About

  • Essays and observations on books, culture, and life in the city of lights, by Lauren Elkin, a writer, reader, and native New Yorker.

    More about the blog here
    My Paris: where to eat, drink, and shop in les Paris de Maitresse
    Version française: MaîtresseVF

Complete Archives

HITOTOKI

  • Hitotoki — A narrative map of the world To submit to Hitotoki Paris, click here.

Literary events in Paris

What it looks like from here

  • www.flickr.com
    This is a Flickr badge showing public photos from maitresse. Make your own badge here.

Find Books Here

Blog powered by TypePad

goooooooogle

« Akasaka apartment stories | Main | Tuesday internet fun »

February 12, 2008

It's a small, small world? Starbucks and local culture

Starbucks On the occasion of a Starbucks franchise opening in Tijuana, Jim Bening for WorldHum asks "Does the spread of Starbucks really suck?" The post includes photos of Starbucks around the world, rounded up on Flickr. Anti-globalization folk argue that a Starbucks in every city erases local differences and does in the mom-and-pop coffee industry. (God, what a dead horse. Mom and Pop need to get a lawyer and copyright their name so they can start collecting royalties to help with the loss of business). Starbucks in Tokyo does anything but threaten the "authentic colorfulness of the world’s tapestry." They might be serving the same latte I can get in NY, Paris, and Tijuana, but the process of getting it is very place-specific.  Compare if you will:

NY: I place my order and hope they don't give it away to someone else.

Paris: I place my order, they write my name on the cup, and if they give it away to someone else they'll blame it on me for not answering when they called my name.

Tokyo: I place my order, the cashier repeats it to the person standing next to him, who tells the person standing next to him, who follows suit, and soon all six of the people working behind the counter are singsonging my order. "Grrrande cappuccinooooh! Grande cappuccinohhhhh!" "Grande cappuccinoh gozai masseh," the last one finally announces as she hands it to me with a head nod. "Gozai masssss," I nod back and accept the drink as if it were a precious gift.

Riyadh:  Religious police arrest woman for sitting with a man.

TrackBack

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.typepad.com/t/trackback/1111604/26035540

Listed below are links to weblogs that reference It's a small, small world? Starbucks and local culture:

Comments

Terrific post. I didn't have time in my slide show to get into the differences among baristas in different cities, but you're absolutely right. Love your description of the Tokyo Starbucks. You do feel like you're receiving a precious gift when you're handed a latte -- or a Fliet o' Fish at McDonald's, for that matter -- in Japan.

awesome observation and well written! i also read jim's piece on world hum and have to agree with most of the comments there as well. i believe starbucks as well as other corporate chains are 'necessary evils.' although i support mom and pop places when i can, sometimes i am reluctant, especially in the coffee house catergory, because often you are overcharged for a less than stellar product. i guess it comes down to the fact that i don't mind paying $6.00 for a coffe from starbucks, because i know it'll be good.

Post a comment

If you have a TypeKey or TypePad account, please Sign In

BlogHer Ads

  • BlogHer Ad Network
    More from BlogHer
    Advertise here
    BlogHer Privacy Policy

Maîtresse in the press

The Book Nook

Honored

Tender Buttons

I wrote it, not you

  • All of the text and most of the photographs on this blog are the exclusive property of Lauren Elkin, (c) 2004-2008.
  • Creative Commons License
    Ce/tte création est mis/e à disposition sous un contrat Creative Commons.

Coin poésie

  • Elizabeth Barrett Browning, from "Sonnets from the Portuguese"
  • How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
  • I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
  • My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
  • For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
  • I love thee to the level of everyday's
  • Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
  • I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
  • I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
  • I love thee with the passion put to use
  • In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
  • I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
  • With my lost saints--I love thee with the breadth,
  • Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
  • I shall but love thee better after death.
  • (1850)

Coins poésie du passé

  • Marilyn Hacker, "April Couplets"
  • Mild Sky of a day which may or may not be forgotten
  • as days of a life, lives themselves, are forgotten.
  • Tenacious ivy crawls from a plastic pot in
  • a window-box which the early rain's forgotten
  • Nocturnal narrative's coherent plot in
  • the sleeper's mind disconnects, and the dream's forgotten
  • textures, flavors, burlap, honey, satin
  • systematically derange, dissolve: forgotten
  • This morning's crisp half-loaf in which I've bitten
  • a crescent lies near coffee dregs, forgotten.
  • On a lined page in front of me are written
  • haphazard words grasping what I've forgotten
  • A letter will be answered today or not. In
  • the gap, what it might have said could be forgotten.
  • A three year-old picked up w dropped red button
  • and cried for a lost rag doll not quite forgotten.
  • The sidewalk glistened in the Marais, Manhattan
  • or a Balkan town whose vowels howl unforgotten
  • chronicles of neighbors at war, ill met in
  • each market-place, blood mixed, but no slur forgotten
  • What key turns in the lock, who will be let in
  • to the bright room of what is not forgotten?
  • The scribe turns hacker: DOS displaces Latin:
  • Exiles hoard both, the plain speech of peace forgotten
  • William Carlos Williams, "Danse Russe"
  • If I when my wife is sleeping
  • and the baby and Kathleen
  • are sleeping
  • and the sun is a flame-white disc
  • in silken mists
  • above shining trees,--
  • if I in my north room
  • dance naked, grotesquely
  • before my mirror
  • waving my shirt round my head
  • and singing softly to myself:
  • "I am lonely, lonely.
  • I was born to be lonely,
  • I am best so!"
  • If I admire my arms, my face,
  • my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
  • again the yellow drawn shades,--
  • Who shall say I am not
  • the happy genius of my household?
  • [c. 1917]