The New Starbucks Culture, Trading On Its Pike Place Market Roots

Today’s cup of Starbucks coffee arrived in a fresh looking cup, with a fresh looking jacket (that now boasts “Starbucks Fresh Roasted Coffee”.)  The cup contains text about Pike Place Market (and I’m drinking a new Pike Place blend) all of which screams: we really are a Seattle coffee company.  The fight is clearly on for America’s leading purveyor of pricey strong coffee to become cool again.  And no suprise, really.  They’ve been to Ronald McDonaldland, and it’s not pretty.  Stores are tight and dirty; many of the barristas are barely more than cashiers; and your three dollar cuppa java is served in a chain restaurant cup.  The question is whether a burst of Pike Place Market nostalgia – this Seattle landmark was home to the first Starbucks in 1971 – can provide us a better explanation about why we’re spending the three bucks.

Personally, I like the new brown and white cups, with the old fashioned logo.  I’m less moved by the signs announcing that I’ve discovered the neighborhood’s best espresso (even though it’s probably true.)  And I continue to believe that Starbuck’s ultimate, inexcusable sin is the pastry collection.  They are, as they always have been, south of mediocre.

What keeps me coming back?  First, I think the coffee is pretty good – it is over-roasted (which buries the complexity of otherwise fancy beans) but the flavor outruns Maxwell House by a mile.  Second, it’s damn convenient.  This is 2008, and I’m living on a flywheel like everyone else.    Third, the stores remain coffee cultural centers.   They’re not what they used to be (though they really have never been that good, since they went national) and they certainly aren’t what they ought to be, but they more comforting than my local 7-11.  That matters to me.  I spent my formative, wasted, wonderful post-college, pre-law years hanging out in San Franciso, being vaguely productive, and living in cafes.  I used to read books.  I used to relax.  Starbucks references that past, albeit in a sterile stainless-kitchen-with-ubatuba-granite-counters sort of way.

But I also admit that I’m kind of rooting for the bastards.  I’ll keep visiting Starbucks either way – I’m a drug addict – but if it could be a little nicer, a little more reminiscent of an earlier time (or, more specifically, my earlier time), I’d feel better laying down $1.77 for my morning dose.  Even as I rush back to the office and past those cafe tables that I no longer manage to haunt.