The espresso machine was a Rocket Appartamento. Good grinder, good technique, six years of steady practice. Every morning I would pull a shot, steam milk, sit with it. It was the anchor of my day, and I gave it up because I realised the anchor was heavier than the day needed.
Home espresso is a hobby that pretends to be a beverage. The workflow — grind, dose, tamp, extract, wipe, purge, steam, pour, clean — is 12 minutes minimum, plus daily maintenance, plus a weekly deeper clean. The output is one cup. Meanwhile a V60 with the same beans is 3 minutes and produces two cups that are, honestly, more interesting to drink.
What I miss is not the espresso. It is the ritual. Ritual is real. It is what pulled me out of bed on hard mornings. So I moved the ritual over to the pour-over: same time slot, same specific spot at the counter, same music, same mug. The espresso machine is at a friend’s house now, being enjoyed. My cabinet is cleaner. And I am drinking better coffee than I did, most days.