To its credit, Marketplace/eBay did what it always does for me - it bailed me out. A few offers came in, some shipping negotiations and piece by piece it all went. The grinder first, then the machine and the mountain of accessories.

All told, I probably took a 50 to 60% loss.

Which, in hindsight, felt like tuition.

Around that time, I started thinking about our trips to Italy - Milan, the fabric shows, visiting mills and factories.

Places where people actually work.

And something clicked.

I never once saw anyone fussing over a manual espresso setup.

At the airport, it was automatic machines.
At Milano Unica (the Milan based fabric show we attend), the espresso bars were running pods.
At Loro Piana, people were pulling shots from a Nespresso machine and getting on with their day.

No scales. No timers. No rituals.

Just espresso.

It made me wonder if I had fallen into the very American trap of over-fetishizing a hobby. Where it becomes about the gear, the process, the optimization - and somewhere along the way, you lose the point.

In Italy, espresso wasn’t a project. It was just…part of the day.

There was one machine I kept seeing in offices and factories.

The Lavazza Espresso Point.

Not quite Nespresso and well below La Marzocco. Somewhere in between.

Pod in. Espresso out.

It had a certain presence - metal, compact, built like something that was meant to last. No fuss. No ceremony.

Just reliable.

The only problem was that it had been discontinued years ago.

But the more I looked into it, the more it felt like the answer. People spoke about it like a cult classic. Great build quality. Consistent shots. Not perfect, but more than good enough.

Which, after my experience, sounded pretty perfect.

Of course, the only place to find one was eBay.

And it was…not encouraging.

Machines listed “for parts.”
Machines that “worked” but had never been cleaned.
Shot counters on the back reading like odometers on a vintage car - thousands of pulls, no service history.

I started to worry I was about to make another mistake. Was I buying a 26-pound paperweight? Or worse, something that would produce espresso tasting like 1995 plastic tubing?

In a bit of a hail mary, I searched #lavazzaespressopointmachine on Instagram.

There were maybe 50 posts total.

But one account stood out: @espressopointrepair

Run by a guy named John on Staten Island.

Of course it was.

John had built a small business refurbishing these machines. Full rebuilds, new internals, shot counters reset, brought back to life like they just came off the line.

I reached out.

We talked. Compared notes. Had a good laugh at my failed espresso career.

He agreed: this was the sweet spot. Taste, convenience, form without all the madness.

A month later, he told me our machine was ready.

It arrived one night when we had friends over.

We were already a few Negronis in when I decided (at around 10pm) that it was the perfect time to test it.

John had included a few pods.

We loaded one in. Pressed the button.

And that was it.

No dialing. No guesswork. No cleanup. No noise. No espresso spraying across the room.

Just a good shot.

Actually, better than good.

We all stood there, slightly surprised, drinking espresso at 10pm like we were in some Milan office, not a house in New York.

That machine is now headed to the new Rivay shop in Bedford.

It’ll be sitting there, ready to go. Probably starting around shot number 12 and, if all goes well, continuing for a long time.

No ritual. No performance.

Just espresso.

If you stop by, we’ll make you one.

— Jon