L
ike every good story, mine
comes with a cup of coffee —
an Americano with no room,
to be exact.
As I start my final semester at the
University, finishing two degrees and
leading up to what is probably my 2,190th
cup of coffee (365 days x 4 years x 1.5
cups on average), I’ve come to appreciate
the coffee shop culture in Ann Arbor.
It’s contributed to the way I feel a part
of the Ann Arbor community — aspiring
journalists,
novelists,
physicians,
researchers and artists alike.
It goes without saying I am mildly
addicted to coffee — not to caffeine
— but to the bitter taste of espresso that
stains my teeth and accounts for the
majority of my dental bill. Before I leave
the University and the city that has now
become my home, I’ve made a promise
to myself to explore, to the best of my
abilities and schedule, the coffee hubs that
make up Ann Arbor.
Coffee is never just coffee. It’s never just
a buzz, an alternative to caffeine pills, a
natural laxative or a conversation starter.
It’s so much more than the full-bodied
taste of freshly ground coffee beans. It’s
an experience. When I drink coffee, it
rarely comes without sentimentality.
I’ve realized — because this is what
my nostalgic senior-year mind does in
its spare time — each chapter of my life
comes with a different coffee drink. Soy
chai latte when I was in middle school,
exploring the world and realizing there
was more than plain milk, matcha latte
after I left Japan for boarding school in the
U.S.; skim latte when I copied everything
my mom did; dirty chai in high school; and
right now I take everything black because
I like that it makes me feel like an adult.
(No, I genuinely like the way it tastes.)
A vast majority of these early coffee
epiphanies were rooted in a Starbucks.
Yes, maybe it is heresy to write about
Starbucks in a coffee column — I do
prefer independent local coffee shops to
massive chains any day. But it happens
to be that some of my best and hardest
memories came with coffee and a green,
two-tailed mermaid.
There’s one Starbucks my mom and I
went to near our home in Kobe, Japan.
Japanese Starbucks stores aren’t much
different from the ones in the United
States. The drinks seem smaller because
they are rigorous with measuring the
exact amount of milk and syrup (the
drinks never overflow with whip cream
like they do in the U.S.) and are generally
more expensive, and they have different
seasonal features like white chocolate
green tea lattes instead of pumpkin
spice. The merchandise is different and
of course, the people are different. But if
you close your eyes, you could hardly tell
the difference.
It still has that bold smell of roasted
coffee beans with a slightly sour aftertaste
that clings to your nose. There is the flutter
of silverware and plates that occasionally
make it hard to hear conversation, and the
intermittent loud steam from the copper-
colored espresso machine. No matter
what time of day or day of the year, it is
never empty. Eight times out of ten, there’s
a stroller parked in the store somewhere.
There is a flux of chatter and a warmth
that makes it feel cozy, even if it is an
outpost of an 85 billion dollar enterprise.
The Starbucks my mom and I go to is a
part of a small mall that faces the Hanshin
train station. It has floor-to-ceiling
windows on one side so light fills the store
during the day. The Hanshin train runs
above ground and you can see it pull into
the station above the buildings. We watch
the flurry of people walk out of the station
as the train leaves. Sometimes a truck
pulls by the window to drop off loaves of
bread and pastries to the bakery next door.
We always sit at the table furthest from
the windows, I don’t know why. We sit at
the same table close to the exit, where we
can still see the train but also the other
stores inside. It’s close to the pick-up
counter so there is usually a barista close
by. The table with honey and cinnamon is
always behind me, on my left shoulder.
We laugh about it now, how much
has changed since we first sat in that
Starbucks at that same table. We held
hands and cried over our half-eaten
blueberry scone as I tried to digest the
recurrence of her cancer. I remember
being nauseated from anxiety when I
thought I wouldn’t be able to continue
school in the U.S. because of my visa. We
talked only paperwork over our drinks.
After my ACL surgery, I hobbled on
crutches to the same table and watched
my mom carry our drinks — I had to sit
on the other side because I couldn’t bend
my knee, I thought my world was ending.
When I decided on U-M, we were both
so happy we finished our drinks and
food the fastest I’ve seen yet. We’ve seen
baristas come and go and the wallpaper
painted, retouched and finally changed.
We sit, holding hands across the same
table, talking about my dreams, her
future, the hypothetical grandkids and
mother-daughter book tour.
We’ve cried and laughed at the table, her
over a skim latte, and me over a constantly
changing drink. She is my constant — of
course she is, she’s my mom. But in some
ways, so is Starbucks.
I like that I can drink the same drink
with her at our table by the barista,
watching the train pull into the station,
and in the Michigan Union during
midterms. I like that I can order a grande
or venti Americano in Kobe and be
reminded of it when I traveled to Portugal
for a writing conference. I like that I can
drink that same coffee as I talk about my
post-grad plans with professors I admire.
I like that I can eat a blueberry scone
in Japan and in Ann Arbor and know it
tastes the same, even if I’m breathing
different air on different soil. I like that I
can simultaneously feel at home and part
of so many different worlds.
And maybe that’s what’s unique about
a global enterprise like Starbucks. Less
the quirky types of coffee beans and
picture-worthy foam art, but more the
unique ability it has to spread and blend
experiences.
I
can
still
remember
the
first
Strawberries & Creme Frappuccino I
ordered after a dance competition in Los
Angeles, when I was eight or so. When I
drink an Americano now, in Kobe or Ann
Arbor, so much has changed. I realize
I’ve come further than I would’ve ever
thought, that the world has changed
tenfold and the future is even more
unpredictable.
It’s so much more than just coffee, it
always is.
2C
Managaing Statement Editor:
Brian Kuang
Deputy Editors:
Colin Beresford
Jennifer Meer
Rebecca Tarnopol
Photo Editor:
Amelia Cacchione
Editor in Chief:
Alexa St. John
Design Staff:
Michelle Phillips
Managing Editor:
Dayton Hare
Copy Editors:
Elise Laarman
Finntan Storer
Wednesday, January 3, 2018// The Statement
Brews Through: Starbucks in Kobe
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | JANUARY 3, 2018
BY YOSHIKO IWAI, COLUMNIST
Courtesy of Yoshiko Iwai
A Starbucks in Kobe, Japan.