This Is Groundskeeper
The alarm goes off at 4am and I don't hit snooze.
Not because I have to be up. Because I want to be. Across the ocean, a match is about to kick off. There's a ritual that's become as important as the game itself.
Grind. Brew. Settle. Watch.
It started when my daughter was a baby. Early morning duty, rocking her back to sleep, trying not to doze off myself. I needed something on in the background. Something to keep my eyes open.
I found soccer.
Premier League matches, streaming live while the rest of the house slept. What began as survival became routine. Routine became ritual. And somewhere along the way, coffee stopped being an afterthought.
She's four now. The early mornings stayed.
At some point, I started wondering: what if the quality of the coffee matched the moment?
I didn't set out to start a coffee company.
At first, I was just roasting for myself. Learning the craft. Then learning to do it well. Sourcing beans that told a story worth tasting. Failing. Adjusting. Getting closer. Waking up thinking about rate of rise and maillard reactions like puzzles I couldn't put down.
Then friends wanted bags. Family. Neighbors. Coworkers. Repeat orders started coming in. What began as a personal obsession quietly grew into something with legs.
In that process, Groundskeeper took shape.
The name comes from the person you never notice at a stadium.
They arrive before anyone else. They obsess over conditions most people won't see. They prepare the pitch, then step back and let the game unfold on the foundation they built.
That's the work. Not the performance. The preparation. Creating something worth gathering around.
One week a month, we open the doors. A new single-origin roast. A short window.
Then we close. Source. Dial in. Do the quiet work.
This isn't scarcity. It's intention.
January 2026. First drop.
I'll be writing here about the journey. The process, the coffees, the lessons along the way. If you want to follow along, stick around.
This is Groundskeeper.
Worth showing up for.