The early morning air is thick with the rich, inviting aroma of freshly roasted coffee. The walls, artfully textured to appear pocked with bullet holes, are tastefully adorned with delicate Japanese-style paintings. Nearby, a modern-day freelance writer might be immersed in crafting their next novel. It feels as though I’m in bohemian Paris, yet I’m here in London, sitting in VAGABOND CAFÉ—DAINORAS PETRAUSKAS’ haven of coffee roasting and art. This is where people come to savor a cup of aromatic, high-quality coffee or simply bask in the atmosphere, often exchanging a few words with the owner. Conversations with Dainoras can last for hours, touching on anything from coffee and art to the meaning of life. Like a coffee bean, our dialogue unfolds, blending a full range of life’s flavors and surprising me with something new at every turn.

Words: VIOLETA BUDREVIČIŪTĖ
Photos: LAURA VI PHOTOGRAPHY

Dainoras, your café is called Vagabond—suggesting a wanderer without a permanent home, always on the move. How did your business journey begin?

I’m not one for flashy statements. Let’s start simple. I studied ballet at the M.K. Čiurlionis National School of Art in Vilnius, though I would have preferred studying painting like my brother. Ballet school was like an artistic injection for me. I lived in the dormitory with musicians and painters— we were all crammed in together. I worked as a professional ballet dancer for only about five years, a bit at the Klaipėda Musical Theatre and with the Lithuanian Ensemble. We toured a lot. To be honest, I preferred the travel, the movement. It was during that time I met my future wife, Joana, a professional musician and songwriter. In 2002, we both decided we wanted to move to London, to see what was happening in that vast city. We weren’t economic emigrants, just curious about life.

The first year was tough. As a ballet dancer, I was fluent in French, but I only knew a few words of English: hello, I’m looking for work and goodbye. We felt insecure—Lithuania hadn’t yet joined the European Union, and we had student visas, which meant we could only work a few hours legally or work illegally. I wasn’t afraid of work, though, so in London, I washed dishes in a Chelsea restaurant for £3 an hour, worked in construction, and as a carpenter. Until one day, I realized I wanted my space and business. Or, as Lithuanians like to say, to “work for myself.”

How did that idea of working for yourself turn into a café?

You’re probably expecting me to say it all came from a great love for coffee. Not quite. I can’t even pinpoint exactly why. A café just seemed like the most logical business idea at the time. It’s a place of exchange—I sell, I buy, I interact. The relationship with the customer is important, as is the creation of the space. I always say you'll always want to return once you’ve stepped on stage. Standing behind the counter is my kind of stage—you’re always the centre of attention. For eight years now, I’ve been dancing ballet with coffee. We had four cafés at one point, but now I’ve kept just one. I got tired of the heavy responsibility and the constant turnover of employees and focused on one goal.

We’re a small roastery now, but we rank among the best in London. We typically offer five or six varieties of coffee, working with regions like Colombia, Africa, and Brazil. We participate in coffee festivals, supply some cafés with our beans, and serve our own customers here. You can also order our coffee online. I’ve always wanted to work with people who are truly interested in the world of coffee. Only like-minded people who genuinely enjoy this product and want to grow and learn with us have stayed. I greatly value my roasters, Paul Hoey and Dovydas Guaka, who I believe are some of the best in London and the UK.

Your space is beautiful. How did you develop the idea to create a bohemian-style interior rather than a traditional one?

My art background, combined with some practical carpentry skills, came in very handy. I designed everything here myself, following my instincts. I enjoy creating interiors, and I’m drawn to natural elements—old, original, touched by history. I like weaving those elements with modern touches. For instance, if a building has high ceilings, why lower them? In the café, I left the walls as they were—raw, untidy, unplastered. Many people refer to the holes of various sizes in the walls as bullet holes and ask if we did that purposefully. The paintings also come to us naturally. At one point, we had a large canvas with an eagle’s head hanging here. Once, while delivering coffee to a friend’s café, we saw some beautiful paintings by an artist living in Japan. I thought these were fantastic! So I brought them into our café and held an exhibition.

Across from us, there’s an art supply store, so many budding artists come in and ask to exhibit their work here. We had a fantastic exhibition by a young Spanish painter a couple of years ago. I always say, we have the space and the form, so let’s use it! We even have a piano that anyone can play. We’ve hosted concerts, and even screened films about global ecology and the coffee industry’s problems. Did you know that the money buyers pay for coffee, especially in Africa, often doesn’t reach the farmers? The worst part is that the government justifies it. The middlemen take the largest share of the profit. For example, one Kenyan coffee farm worker was shocked when he saw the price at which a packet of coffee was sold. He’d never heard of such astronomical sums. This kind of situation is deeply saddening.

I often see the 'fair trade' symbol on coffee packaging. What principles does Vagabond follow?

We promote ‘direct trade,’ where we know exactly how much we pay and how much the farmer pays their workers. We know the details—the year, the quantities harvested. Our goal is to ensure transparent relationships. We find our suppliers by chance. A few years ago, Ricardo Canal came into the café with a sample of coffee beans. His parents grow coffee at Finca la Lomita in Colombia. Without hesitation, I said, let’s get in the car, drive to the roastery, taste it, and see how it turns out. Since then, we’ve built a strong relationship with this supplier. We regularly discuss the harvest, their challenges, and how to keep everything balanced.

As a specialty coffee creator, did this profession find you, or did you seek it out? What journey does each coffee bean take before it reaches your customer’s cup?

The art of roasting coffee came into my life as naturally as all the other professions I’ve had. I wanted to do something better, something more interesting. That was when the third wave of coffee started in London, the era of specialty roasted coffee. The first wave was the beginning of mass coffee consumption. The second wave was the rise of coffee chains. The big chains only arrived in the UK around 1995. The third wave is connected with the hipster era. Before that, we were used to drinking coffee Italian-style, where the beans are roasted dark. Their coffee is oily, thick, and bitter. Italians have deep traditions, and they do everything well. But then, more experimental coffee sellers started asking, what if we roasted the beans differently, for less time? That’s when it became clear that the bean could reveal flavours like grapes, grapefruit, or apples.

How can an everyday customer like me spot high-quality coffee?

Well, first of all, each country has independent associations that evaluate the quality of coffee beans. The grower can choose to submit their beans for grading, rated on a scale of 1 to 100. Anything above 85 is considered high quality. The coffee we sell is in this category, so we call ourselves a specialty coffee café and roastery. Lower-grade beans are known as ‘commodity coffee.’ Many customers ask, what’s so special about your coffee? My answer: the picker will strip all the fruit from the trees for commodity coffee, but someone focused on quality will carefully select only the ripe fruit. They’ll circle the trees several times, only picking the ripest berries. High-quality farms also take extra steps, like burning bones to fertilize the trees, creating the perfect conditions for growing coffee plants.

Many coffee suppliers, especially from Africa, craft beautiful marketing stories. But when evaluating coffee, you should look for professional indicators. The coffee packet should list the country, region, variety, flavour notes, altitude, and quality score. And by the way, coffee should be tasted black and without sugar. I always say if you want to know the authentic flavour of a dish, taste it as the barista or chef serves it.

The coffee business is highly competitive; it can’t be easy to stand out and survive, right?

Absolutely. But with the third wave of coffee, enthusiasts found a niche—a new desire to approach coffee differently emerged. I remember thinking, wow, this is the kind of business I want to be in, where people don’t cut each other down. Between 2003 and 2005, there were probably about fifteen roasteries in the UK; now, there are over four hundred. Yet, I don’t sense hostility. Last week, our roasting machine broke, and friends from the industry stepped in to help without hesitation. We all get along. 

I’ve heard there are differences between Arabica and Robusta beans. Which one do you prefer?

Specialty coffee uses only Arabica beans. Robusta beans aren’t as delicate and often don’t even fall into the specialtycategory. It’s your choice—some people want the caffeine hit. Occasionally, customers buy our coffee but don’t know how to prepare it correctly, then complain it’s bitter. I’ll ask if they’ve adjusted the grinder or monitored the brewing process. Details matter—like the amount of liquid extracted in 36 seconds. That’s why we provide as much information and training as possible. Preparing coffee is as essential as the coffee itself. It’s like baking a cake; you can use the best ingredients, but the masterpiece collapses if you open the oven too soon. Sometimes, we reflect on the work and skill behind each cup, which justifies a higher price. To truly appreciate it, you must understand the process; otherwise, it might feel like paying for water and sand.

Many cafes surprise customers with new trends, like blue lattes or nitrogen-infused coffee that resembles Guinness. What’s your view on such diversity?

That’s more for mainstream cafes. Roasters aren’t interested in trendy additives. But everyone’s preferences vary. Sometimes a customer says they don’t like our coffee but enjoy the atmosphere. That’s fine—they can have juice and enjoy the same coffee they’ve had for ten years. Not everyone needs to become a coffee connoisseur.

Why did you choose a little horse with a house as your business symbol?

I wanted a story behind the name. Vagabond is an old poetic English word for a wanderer without a home. My wife even had a song about a vagabond. Our logo was designed by an architect, Justas, who used to work as a barista. At first, he drew something sleek, almost like a Ferrari. I said, No, make it authentic, truly Lithuanian. We spotted the prototype horse in a vintage shop in Eastbourne and still have it. The Vagabond concept feels close to both my wife and me. We’re wanderers, exploring without a set idea of home.

What’s the secret to your business success?

I’ve never considered myself a businessman or one to speak in numbers. I run everything intuitively. I don’t try to keep customers or force employees to smile. I value authenticity and enjoyment in work. People often say, “Dainius, it’s so cosy here, like a living room!” My Greek neighbours from the next-door restaurant sometimes ask why I let people sit with laptops without buying anything. But I see it differently—one day, they come for juice; the next, they bring friends for a meal. That’s how things flow. I’m even considering opening another café to create a new energy hub.

Have you faced disappointments in business?

Mostly, I keep looking forward and avoid dwelling on past grievances. My biggest disappointment was probably parting ways with a partner with whom I shared a café. Facing injustice is painful, especially when you can’t change anything. I had always believed collaboration should be transparent and trustworthy, a principle I still uphold in my business.

Any hobbies besides business, coffee, and art?

New ones keep emerging. My wife is a musician, so I attend her concerts. In my youth, I worked with ceramics, and now we have two easels at home, so I paint from time to time. Recently, I took up gardening—we rented a plot in London, and this year, we grew potatoes, carrots, cucumbers, and parsley. I never imagined myself doing that. Growing up in Panevėžys and spending summers with my grandparents in Biržai, I never cared much for vegetables. Now, digging in the soil feels grounding. We even bought a cottage near Molėtai with an orchard, and I’ve started reading up on gardening.

Where do you feel most at home now—London or Lithuania?

Sometimes, London’s pace wears me out, but for now, my wife and I still enjoy it here. She has more opportunities to play music, and I appreciate the creative freedom to pursue what I want. I love Berlin, too, so maybe we’ll end up there one day.

If life were a coffee, which one would it be?

Simple and black—a long black.

If you could share a coffee with anyone in the world, who would it be?

My family, both mine and my wife’s. They’re the most important—the people closest to you.

Vagabond N7, Holloway, London
www.vagabondcoffeeroasters.com
Instagram: @vagabond.london
Facebook: @VagabondCoffeeRoasters

Lithuanian Business Link. This project is partially funded by the Lithuanian Media Support Fund.