Grounds Zero: A Starbucks-Free Italy

(page 3 of 3)

There’s reason to believe the answer could be “si.” One thing that visitors to Italy notice is that there are few places where you’d feel comfortable sitting with a book or a laptop. What they don’t often think about is that until Starbucks came along, the U.S. wasn’t any different. What Schultz did was take the Italian coffee tradition, fly it across the Atlantic, and infuse it with a Seattle approach to leisure. As a result, for many of its customers, Starbucks isn’t really in the business of selling coffee. Instead, it’s offering a place to hang out that happens to sell coffee. And the market for that in Italy—for a home outside the home, for an office away from the boss, for a place to sit and chat and read and while the day away—is very open indeed.

You can find proof just across the piazza from Caffè Miani where, since 1996, the area’s most prime location—a storefront with an unobstructed view of the cathedral’s facade—has been occupied by a McDonald’s. And for the last four years, the branch has also been home to what the company calls a McCafé.

When the fast-food giant first opened an outlet in Italy in 1986, the reaction sparked a global countermovement: the invention of Slow Food as an effort to preserve local cuisine and regional diversity. Today, McDonald’s has 411 locations in the country, and in 116 of those there is an Italian-style coffee bar, serving espressos, cappuccinos, and a range of pastries and pies.

McCafés have become the fastest growing part of the company’s Italian business. According to a 2010 company survey, one in five first-time McCafé visitors had never entered a McDonald’s before. Unlike in an Italian bar, where the tradition is to slam your shot of espresso and leave, McDonald’s encourages its clients to linger. Italians may be picky about their coffee, but they’re wide open for a company that offers them a new, slower way to experience it.

The longer Starbucks stays out of Italy, the more competition it may face from imitators who have capitalized on its absence. Just half a block down the street from the Caffè Miani and the flagship McCafé sits another establishment, called Arnold Coffee. Occupying four floors of a historic building, it has an open stairwell and mirrored back wall. On the day I visited, kids were studying upstairs around a long wooden table. A couple of friends huddled over a laptop, and clusters of young women sat and chatted. The menu features American drip coffee, shakes, and caramel macchiatos.

The firm’s founders, Andrea Comelli and Alfio Bardolla, explicitly modeled their business on Starbucks—so much so that soon after they opened their first location, in 2009, they received a notice from the coffee giant’s lawyers. Arnold Coffee’s logo—which included the company name in a double circle—was in violation of the Starbucks trademark. After some back and forth, attorneys for Starbucks presented the duo with 10 logos and asked them to pick their favorite. They chose a steaming mug of coffee set against a black circle.

Arnold Coffee has positioned itself as an alternative to the Italian coffee bar. It caters to young Italians used to spending time abroad, where the best option for reading a book, checking e-mail, or just catching your breath is a Starbucks. At one point, I watched a customer linger by the milk-and-sugar station, pick out a sugar packet, look at the logo, and place it in her purse. According to Comelli, his customers love the paper cups and the cardboard coffee sleeves, an item he was originally unable to source in Italy and had to order from the U.K.

Arnold Coffee has opened six locations, five in Milan and one in the airport in Verona. According to Bardolla, the company’s coffee shops are expected to break even after a couple of years. Last year, sales in the outlet I visited were up 44 percent. “We don’t see any competition,” says Comelli. “When the other bars are empty, that’s when we’re full.” The two partners plan to open another 44 locations in the next five years and then sell.

The last question I asked Comelli was whether he could remember the first time he drank an American coffee. I recalled Orlando Chiari’s verdict, and I was curious to hear about his. Comelli immediately told me about a trip to New York in 2001, when he bought a cup at Dunkin’ Donuts. Unsure how to drink it, he sipped through the stirring straw, scalded his tongue, and threw the beverage away. “I couldn’t believe how hot it was,” he says. Looking around his cafe, he seemed taken aback by the memory. “Now,” he says, “I drink more American coffee than espresso.” Note to Howard Schultz: Italy is ready when you are.

Faris is a Bloomberg Businessweek contributor.