Coffee Boob

Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.

Where we are: We’re still in Raleigh, where I am relying heavily on cafe mochas to keep me going. And I’m doing so via that most American of inventions: the drive-thru! I wrote this while we were in Turkey, but I’ve been taking notes for months. Yes, I’m the weirdo in Starbucks taking pictures of the snacks.

Coffee Boob

I used to think I was the kind of person who would never go Starbucks in a foreign country—why would I go to an American chain, when I could go to a much more interesting local coffee shop? I should want to immerse myself in other cultures and support small businesses—or even chains—in the countries I’m visiting.

I got over that years ago.

My gradual, grudging acceptance of Starbucks abroad began in Berlin, during a heatwave: Starbucks was the only place that had ice. (Even they eventually ran out.)

I barely even think of Starbucks as American any more; I can find one (almost) anywhere. Not too long ago, I found a Starbucks in the waiting area of the tiny little airport on a tiny little island in the Philippines. I couldn’t believe it—this was the kind of airport where I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had brought a cage full of chickens on the plane. A venti iced mocha did much to soothe me through that particular chaos.

Nowadays, I actually enjoy seeing how other countries interpret the idea of Starbucks. The Starbucks in Bangkok always have bottled coconut and butterfly-pea-flower water, which is the most gorgeous, luminescent shade of pale purple. On our most recent pass through Bangkok, I saw Thai exclusive “Homsawan Pineapple Cold Brew.” A Starbucks in the Muslim pilgrimage city of Medina closed for Friday prayers, and made us leave. At my neighborhood Starbucks in Tokyo, the iced yuzu tea was delicious, and I had a glass most days.

Plus I will admit that I just like Starbucks—I can order a cafe mocha (my coffee of choice, because I’m a coffee boob) and I know exactly what I’m going to get.

I never buy the snacks, though (like, never). I may be a coffee boob, but I’m definitely a pastry snob, and I refuse to waste calories on Starbucks baked goods. But whenever I’m waiting in line at a Starbucks, I enjoy studying that glass cabinet full of snacks, because it’s often interesting. Starbucks snacks are a fantastic glimpse into the kinds of tastes and treats that appeal to people in different parts of the world.

The Starbucks in Japan always have a red bean butter sandwich. It’s a small oval roll; sweetened red bean paste is slathered over the inside, then a huge pat of butter is tucked in. (The Anko butter sando, as it’s known, is ubiquitous in Japan, and delicious, even if the use of butter as an actual ingredient, rather than a condiment, seems … excessive to my heavily western-biased concept of nutrition).  They also have a small bowl of baked mochi puffs in banana and caramel flavors.

Here in Turkey, affogato is on the Starbucks menu, and while I rarely order affogato (if you’ve never had one, you should seek it out), I’m happy knowing it’s an option. Because ice cream. There are also candied chestnuts, and simit, and some kind of sweet cheesy thing in a phyllo shell that is quite attractive.

In a city that I’m not going to name, because there are some secrets that I refuse to divulge (but there were no Starbucks at the time, and the local variation on cafe mocha was consistently awful), we stumbled across an interesting (but possibly apocryphal) Starbucks myth. The story goes like this: back in the earlier days of the Starbucks quest for global domination, one of the bigwigs was on holiday in this particular city, and he happened across a little bakery called Marzipan. He was so smitten by their rugelach that he approached the owner and offered to stock the product in Starbucks stores around the world. The owner refused, insisting that it would be impossible to maintain quality on that scale.

I can confirm that those rugelach are one of my favorite pastries, anywhere (admittedly, my list of favorite pastries is not a short list). Frankly, I’m glad they never made it onto Starbucks menus—I like knowing I always have an excellent way to convince my husband we should go back to that particular city. Plus I’d have to eat them all over the world, and I like to think I still have a few standards.

Take care,

Lisa

P.S. Thanks for reading, and feel free to share. If you have feedback, I’d love to hear it. And if someone forwarded this to you, thank them for me, and go to https://bookwoman.com/ to subscribe.