Coffee journal · for iPhone
Every cup, a page.
Log one coffee a day. The app writes it up as a little magazine about you: a cover, your month in review, something new from the coffee world, and your own notes quoted back at you.
No account · Nothing leaves your phone
your daily issue
The Little
Coffee Letter
flat white
Your day
Tap today, answer a handful of questions, and the day is stamped. The drink, the place, the rating, the note, and a photo if you took one.
Days you logged carry a stamp on the calendar. A month of them is a thing you can see at a glance.
Add a picture and the app lifts the cup out of it. That cut-out is what rides on the calendar.
A saved day opens as a receipt, with a pencil on each part, so a tale can be corrected the next morning.
Type four and a half minutes, start it, and there is lo-fi to sit with while it runs.
Your letter
Everything in the issue is built from your own log, mixed with a little outside reading for the days you have not logged anything.
The cover is your last coffee, taped to a ruled card with notes in the corners. The month is itemised like a till receipt. Your regular cafés are drawn onto a map and numbered. Your own notes from weeks ago are quoted back at you.
And because a letter with nothing in it is a dull letter, there is always something to read that is not about you: a piece on how Naples drinks its coffee, a word like terroir, a suggestion picked because of what you actually order.
It opens a little at a time. The taste profile arrives at three tales, what the app has noticed at five, the months timeline after two months. A thin issue explains itself rather than hiding the gaps.
The coffee someone else will drink
It is called a caffè sospeso, a suspended coffee. You order and pay for two, drink yours, and the bar keeps a note of the one you left. Later in the day somebody who cannot afford one asks whether there is a suspended coffee going, and drinks it.
What would you leave behind for someone you will never meet?
coffee word of the day
crema
the pale foam on a fresh espresso. Mostly appearance, slightly taste, and entirely a sign that somebody pulled it properly.
Your Mug shelf
3 of 20 · day 240
Your shelf
Keeping tales fills four collections and a shelf of twenty mugs. None of it is a scoreboard. It is just the stuff you would have kept anyway.
Three to a shelf, the first nine inside your first year. A mug you have not earned yet shows as a ghost of the same drawing, so you can see what is coming.
Your cups, timestamps, locations and the season's whimsical set. Every folder says what it wants, rather than the same instruction four times.
Your coffee ID and your month, rendered as a card, handed to the system share sheet. It leaves the phone when you decide it does.
What the app knows
There is no account to make and no server to talk to. Everything you write stays in the app's own storage on your phone.
Nothing to register, nothing to remember. The app is yours the second it opens.
No analytics, no advertising, no third-party trackers. Your tales are written to a file on the device and read back from it.
A café's pin is saved when you choose to add one, so the map in your letter has somewhere to put it. Decline and the app works exactly the same.
Clear your data in settings and it is gone from the device. There is no copy anywhere else to ask us about.
Log one coffee. There is a cover with your name on it before the day is out.
Monthly or yearly · Cancel any time