For the last two weeks I have been practicing latte art with my new little Breville Infuser. I practice very frugally, once each morning, when making a Latte for my wife. She has declared the resulting cup as perfectly tasty, with a silky smooth texture. But what about the art?

The art is unique. You see, just as my pouring comes towards the end and I realise that it’s not working out, I quickly do a squiggle with the last dribble of milk. This produces random art, much like in the Finnish New Year’s tradition of Molybdomancy. (You quickly pour molten tin-alloy into a pot of cold water. The resulting lump of shiny metal will predict the following year’s fortunes.)


“It’s a Dragon, hugging a Gecko!” my wife marvelled, carefully carrying her over-the-brim latte out into the courtyard. Moment’s later she called out from her suburban coffee-garden table: “It’s now a black man playing jazz on a Double Bass!”

“I won’t be trying to repeat that”, I said, “Maybe something different next time”. I went out to take a look at the soon-to-disappear artwork again but it was already something different. “That’s clearly a six-foot penis leaning on a wall behind a chair”, I said.

I love my Latte Art. It’s almost as unpredictable as my shots. Consistently good, though.