Five years ago, Simon surprised us at Christmas with a fancy barista machine that can rival Starbucks. I swear he sits at the breakfast bar every morning with his cup of Earl Grey and his Globe and Mail and listens for the first creak of steps from the third floor, just so he can hit Brew. By the time I’m staggering down to the kitchen half-asleep, he’s sliding a hot mug into my hands. To keep the Kraken at bay, he claims, though I’m pretty sure it has more to do with his secret fascination with the frother.
