Seven years ago, I lived in Korea and discovered a love for Americano that went beyond taste — it became a part of me. It was more than just coffee; it was a ritual, a quiet pause in the day.
I would sip a cup after lunch or in the morning, always choosing the largest size, savoring every drop of that light, refreshing brew.
Unlike stronger coffees that left a lingering heaviness, Americano woke me up gently, clearing my mind without the dull ache that other brews often brought.
Back in Vietnam, I tried to chase that same feeling, but something was always missing. The coffee was too strong, too sweet, or too different from what I had come to love.
At places like Highlands or The Coffee House, the bold, almost overpowering flavors would leave me full and restless, a far cry from the effortless balance I remembered.
Only Starbucks came close, but it was neither convenient nor affordable. The memory of Korea’s Americano remained a quiet longing, a taste I couldn’t quite find again.
Then, this year, I returned to Korea. And with my first sip of an Americano, it was as if no time had passed.
Every café — whether a familiar chain like A Twosome Place, Mega Coffee, or a nameless neighborhood shop — offered that same delicate taste.
It was effortless, light, and perfectly balanced, as though every cup had been crafted to match the exact memory I had been holding onto all these years.
As I sipped, I found myself somewhere between past and present. The taste wasn’t just coffee — it was the streets I used to walk, the crisp autumn air, the quiet chatter of friends.
I was sitting by a café window, watching life move around me, savoring a moment that felt infinite.
It’s strange how a simple drink can transport you across time, how a flavor can hold an entire chapter of your life within it. Americano in Korea isn’t just coffee — it’s nostalgia in a cup, a quiet whisper from the past, a taste of home in a place that once held all my yesterdays.
Hey, I’m Mikel and you can read more of my stories here.
