New York City’s aspiring-conglomerate-wannabe mobile cafe plans to open in at least 25 UK locations by the end of the year. It may delight some, like the restless professionals who bounce from tube to tube. But the twenty-something-year-old art student, who regularly frequents cafes, sketching in the corner whilst sipping on an oat matcha latte? Perhaps not as much.

In the summer of 2020, Blank Street Coffee debuted in New York City: a battery-powered, mint-green coffee machine with beans on wheels. Founded by mid-twenty-year-old tech entrepreneurs Issam Freiha and Vinay Menda, Blank Street sought to push the agenda of a “micro-cafe [...] cheaper, [more efficient], and more welcoming than Starbucks.” Engineered for convenience, Blank Street Coffee prides itself on what they describe as “ultra-convenience.” What could this mean, however, for the company’s less efficient counterparts—those that still hold a certain regard for the sometimes more laborious craft of coffee-making and the creation of an atmospheric leisure space? And will this new entry into an already-saturated market set a precedent for the way we consume coffee in the future?

First and foremost, it should be said that Blank Street as a concept could hold a certain allure. London is a city that, oftentimes, can feel extremely busy and overstimulating. With its founders’ plans of making London its ‘second-biggest city after New York,’ the soon-to-be ubiquitous mobile coffee chain could be a welcome contender to the increasingly busy lives of just under 10 million Londoners. With ambitious plans to have over 100 of its stores open in just New York alone by the end of 2022—all through a model that prioritizes efficiency and convenience over quality and leisure—there are aspects to the idea that will definitely appeal to anyone who is a fan of both coffee and convenience.

And upon visiting both the Fitzrovia and Shoreditch locations, it’s clear that the stores—in all their minimal, marketable, 250-square-foot (give or take) glory—especially attract a younger audience, more keen to photograph their drinks and surroundings than to savor them. In the words of co-founder Mr. Freiha himself: “We don’t need to be the most amazing cup of coffee you’ve ever had; we want to be the good cup of coffee that you drink twice a day, every day.” The drinks themselves are okay. All the coffee is machine-dispensed—not espresso pressed like most coffee chains—and so the staples, like the americano and cappuccino, are perfectly fine.

With its competitive prices, Blank Street competes with other coffee shops like Nero, Pret, and Costa. And this is made possible in many ways: costs are kept down with the use of automatic coffee machines and the choice of locations with small footprints/trucks, reducing any rental costs.

On a fairly surface-level glance, many people won’t find anything blatantly or egregiously wrong with such a concept. It takes a reasonably solid idea with a reasonably simple theme and executes it in a way that looks generically aesthetic and zeitgeist-y enough. However, once any amount of thought is given to other aspects of the business—particularly its background and origins—it could be said that there is scope for future potential shortcomings.

When Blank Street Coffee was launched, it took advantage of the disarray left in the wake of COVID-19. Several small businesses were forced to shut, leaving rent costs temporarily lowered in a bid to facilitate an environment where new hospitality ventures could flourish. Thus, Blank Street Coffee was conceived and able to expand at an almost viral rate. However, its almost-overnight ubiquity grew skepticism from some New Yorkers, who began to question exactly what Blank Street Coffee was and why, around almost every corner in New York, it felt like its little trucks could be seen. Once the public grew wise to what the company was, however—a start-up tech company with both millions of private equity financing and global ambitions—people grew both critical and suspicious.

In London, there has been a shift in the market towards independent, artisanal shops offering higher quality beans and beverages, as well as transparency in the supply chain. There is also a somewhat more intimate sense of community in pockets of the city, with ideas and techniques being shared openly.

The concept of a cafe has come to be known as an experience: hubs of social interaction providing people with a space to congregate, talk, read, write, or simply pass the time, both individually and in a group. Nowadays, cafes are an integral part of the culture of many European cities. In Italy, the birthplace of the espresso, the interjection “Prendiamo un caffe!” or “Let’s get a coffee!” is synonymous with taking a break from work to fully savor a cup of coffee. In many European countries, cafes are a place to pause and savor—and no, not on the go or whilst working: you may be hard-pressed to find a place that takes kindly to pouring fresh brew into a paper cup.

Admittedly, to-go culture is definitely the norm in North America and the UK, with these parts of the world sometimes preferring their coffee faster and more sugary. Aside from the huge detrimental environmental effects the onslaught of to-go culture has brought—along with swarms of disposable cups and an emphasis on speed—there are many who still enjoy the backdrop of a cafe.

“There is something special about London coffee shops, especially—there is a sense of progress and success there, something that makes you want to work and study hard,” says one regular frequenter of a co-working cafe in Brixton. The venue, founded on the idea of serving specialty coffee and creating a workspace hybrid, offers a model where customers pay a flat rate of £9 for five hours of unlimited tea, coffee, and a comfortable setting to work. The environment is indeed intentionally crafted—part work, part unwind. The same frequenter describes even listening to coffee shop sounds on YouTube during lockdowns as a way to relax, highlighting how deeply embedded cafe culture has become in many people’s sense of comfort, productivity, and place.

Blank Street Coffee’s founders claim that “coffee consumers [have] tired of wondering whether their coffee is single-origin, shade-grown, Aero-pressed, or poured-over” and that “the pioneering has been done, the preciousness is gone.” But just how much does such a statement resonate with a current generation whose concerns—coffee-chain and food-wise—are not as simple?