Tag Archives: Starbucks

What’s the Difference between a Spanish Latte and an American One? More than You’d Think

12 Dec

latte

For the most part, American stores and restaurants aren’t common in Valencia.  You’re more likely to see a hole-in-the-wall cafe, its display cases filled with Spanish tortilla and jamon-covered bocadillos and its espresso machine hissing behind the bar, than a Panera.  If you’re looking for clothes, you’ll stumble upon 15 Zaras, Mangos, and Sferas before you find the Lacoste boutique.  However, lining the fashionable streets of Gran Vía del Marqués de Turia and Calle Colón are a few businesses that both Spaniards and Americans love to hate and love to eat at: Starbucks and McDonald’s.

Starbucks has three locations in Valencia, both with the name emblazoned on its storefronts in familiar, green lettering.  At first glance, Starbucks seems to be much like its American counterpart.  Jazzy Christmas music fills the air, warm-toned prints cover the walls, and deceptively plush-looking couches surround a collection of tables where Valencians meet for interviews or a casual cup of coffee.  However, apply a keener eye to the store and you’ll notice the differences.  The Wi-Fi, for example, is password-protected, and only available for 45-minute intervals.  Spanish Starbucks guard their internet connection like Smaug squatting on his hoard, as if afraid that someone might steal the whole Internet when the employees have their backs turned. The bathroom is similarly protected.  A number pad, its code only available if you’ve bought a drink, keeps the facilities perpetually locked.  Behind the cash register is a sign that reads, “Beware of your personal items.  Professional pickpockets operate in this zone.”  In my mind, this converts Starbucks into a shifty back alley: every gaggle of teenage Spaniards, laughing and sipping their chai lattes, is waiting to steal the iPod out of my pocket and the scarf off my neck.  I wonder if the pickpockets are waiting to jump out from under the armchairs or tackle me from behind glossy displays of Kenyan dark roast.  (Maybe they all got locked in the bathroom?*)

*MAJOR NOTE OF SADNESS AND CAUTION: As some of you may have already heard, my iPod was stolen off a table at Starbucks a few days ago when I turned around for all of three seconds to grab my drink.  Irony is a cruel, cruel bitch.  Bottom line: like Luke discovering that the Force was inside him all along, I discovered that the pickpockets were, in fact, with me.  All.  Along.

Also, unless you specifically ask for your drink to go, the baristas will give it to you in a white mug, froth almost spilling over the sides.  This, in my opinion, is an excellent idea – it cuts down on waste and makes you feel a touch classier.  Though the menu is smaller, the drinks are generally better-made.  Teas are steaming, flavorful, and made with milk, even for cups of non-chai.  Cappuccinos come with a sprinkling of chocolate shavings.  Instead of bagels, cake pops, and pretzels, the food options include croissants, toast with tomatoes and olive oil, and camembert-and-turkey sandwiches on ciabatta.

Despite what it may sound like, I do not go to Starbucks that often.  In fact, I go mostly because it’s a reliable source of central heating (something which my apartment in Barrio Ruzafa lacks).  This, I admit, is still sad: imagine me curled catlike in a chair, greedily using every single second of my 45-minute Internet allotment, sucking in the heat as fast as I’m sucking in my caramel macchiato.  Living in Valencia has turned me into a sunflower.  I look for patches of heat and light (and coffee).

A Valencian McDonald’s.

The McDonald’s on Calle Ruzafa takes up two stories and most of the street outside.  Although most Spaniards I’ve met seem to think that McDonald’s is the font of all American obesity (more of them than you’d imagine have seen Supersize Me), they still, in the way of Regina George hating on Gretchen Weiner’s hoop earrings so she can wear her own, consider their own McDonald’s a trendy place to sit down for dinner.  In a supreme rejection of the phrase ‘fast food,’ they treat their Happy Meals like gourmet burgers, taking up to an hour to leisurely slurp down their Cokes and polish off their McChickens.  Weird but true: as ketchup is, to them, a symbol of American excess, they tend to eat their fries naked.

Yeah, I had a hard time believing that McDonald’s could produce something this appetizing, too.

European McDonald’s often have an even classier aspect to them: the McCafe.  Imagine finding a dress without any cheap sequins or fraying pleather in the dizzying loads of clothes at Forever 21.  This is the McCafe.  It’s filled with assorted flavors of macarons (my favorites so far have been pistachio, raspberry, and cappuccino), cream-stuffed pastries, and surprisingly delicious cups of cafe con leche.  If it weren’t for the ‘Mc’ appended to the name of every menu item, you could almost forget you were at a McDonald’s at all.

Although it isn’t a matter of preference, comparing the habits of one country to another when their citizens are occupying the same business space can tell a lot about that country’s underlying culture.  James Watson’s book “Golden Arches East” explored consumer behavior in Asian McDonald’s from an anthropological standpoint and found some significant differences between the way citizens of Beijing eat a hamburger and the way Americans do.  The same idea can be applied to Spanish McDonald’s and Starbucks.  In general, the things I’ve noticed reflect pretty significant differences between the way Spaniards and Americans treat the act of eating.

I have to admit – when I come back to the States next week, I’ll miss my creamy McFlurries and hazelnut hot chocolate.  But at this point – call me a consumer whore – I’d give up a hundred bocadillos for one pumpkin spice latte.