for the local business itself in Google Maps. It still gives me the ETA, still gets me where I’m going, but it also sends a small signal that helps that business show up a little more often for the next person searching.

Maybe it makes a difference. Maybe it’s only a tiny difference. But small businesses are built on lots of tiny differences.

A search.
A review.
A recommendation.
A share.

None of them cost much, but together they can mean the world to a family-run business.

So next time you’re heading somewhere local, give it a try.

Support local. It takes less effort than finding where Google hid the “avoid tolls” button. ☕️

Turns out I wasn’t sad.

I just needed a little bit of this… and a little bit of that.

A handful of green beans.
The hum of the roaster.
The smell of coffee filling the room.
A few quiet moments watching colours change and flavours develop.

There’s something about roasting coffee that resets the mind. Maybe it’s the process. Maybe it’s the ritual. Maybe it’s just the excuse to spend a few hours surrounded by coffee.

Either way, it seems to do the trick.

Most days our lemon tarts sell out before lunch.

But every now and then, one is left behind.

When that happens, I step into one of the most important roles in the company.

Not Managing Director. Not Head Roaster.

Official Lemon Tart Disposal Officer.

It’s not glamorous, but somebody has to do it.

Today, that somebody is me.