There is something wildly humbling about watching yourself try to learn something new.

Not just learning it — but recording it.

When I first started sharing my journey from bartender to barista, I thought the hardest part would be dialing in espresso or steaming milk just right. I was wrong. The hardest part was hitting record.

Because once you record it, you see everything.

You see the hesitation before you lock in the portafilter.

You see the angle that doesn’t quite show the milk vortex.

You see the way your hand shakes just slightly when you go in for the pour.

But you also see growth.

And lately? I’ve started to notice it.

The Learning Curve of Recording Yourself

When I first began filming my coffee routine, I would set my phone down wherever it would balance. Half the time you couldn’t see into the pitcher. The other half, my arm blocked the entire shot. It felt chaotic and clumsy — like I was trying to juggle brewing and cinematography at the same time.

But something has shifted.

In this most recent video, you can actually see into the milk pitcher while it’s spinning. You can see the whirlpool forming. You can see whether the milk is glossy or bubbly. You can see the stretch phase and the roll phase working together.

And that feels like progress.

Because learning to steam milk is one skill. Learning how to show it clearly? That’s another.

I’ve been experimenting with angles — slightly overhead but tilted enough to catch the movement. Not too close that you lose perspective. Not too far that the texture disappears. I’m starting to believe I’m finding what I’d call my angles. The ones that make the process feel immersive instead of accidental.

It’s funny — I sometimes feel like I’ve plateaued in my latte art. But when I rewatch my videos, I can see improvement in the way I move, the way I hold the pitcher, the way I prepare the canvas before I even think about pouring a design.

Growth doesn’t always show up in the final heart.

Sometimes it shows up in the setup.

When the Art Doesn’t Show, But the Flavor Does

This particular cup?

No heart. Not even a ghost of one.

Zero Instagram-ready design.

And yet — oh my lanta — it was one of the best cappuccinos I’ve made.

It tasted like a cup I drank in Italy a couple of years ago. The kind that makes you pause mid-sip. The kind that feels simple but deeply intentional. Smooth. Silky. Balanced. Sweet without sugar. Espresso forward but not bitter. Milk integrated, not sitting on top.

It would absolutely pass the shake test.

If you gently swirl the cup and nothing separates — no bubbles rising to the surface, no foam sliding awkwardly — you know you’ve got something good. This one? Silky paint. Even without the visible foam art, the texture was there in the mouthfeel.

It’s funny how we can get so focused on the aesthetic that we forget the purpose.

The goal is always a great-tasting cup.

And this one delivered.

Even Milo thought so. He did one of his signature jump-ups like, “Excuse me? I believe that’s for sharing.” I assured him it was not. But I appreciated his enthusiasm.

The Canvas Was There… Until It Wasn’t

Here’s what I think happened.

I made a beautiful canvas at the beginning of my pour. The crema was even. The milk integrated nicely at first. It looked promising — like this might be the cup.

And then I realized something mid-pour.

There was no foam.

I had swirled the milk too much.

In my effort to keep the milk glossy and combined, I believe I broke up the very microfoam I worked so hard to create. The bubbles were too integrated. Too dissolved. When I went to lay the design on top, there wasn’t enough differentiation between milk and foam to create contrast.

It just… blended.

Still silky. Still smooth. Still delicious.

But visually? A blank canvas.

And that’s the experiment.

I’m learning that there’s a balance between swirling enough to keep the milk unified and swirling so much that you eliminate the texture separation necessary for art. It’s subtle. It’s delicate. It’s something you can’t rush.

It’s also something you only learn by doing it wrong a few times.

The Plateau That Isn’t Really a Plateau

There’s this stage in learning where you feel stuck.

You’re not terrible anymore.

But you’re not consistently great either.

You can make a heart — sometimes.

You can steam silky milk — often.

But putting it together every single time? Not yet.

And that space can feel discouraging.

But when I compare older videos to this one, I see something different. My movements are calmer. My milk steaming is more controlled. My timing is better. I’m not panicking when the espresso pulls a second too long. I’m adjusting grind size with intention instead of guessing.

The camera shows me that I’m not stuck.

I’m refining.

Recording myself has become less about “look what I made” and more about “look how I’m learning.”

There’s something powerful about that shift.

Recording as a Teacher

Filming forces you to slow down.

You can’t just rush through the process because you want it to be over. You become aware of the small details:

• Did I purge the steam wand properly?
• Did I stretch the milk too long?
• Did I tap and swirl before pouring?
• Did I start my pour too high?
• Was my base integrated before I tried to draw?

When you rewatch footage, you catch habits you didn’t even know you had.

I’ve noticed I sometimes hesitate right before I begin my design — almost like I’m second-guessing myself. And that hesitation affects the flow. It changes the way the milk lands.

Confidence shows up in latte art.

So does doubt.

And the camera sees both.

Italy in a Cup

That Italian cappuccino memory keeps coming back to me.

It wasn’t elaborate. It wasn’t decorative. It wasn’t served with a flourish.

It was just… right.

There’s something about European coffee culture that values experience over performance. You stand at the bar. You drink it quickly. You savor it. You move on.

There’s no pressure to photograph it.

And yet here I am, chasing both worlds.

The beauty and the taste.

The art and the craft.

This cup reminded me that if I had to choose, I’d pick flavor every single time. The silky mouthfeel. The balance. The sweetness pulled from properly extracted espresso and well-textured milk.

That’s the foundation.

The heart on top is just the signature.

Learning to See

One unexpected gift of recording is that it has trained my eye.

I now look at milk differently. I watch for gloss. I watch how it moves in the pitcher. I pay attention to the sound during steaming — that subtle paper-tearing whisper when you’re incorporating air correctly.

I notice how quickly foam dissipates if you overwork it.

I notice how important it is to begin pouring as soon as your milk is ready. Not ten seconds later. Not after adjusting your camera. Immediately.

Timing matters.

Heat matters.

Movement matters.

And every video teaches me something new.

Still Learning. Still Experimenting.

I don’t want to be someone who only shares perfect cups.

Because that’s not the process.

The process is:

• Beautiful canvas.
• No foam for art.
• Incredible flavor.
• Milo trying to steal a sip.
• Me laughing at the blank top of a delicious drink.

It’s humbling and motivating all at once.

I’m still experimenting with milk temperature. Still refining how much air to incorporate. Still figuring out how long to swirl before I pour. Still playing with camera angles to make sure you can see the vortex clearly.

And honestly? I love that I’m not done learning.

There’s something deeply satisfying about being a beginner again.

The Balance Between Content and Craft

One thing I’m working on is not letting filming interfere with the actual coffee.

There’s a temptation to prioritize the shot over the cup. To adjust the angle one more time. To reposition the tripod. To pause longer than you should.

But great coffee doesn’t wait.

Milk doesn’t wait.

So I’m learning to set up intentionally beforehand — to think through the frame, the lighting, the placement — so that when I start steaming, I can focus fully on the craft.

Because the craft deserves my full attention.

The content is simply an invitation into it.

Pour Slow

That phrase keeps coming back to me.

Pour slow.

Not just when I’m laying down the base of a latte design.

But in the way I’m learning.

In the way I’m sharing.

In the way I’m allowing myself to grow without rushing the outcome.

This cup didn’t have a heart. It didn’t have a tulip. It didn’t have anything Instagram-ready.

But it had flavor that transported me back to Italy.

It had silky milk that would pass the shake test.

It had a canvas that taught me something.

It had progress in the camera angles and confidence in my movement.

And it had joy.

So I’ll keep recording.

I’ll keep experimenting.

I’ll keep swirling — maybe a little less next time.

And I’ll keep reminding myself that growth doesn’t always show up in the art on top. Sometimes it’s hidden in the texture beneath.

Pour slow.

See you next time at Summit and Stream Coffee.