translated from Korean

How Did Gangneung Become a Coffee City?

A food becomes a local resource not because its ingredients originate there, but because a dense, place-bound experience turns it into something that can be tasted only there.

[문상윤의 로컬푸드 이야기] 원두는 수입인데 왜 '강릉 커피'인가
Pressian · By 문상윤 식품영양학 박사 · 15 June 2026 · read the original in Korean →

Let us begin with a single question. How did Gangneung become a “city of coffee”? No one would answer that it is because coffee trees grow in Gangneung.

Nearly all the green coffee beans we drink are imports that have crossed over from near the equator, and Gangneung is no exception. And yet people go to Gangneung to drink coffee.

They line up at cafes with a view of the sea, make pilgrimages from one roastery to another, and gather at coffee festivals. The raw material has come from the other side of the earth, but the experience itself is unmistakably Gangneung’s.

Hidden inside this paradox is the most important secret of local food and culinary tourism.

The condition that allows a food to become a resource for a region is not “Were the ingredients produced there?” but “Can that experience be enjoyed only there?” I call this the “locality of experience.”

Wine has terroir; cities have experience.와인에는 테루아가 있고, 도시에는 경험이 있다

No discussion of wine omits the word terroir. It is the idea that even the same grape variety will taste entirely different depending on soil, climate, and the conditions of the land, and that wine is therefore the product of a place that cannot be replicated.

The value of local food based on agricultural products originally begins from this terroir. What a region’s soil and sunlight have raised cannot be made in exactly the same way elsewhere.

But preference foods such as coffee and bread, which depend on imported ingredients, have no terroir. Does that mean they can never become regional resources?

Not at all. This is because the place where the terroir of raw materials is absent is filled instead by the “terroir of experience.” In what space, with what story, and through whose hands do you encounter that cup and that slice? The moment the sum of these experiences becomes bound to a place, it becomes a gastronomy possible only in that city. That is how Gangneung’s coffee and Daejeon’s bread became resources.

What matters is that the locality of experience does not arise on its own. It is a matter of density. A single cafe is not enough. Only when roasteries and baristas, festivals and streets, the scenery and stories of the city all come together and pass a critical threshold is a “reason to go to that city” finally created. If a single attraction, an anchor, draws people in, what makes them stay and return is the density of experience spread throughout the city.

And now, even imported crops are acquiring “places of origin.”그리고, 수입 작물에도 '산지'가 생기고 있다

There is one point to add here. I have described coffee as an imported crop, but in fact there are farms in Korea that grow coffee trees directly. These are farms in places such as Gangwon, Chungcheong, South Gyeongsang, and Jeju that cultivate coffee in greenhouses and plastic houses, allowing visitors to experience harvesting and roasting as well. They are not on a scale that could make commercial self-sufficiency possible. Yet their value as tourism and experiential resources is clear.

If anything, these experiential coffee farms are the clearest example of the “locality of experience.” People do not visit them because their coffee is cheap or overwhelmingly superior in quality. They go to buy the experience itself: seeing coffee trees growing in Korea with their own eyes, picking the fruit, and roasting the beans.

This is a classic case in which not the economic value of the ingredient but the rarity of the experience becomes the resource. From the standpoint of someone who studies food, it is also a form of sixth industrialization, transforming a primary agricultural product, green coffee beans, into a tertiary experience of tourism, education, and processing. Whether bread or coffee, the essence lies not in where the ingredient comes from, but in what one turns it into.

Cafes and bakeries are the best “outlets” for local agricultural products.카페와 빵집은 지역 농산물의 가장 좋은 '출구'다

When one emphasizes the locality of experience, a misunderstanding can arise. It may sound as though it does not matter where the ingredients come from.

But what I mean to say is precisely the opposite. Cafes and bakeries endowed with the locality of experience are the very channels that can bring local agricultural products in most effectively.

Consider this. Coffee beans themselves are imported, but a substantial share of cafe sales comes from desserts, baked goods, and signature drinks. And almost all the secondary ingredients in these can be sourced locally.

Milk and eggs, seasonal fruit, rice and beans, honey and nuts. A spring-only drink made with local strawberries, a dessert baked with local rice, a latte made with local milk: these become forms of differentiation that no franchise, serving the same cup anywhere in the country, can imitate.

The same is true of bakeries. The flour may be imported, but the red beans, chestnuts, fruits, and vegetables that go into the bread can be local.

Think of the nearly 100,000 coffee shops across the country, and of Daejeon’s bakeries, which vie for the highest density per capita in Korea.

If these vast sites of processing and consumption embrace local agricultural products even little by little, the total will by no means be small. Cafes and bakeries are not mere spaces of consumption; they can become processing-demand hubs for local farm products and the most familiar media for promoting them. Customers taste the region’s agricultural products every day through those drinks and breads, and through that taste they come to remember the place.

In the end, what deepens experience is science and story.경험을 깊게 하는 것은 결국 과학과 이야기다

Then what deepens the locality of experience? I believe there are two things. One is story, and the other is science.

Story tells us where that cup and that slice have come from: the philosophy of the person who roasted the beans, the name of the local farm whose produce went into the bread, the history the city has formed with that food. When this narrative is layered onto it, even the same coffee tastes different.

Science raises that experience into objective language. It analyzes the aromas and flavors of coffee as they change according to origin and roasting degree, and it identifies the flavors that fermentation and aging impart to bread.

Just as research into the aromas and flavors of coffee and tea has led those industries toward greater refinement, the experience of our own preference foods becomes more durable when supported by science. When the “it tastes good” that once remained in the realm of sensation can be explained as “why it tastes good,” experience finally becomes expertise.

The place of origin of raw materials is a condition we cannot choose. But the locality of experience is something we create.

Gangneung has proved this with the sea and coffee; Daejeon, with railways and bread.

The next question is clear. How can we cultivate this experience, and the flow of local agricultural products it draws in, into a sustainable future for the region? In the next essay, I intend to discuss that path.

Y done · S save · G great · B bad · N not for me