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.

