Ripper's Roast

Ripper’s Roast is a brew as deceptive as the London fog, its warmth curling through the air like a whisper in the night—inviting, disarming, dangerously smooth. With each sip, the rich notes of hazelnut and caramel slide across your tongue like a gloved hand, comforting yet laced with something unsettling. A drink meant to soothe, yet it lingers, leaves a trace, much like the specter of its namesake, vanishing into the darkness before you can quite grasp its mystery.

It arrives in your cup with the illusion of safety, a warm embrace against the cold, a brew designed to satisfy. But as the steam rises, wrapping around you like a midnight mist in Whitechapel, you begin to wonder—what lies beneath this sweetness? There is depth here, something lurking just out of reach, waiting. The Ripper never struck in haste, and neither does this roast. It takes its time, unraveling in layers, seducing you with every sip until you’re left wanting more. Until you are lost in its embrace, never quite sure if you’ve been comforted—or marked.