As a kid, I often felt a little strange: sensitive, introverted, and never entirely sure where I fit. In the early 2000s, there was one place where strange, artistic kids like me seemed to find each other:
coffee shops.
I pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped on the bold black-and-white checkered floor as the warm aroma of coffee and faint incense filled my senses. The walls were covered with local art. Beyond the café counter were racks of skateboards, logo T-shirts, and baggy jeans. Behind the bar, the espresso machine hissed in rhythm with Modest Mouse and Radiohead drifting through the speakers.
I was eighteen years old: equal parts excited and terrified of starting my new job as a barista.
I had no idea that this little coffee shop, in downtown Boise, was about to shape my sense of belonging and begin my lifelong love affair with coffee.
The Boise Coffee Scene
The place was called Spanky’s, a hip coffee-and-skate shop in downtown Boise, Idaho. The crowd was an eclectic mix of artists, business professionals, and skater boys my age. Somehow, everyone belonged there.
The heart of Spanky’s wasn’t the espresso machine or the skateboards. It was Connie.
In my teenage world, Connie was effortlessly cool: fashionable, confident, a little rebellious, and completely at ease in a way I deeply admired. With her thick black hair and bold eyeliner, she moved behind the espresso machine like a dance she had done a thousand times before.
She showed me how to dial in a grinder, to watch for the rich golden crema that signaled a perfect extraction, and to create that mesmerizing whirlpool in the milk pitcher that turns ordinary milk into silky foam.
She also taught me about coffee origins, the farmers behind the beans, and why good coffee deserved respect.
My early order had been unapologetically sweet: a sixteen-ounce whole-milk latte dripping with vanilla syrup; slowly my palate began to mature. Eventually, my go-to drink became something that highlighted quality coffee: an iced Americano with just a whisper of vanilla and cream. And though I didn’t have the language for it yet, I was starting to notice how coffee made me feel.
Connie taught me more than coffee. She taught me independence, reliability, and the quiet confidence that comes from learning a craft well. She trusted me with the keys to the shop and the experience of her customers. That meant everything to me.
What Began There
Like many teenagers, I was navigating my first heartbreak.
One day behind the counter, I was spinning out about the whole situation again when Connie interrupted my spiral.
She gave me the kind of intuitive, straightforward advice that only Connie could deliver: “Stop wasting your energy on that jerk. Pay attention to the sweet boy you work with.”
The sweet boy was Ben.
Ben and I ended up sharing a formative relationship, and through him I met a group of rock-climbing friends who opened an entirely new world to me: camping trips, dinner parties, and a wider sense of possibility.
Looking back now, it’s funny how many important threads in my life began in that coffee shop.
The Beginning of My Wellness Path
It was at those dinner parties with my new health-minded friends that I started discovering something else that would shape my life. Between cups of campfire coffee, I learned to express my creativity through healthy cooking.
Cooking became my way of nurturing and bonding with the community around me.
One night, I was challenged to create a vegetarian sandwich that would impress even the carnivores. I will never forget the feeling of being appreciated for the care I put into those thoughtful layers: soft buttery ciabatta, crisp garlicky tofu, portobellos cozied up to caramelized onions, baby spinach, roasted red peppers, and a lemon-sriracha cashew yogurt sauce.
My friend Suzanne, one of the most health-conscious people I know, took a bite, lit up, and said she could actually eat it and enjoy it.
Moments like those planted a quiet seed. Years later, that seed would grow into my passion for cooking, nutrition, and wellness.
Coffee in Hawaii
Life eventually carried me far from Boise. I moved to Hawaii.
It was there that I met my surfer husband, Mark, and we quickly bonded over our shared love of healthy food, fitness, and adventure.
Around that same time, my joyful mother and I visited a coffee plantation in Kona. We walked through rows of coffee bushes and marveled at the bright red cherries. We picked out souvenir cups: a big mug for her and a tiny espresso cup for me.
And I realized something simple but profound:
coffee tastes different when it’s tied to a memory.
My drink of choice became Kona coffee with a little cream. It tasted like adventure, new love, and the beginning of a life being built together.
Fiji
Our first big adventure as a married couple took us to work in Fiji.
I became a fitness and yoga instructor and discovered a new level of myself: caring for people through movement, wellness, and the small daily choices that shape how we feel.
And there, once again, I found myself drawn behind an espresso machine.
On breaks, I slipped away to the golf shop with its thatched roof and big windows overlooking a coconut plantation to perfect the flat white. I learned to stretch whole milk into silky microfoam that settled gracefully over a rich shot of espresso.
Years after Spanky’s, the espresso machine was still part of my experience, still teaching me something about patience and the quiet satisfaction of getting something just right.
My Coffee Today
Looking back, my relationship with coffee evolved the way many things in life do. At first it was sweetness and novelty. Then it became craft and curiosity. Eventually, it grew into something more intentional: something chosen for how I wanted to feel in my body each day.
The way I drink coffee now looks very different from when I was eighteen.
Mark and I now share fifteen years of coffee mornings together: the quiet comfort of the perfect cup and the gift of starting the day with someone I love.
These days, my favorite cup is simple and nourishing: a straight-up medium roast of Tieman’s Fusion Coffee. Or, if I’m feeling sassy, a half-decaf cold brew warmed with frothed raw milk and my specialty collagen blend.
What I love about Tieman’s is how naturally it fits where my palate and priorities have landed. It is still delicious coffee first, but with a broader appreciation for both flavor and function.
These days, I want coffee that gives me pleasure without asking me to ignore how I feel afterward.
Coffee that tastes good. Coffee that feels good.
Looking Back
When I think about my love affair with coffee, I realize it was never really about the coffee itself.
That coffee shop gave me a place to belong, mentors who shaped me, friendships that changed my life.
Sometimes, when I catch the smell of freshly ground coffee, my mind drifts back to that coffee shop in Boise. I can still picture the black-and-white checkered floor, the low hum of conversation, and the steam wand hissing behind the counter as milk spins into silky foam.
At eighteen, I thought I was just learning how to make coffee. What I was really learning was something much bigger: how to show up, how to care about details, how to build community, and how to pay attention to what feels good in the body and in life.
Even now, every cup still carries a bit of that first feeling I found at Spanky’s:
Belonging