Have you ever wondered how we became the oldest coffee roasters in Toronto?
Hi, I’m Susan, founder of The Coffee Tree Roastery. As I near retirement, I’ve been reflecting on a lifetime of coffee in Toronto. I’d love to share some of the stories that shaped my life—and, if you’re reading this, perhaps yours too.
In the early years, we were living in the east end, fresh out of post-secondary, working long hours and not bringing home very much. We were in our twenties—a lifetime ago—renting an apartment, living without a car, and taking the subway downtown on weekends to enjoy everything the city had to offer.
Those were the days we carried home a 13” TV on the TTC because we couldn’t manage anything bigger. When we hauled a Christmas tree home on the subway. When microwave ovens were so new that microwave popcorn didn’t even exist yet. Furniture shopping? This was before Ikea. It was also before the internet, debit machines, and the widespread use of credit cards.
My earliest memory of our future together was a conversation about whether we could afford to stay in the city. It was October 1987—the month of the Big Market Crash—and my boyfriend was a stockbroker. People said if you could make it through that, you could make it through anything. Of course, we didn’t have any money—let alone the kind that lets you dream big.
The question was simple: could we really afford to build a life in Toronto?
In the late eighties, condos across from St. Lawrence Market were selling for $88,000—a steep price at the time, especially with high interest rates. We debated whether to leave the city for something more affordable—a house, a family, a better work-life balance—or stay somewhere exciting and try to build something of our own.
Ah, the blindness of youth.
Meanwhile, across the continent, Seattle was beginning to bloom. Starbucks was in its infancy, and most people thought a “roasting house” meant chicken on a spit. We were both intrigued and completely naïve. With a bit of financial help from family—and plenty of pre-internet, boots-on-the-ground research—we signed an expensive lease in Bloor West Village to open a small business roasting and selling coffee beans by the pound.
We started with a tiny artisan roaster—one that had a habit of drawing the fire truck to our block because of the smoke.
Those early days were slow. No one really knew—or cared—about fresh roasted coffee. Most people didn’t even realize coffee beans were green before roasting, or that they had a shelf life of just a few weeks once roasted. In the eighties, you could pick up a pound of Nabob at Shoppers for five dollars. Our coffee cost more, and we had competition from places like Second Cup and the local donut shop.
One of the perks, though, was that we drank a lot of our own coffee—chatting, working, and slowly perfecting our craft.
Day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year—we made cappuccinos, brewed pots of coffee, sold sticky buns and grilled Croque Monsieur sandwiches. We learned our customers’ names, one by one. And over time, they began taking home our fresh roasted beans. They tasted the difference. They believed in what we were building—and became loyal fans.
Some of those early customers are now leaving the city. Covid nudged them toward the weekend homes they once escaped to with their kids. They still drink Coffee Tree coffee, but now it arrives by mail. At the same time, new faces have moved into the neighbourhood, discovering The Coffee Tree and making it part of their daily routine.
A journalist once asked me if you could make a million dollars with just one store. The thought had never crossed my mind. I fell in love with coffee roasting the same way I fell in love with my boyfriend—completely, wholeheartedly, all in. We borrowed a large sum of money and paid it back at outrageous interest rates, all while paying our staff minimum wage—$5 an hour at the time.
Thank goodness I didn’t know then what I know now. We might never have taken the leap—and we certainly wouldn’t be the oldest coffee roasters in Toronto today.
