From our first week living in South Pasadena, I have been an evangelist for Heirloom Bakery. Positioned at the railroad tracks on the corner of Mission and Meridian (“Historic Route 66,” the signs declare), it caught our eye on the very first day we explored our new neighborhood. On Saturday of that first week, after a packed few days of my program’s summer “boot camp,” Alison and I sauntered inside the bakery—with a hope supplied by the testimonials of many Yelpers.

We were first struck by the charm of the cafe (clean, a looming glass pastry display, quaint seating, a chalkboard announcing “Now serving dinner!”), then the friendliness of the employees. The baked wares looked delicious enough, and we settled on splitting a chocolate croissant and a breakfast sandwich. Of course I ordered a large cup of coffee—dark, for here. We paid and stepped outside to enjoy our breakfast in the California morning air.

I can make no claims to being a coffee connoisseur. Though employed as a Starbucks barista for half a decade, I was a late bloomer to the delights of brewed coffee—only arriving at my current love by way of the commercial route of flavored creamer. But I know when coffee tastes great and when it doesn’t; I like my coffee bold and unapologetic. I’ve been to far too many reputable diners and breakfast establishments that compromise their tasty solids with weak, namby-pamby coffee. I may not be a connoisseur, but I do have high standards.

With the afterglow of too many episodes of Twin Peaks in my mind, I held up my left hand, palm out, as I took my first sip of the swirling, steaming brew, tan with cream. What splashed my tongue was something so absolutely unexpected in its pleasure, all the more rich for its surprise. Bold and dark, strong and smooth, this coffee walked—no, danced—the razor’s edge between the snares of weakness, bitterness, and burntness. In the duration of one cup, I had boldly crowned a new king: Equator Coffee.

The croissant and sandwich were no less delectable; it was no fault of their own that they failed to inspire my heart to fall to its knees in adoration like the coffee. The sandwich—generous portions of eggs, bacon, and fresh tomato housed within succulent scratch-made bread—was incredible. Since that Saturday, we began going every Saturday with religious fervor, and I’ve discovered many other favorites (number one the buttery almond croissant, simultaneously dense and airy). There has been no going back from Heirloom, and I have found no equal. I immediately began verbalizing and tweeting exultant proclamations about Heirloom and Equator, with no ulterior motive other than the joy bubbling from my heart that demanded sharing.

Two weeks ago, after a long and somewhat frustrating job search, my wife became employed by this amazing bakery, and now we are there far more often than every Saturday. The coffee is no less exquisite than that first day, and I’ve never had a bad cup. I fear that, with her saturation and behind-the-scenes perspective, my wife may one day burn out on Heirloom’s delights. But may it never be so for me, a devoted lover and spreader of the good news of Heirloom. May it never be.