How Intellectuals Helped Popularize Coffeehouses

In 1930s Shanghai, a quiet literary figure often visited a modest café near his home—not for the coffee, but for the company. Lu Xun, one of China’s most celebrated writers, was famously not a coffee drinker. He preferred green tea. Yet his repeated presence at a small café called Gongfei made it famous among the city’s literati. Why did such spaces become central to intellectual life, even for those who didn’t drink coffee? The answer lies in how cafés became meeting hubs for writers, artists, and political thinkers well before they were everyday spots for caffeine.

The short answer: intellectuals turned early coffeehouses into cultural salons. In both China and Japan, literary figures used cafés like Gongfei in Shanghai or the avant-garde “Kahi-cha-kan” in Tokyo as safe, stimulating spaces to meet, despite many of them drinking tea or nothing at all. These cafés gained lasting fame not because of their drinks, but because of who gathered there.

Coffee and the Chinese Intellectuals

Lu Xun once wrote satirically about a fancy “revolutionary café” where literary elites sipped “proletarian coffee” while discussing grand ideas. Ironically, he never drank coffee himself—he always ordered green tea. Yet in 1930, just a year after penning that essay, Lu Xun visited the nearby Gongfei Café to attend meetings for the League of Left-Wing Writers. He still drank only tea, as did his frequent companion, the writer Xia Yan. Though he never touched the establishment’s signature drink, Lu Xun’s routine visits helped make Gongfei the unofficial meeting place for leftist literary circles.

Gongfei Café sat close to Lu Xun’s Shanghai residence, near the North Sichuan Road tram terminus and right across from the popular Japanese-owned bookstore, Uchiyama Shoten. It wasn’t Shanghai’s first or finest café, but thanks to Lu Xun, it became known as “the most famous café of its time.”

Other literary figures also frequented the spot. Yang Qianru recalled that left-wing writers often met there under the protection of its low profile with police. The café was run by foreigners, making it a relatively discreet venue. Similarly, Xiao Jun and Xiao Hong, newly arrived from Northeast China with manuscripts in hand, were first directed to Uchiyama Shoten to see Lu Xun—and then to Gongfei for conversation. Even Zhou Yang’s wife used the café as a meeting point, arranging for the three to talk over coffee and tea in a private upstairs room. For aspiring writers, the route to Lu Xun almost always led through Uchiyama and then Gongfei.

Japan’s Early Coffeehouse Culture

Japan’s coffeehouse scene developed along a similar path—starting with intellectuals before reaching the broader public. The country’s very first coffeehouse, Kahi-cha-kan (“Can I Tea House”), opened in Tokyo on April 13, 1888 (though some claim an earlier one in 1886 called “Senchutei” existed in Nihonbashi). Its founder, Zheng Yongqing, was the adopted son of Zheng Yongning, a descendant of Zheng Chenggong (Koxinga). Born in Nagasaki in 1859, Zheng Yongqing studied at Yale University in the United States and was fluent in Chinese, English, French, and Japanese.

As a highly educated man, Zheng Yongqing wanted to promote coffee as part of an intellectual lifestyle. To appeal to local sensibilities, he gave his café a name that mimicked a traditional teahouse, and even chose a name—“Kahi-cha-kan”—whose pronunciation resembled the Japanese approximation of “coffee” (kōhī). Over time, “kahi” became one of several early renderings of the word coffee, alongside “kofi,” “kofei,” “kuxi,” “kaxi,” “tang cha,” and “xiang tang.”

The café was stocked with books and newspapers from both the East and West, as well as writing materials, creating an atmosphere where literary discussions mingled with the scent of coffee. It even attracted peculiar habits among its clientele. Some intellectuals would bring geisha to accompany their reading, while others—like Lu Xun in Shanghai—visited regularly without ever touching coffee. At the time, simply sitting in a café chair, reading the latest literary magazines, and engaging in discussion was considered part of the experience, regardless of what was actually consumed.

Despite its lofty aspirations, Kahi-cha-kan struggled financially and closed after four years. But the precedent had been set. The next wave of coffeehouses soon followed.

The Spread of Coffee Culture in Japan

In 1890, Tokyo saw the opening of the Gem Coffee Shop in Asakusa. Then, in 1909, Brazilian-born immigrant Satoru Mizuno launched Café Paulista, which secured free coffee bean shipments from Brazil. By 1911, Paulista had opened a branch in Tokyo’s Ginza district, still standing today opposite the Hakuhinkan Toys building on Ginza 8-chome. The original marketing pitch was bold: “Black as a demon, sweet as love, hot as hell,” and at just five sen per cup—with an extra five sen earning you a doughnut—it became enormously popular with students and young writers. Kyushu University’s Esperanto group leader, Akita Ujaku, reportedly held weekly research meetings there, occupying ten seats while buying just one coffee—earning him a reputation as a cheapskate.

The original Paulista location included a women’s section on the second floor. Starting in 1911, the editorial board of the women’s magazine Seito (“Bluestocking”), founded by Hiratsuka Raicho, often held meetings there. The magazine’s title referenced the 18th-century British Bluestocking literary women, and the term “blue stocking” came to symbolize the new, independent Japanese woman. Although the women’s section no longer exists, female customers wearing blue stockings are still treated with special respect—even getting their coffee for free. Legend has it that John Lennon and Yoko Ono visited the café three nights in a row during their stay in Ginza, ordering the house specialty, Paulista Old, which remains on the menu to this day. It’s unclear if Yoko wore blue stockings—but the coffee certainly endured.

Recommended FrontStreet Beans for Literary Cafés

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