The coffee shop I almost didn't find

Hey,

Years ago I was in Denmark visiting my brother and his family. We spent a few days riding bikes around Copenhagen, which by the way is terrifying if you're not Danish, because those people ride bikes like it's nothing. Barbecuing. Just hanging out.

It was a good trip. Really good.

But there was one thing I needed to do for myself. Something selfish, if I'm being honest.

I wanted to find the April Coffee shop.

If you don't know April, they're a Copenhagen-based coffee company that makes pour-over brewers. Minimalist, focused on light roasts, very intentional about the whole approach. I'd seen videos of their shop. Small, almost like a mini Apple Store, clean and simple.

And I wanted to go there. Not to buy something online. To actually be there.

So on my last full day, after my brother dropped me off at a subway station and headed to work for a few hours, I pulled up Google Maps.

The shop wasn't too far. Maybe a few kilometers. I had a couple hours to kill. My phone had a mostly full charge.

This should be easy, right?

Getting lost is part of it

Most people in Copenhagen don't know where the specialty coffee shops are.

I'd get off at a subway stop, come above ground, ask people "do you know where April Coffee is?" and they'd just look at me confused. No idea what I was talking about.

So I'd look at my phone, try to follow the map, walk for 20 minutes, realize I was going the wrong direction, get back on the subway, try again.

My phone started dying. And I don't mean slowly dying. I mean that panicked "oh shit, I'm at 15% and I need this to get back to my brother" kind of dying.

I'm walking through parks, watching kids play, thinking is this even worth it.

I'm looking over my shoulder because, look, Copenhagen isn't dangerous, but there are rough streets. And I'm a big Black guy wandering around with a backpack in neighborhoods where people are looking at me wondering what I'm doing there.

My back was against the wall. Time was running out. My phone was dying. I was getting frustrated.

And I started to wonder: is this a good idea? Should I just turn around?

Because here's what I thought I was going to find. A city full of third-wave coffee lovers. People who care about coffee the way I care about coffee. The European specialty coffee culture I'd built up in my head from videos.

What I actually saw was people drinking grocery store coffee with milk and sugar. Not caring where it came from. Not caring if it was "good" coffee.

It wasn't that different from America, honestly.

I didn't find my people walking around Copenhagen. Which was interesting. Maybe disappointing.

But I kept going. I figured it out. I took my time. I asked around. I kept checking my phone even though the battery was screaming at me.

And then I found it.

Thirty minutes inside

The April shop was exactly what the videos showed. Small, minimalist, clean. Things came out when they came out. You could taste coffee. I saw Patrik, one of the founders, talking to someone. I saw other people I recognized from their YouTube channel.

I met a guy who was interning there, I think he was from Japan. He was learning to roast, trying to understand specialty coffee, figuring out if this was his path. We kept up on Instagram for a few months after. Really cool guy.

I ordered a coffee. I looked at the brewers. They had different colors and I almost got pink, but I went with this neon minty one instead.

I bought some papers. I bought two bags of coffee. I drank my coffee. I put everything in my already-full backpack.

And then I left.

That's it.

The journey there, getting lost, getting frustrated, phone dying, wandering through rough neighborhoods, asking strangers for directions, almost giving up, took hours.

The actual shop visit? Maybe 30 minutes.

And then poof. I'm gone.

I finally did a proper video on that brewer, the one I carried home in that backpack. If you want to see what it actually does in the cup, it's on the channel.

What the journey actually taught me

Sitting here now, looking at that April Brewer on my shelf, I think about this a lot.

When I look at all my coffee gear, and I have a lot, I'd say 90% of it came from Amazon. Click a button, wait two days, done.

But this one? This one I searched for. This one I got lost trying to find. This one required effort and frustration and almost giving up.

And that's what makes it special.

Not because it's the best brewer. There's no such thing, and anyway that was never the point.

It's special because of the story.

The journey mattered more than the destination. The struggle made the arrival mean something. The anticipation, even mixed with frustration, created something a two-day delivery never could.

And that brings me around to the name on this newsletter.

For years I thought It Smells Better Than it Taste was about disappointment. About how reality never matches expectation. About how the aroma promises something the taste can't deliver.

But now I think it's about something else entirely.

What I think the name means now

When I smell coffee, really smell it, it centers me. It grounds me. The ritual of making coffee, thinking about what I'm doing, being present in that moment, that's what matters.

Not whether the cup is perfect. Not whether it matches the promise of the aroma.

The process is the point.

When I was wandering around Copenhagen, frustrated and lost, I wasn't thinking "this is a meaningful experience I'll remember forever." I was thinking why did I do this, I should've just stayed at the barbecue with my brother.

But that frustration, that journey, that struggle, that's what made finding the shop mean something.

If I'd pulled up to the shop in a car, walked in, bought the brewer, and left? It would just be another piece of gear. Another Amazon purchase, but from a physical store.

The struggle. The journey. That's what creates the meaning.

Because things will get hard. The journey will be frustrating. Reality will disappoint you.

But that's not the problem. That's the process.

What coffee actually does for me

Every morning I go through this ritual.

I get the beans. I look at them. I think about how I'm gonna tackle this coffee, how I'm going to bring the best out of it.

I get the water going. I think about what I want out of this one. More sweetness, maybe. Or whether the acidity has room to stretch.

And when I'm making that coffee, I'm not thinking about the past or the future. I'm just there. Present. One with that thing.

That's what coffee does for me.

It centers me. Even when the cup doesn't taste as good as it smells. Even when I mess up the brew. Even when I'm frustrated because the recipe didn't work.

I sit there and think about what happened. Then I change one thing and try again tomorrow.

Because we go through things a lot. Life gets hard. Things don't work out the way we planned. The reality disappoints compared to the promise.

But coffee teaches me the process matters more than the outcome. The ritual matters. The journey matters.

Being present in the struggle, that's what keeps us alive.

The story I still tell

This April Brewer? I searched it out. I found it. I wandered deep into uncertainty because I was there and I had the opportunity. And since I was there, I took the chance to just be present in it and find the thing for what it was.

Now, years later, I can still tell this story. The journey made it mine.

So here's what I want to ask you.

When was the last time you went on a journey? Not just physically. Mentally. With your coffee, with your life, with anything. When was the last time you struggled toward something and the struggle itself became the point?

Because I truly believe, and this might sound like bullshit, that what we do with coffee and how we translate that into our lives is the part that matters. Not the gear. Not whether we have the "best" brewer or the "optimal" recipe.

The experience. The ritual. The journey.

That's what centers us. That's what keeps us going.

Your turn

This week, try something.

Go on a coffee journey. Doesn't matter if you're in your own town like I am. Go to a coffee shop you've never been to. Take a route you don't normally take. Get a little lost on purpose.

Or if that feels like too much, just slow your coffee ritual down this week. Don't rush it. Don't autopilot through it. Be present in the process, not just focused on the cup at the end.

And hit reply and tell me: what's one piece of coffee gear, or anything really, that you have a story about? Not because it's the "best," but because of how you got it or what it represents?

I want to hear your journey.

Oaks, the Coffee Guy