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Our coffeehouse is divorcing us

Most of you know that I roast my own coffee.

But I don't always get around to the 30 minutes it takes me in the basement to roast and cool a half pound of beans. And The Mama drinks fluffy espresso double-shot caramel drinks that require a barista. So we've carefully selected our coffeehouse from probably a dozen or so choices within our zip code. Ranging from local indie to national chain. We were at a local, independent place for a long time before getting fed up with some changes. It was farther away. So we switched to a Caribou up the street that is about a half a mile from our front door.

We've gotten along well. They know our order when we walk in the door--sometimes we feel bad not ordering our usual when they've already started it. They know our kids. We know them. They write obscene things on the disposable lids of our cups. It's good coffee, too.

Our store was one that survived the first round of Chicago-area Caribou closings. Our store was one of the lucky ones destined to become a newly branded non-Caribou...until they recently decided against it. So now we have a bittersweet 2 months or so left with our caffeine-enabling drug dealers. Time to explain to the kids why we'll no longer be dropping in. Time to find a new provider of sweet, sweet java.

So who wants us? Any local business want to shower us with discounts and attention to detail in a bid for our very regular purchases? Must have a good light roast. Must serve excellent double-shot chocolate brews with whipped cream and sprinkles. Perhaps a nice selection of cold ice tea and blended coffee beverages for the upcoming hot days?

My guess is we'll end up at our old "old haunt" and give it another chance. But our love can be bought. We are whores to the bean. Grind it. Brew it. We will come and sip.