All who visit Ōsaka, local or otherwise, know that there’s good coffee here. But many visitors wonder, where is the good coffee?
Who can blame them? Ōsaka is a labyrinthine, large metropolis and it’s not known particularly for lattes; entertainment, food, and commerce form the core of Ōsaka’s soul. For laughs, there’s Yoshimoto Shinkigeki, the homegrown talent agency that hires most of Japan’s owarai geinin (comedians). For fare, there’s takoyaki, kushikatsu, and an okonomiyaki scene to rival that of Hiroshima City. And for finance, the Kitahama business district holds a special significance in global derivatives market history.
Don’t be shocked if Ōsaka’s cultural quirks end up in your coffee. Go almost anywhere in Kansai’s unofficial capital, and an affable barista, chattier than your average Tōkyōan, will brew you a thick dashi (broth) coffee characteristic of the region. There may even be, as at W&B Delicious Service, the rare-for-Japan tip jar, or, as at The Münch, a 28-year-old, cask-aged coffee priced at $725 per cup.
In fact, to name Ōsaka’s standout shops would take an eternity–Söt and LiLo spring immediately to mind. But, as the best cafes don’t always have the longest lines, we here at Sprudge set out to underscore eight of Ōsaka’s deeper cuts: hyper-local shops that may take legwork to reach but will be worth the pilgrimage.
Regardless of where you end up (perhaps en route to the World Expo 2025, Ōsaka?), we are sure that you will find at least one specialty cafe here to suit you. But probably eight.
Hona ikoka!
Sloth Coffee Roasters (Nakatsu)
Sloth Coffee Roasters (Nakatsu) has a homey, hybrid feel.
This may be intentional, as Sloth’s helmsman, Korean native Ganu Park, localized himself to Ōsaka for the simple reason that he “wanted a lifestyle change.”
Korean cafe culture in Ōsaka? Yes, but not exclusively. Park founded Sloth in 2023 because he “wanted a space where coffee lovers, irrespective of taste or skill, could gather and drink coffee together. The goal was to make a brand that was approachable, even for beginners.”
Well, I’ve broken a few Bodums in my lifetime, and I still find Sloth’s coffee approachable. My Shine-Muscat Ethiopia espresso was agreeably sweet, punched out as it was on a cherry/chrome La Marzocco KB90.
On his Stronghold S7 X, Park roasts for profile and aroma, “targeting a specific weight loss rate” to create what he claims is a “cleaner” cup that “drinks like tea.” Is it any wonder then that Sloth’s Park finished second in the 2024 Ambessa Japan Roast Competition?
In his time in Ōsaka (and Kōbe), Park has acculturated to Japan’s growth mindset (seichō). As he puts it, “The shop’s name alludes to a namake mono, or sloth, which implies that our business started later than others, and that we still have limited coffee experience compared to many. But like a sloth, we will move forward. Step by step.”
Sloth is moving faster than its owner puts on.
School Bus Coffee Stop Kitahama
Tourists: skip the Glico Man, take the subway to the Securities Exchange Building (the Kitahama stop), and cafe crawl. Moto Coffee has a branch across the street from the station, and Brooklyn Coffee Roasters and Embankment wait for you southeast.
And so does School Bus Coffee Stop Kitahama, our next cafe.
School Bus is a side project of School Bus Kūkan Sekkei, an interior renovation company. One of their representatives, Tanaka san, visited the U.S.’s West Coast to study “mixed-modern” refurbished spaces. Eventually he found his way to Portland and Coava Coffee Roasters, who would later supply School Bus’s coffee. In 2017, with the help of barista Minami Hashimoto, Tanaka san inaugurated School Bus Coffee Stop on the firm’s first floor. Since then, five other School Bus Stops have rolled out everywhere from Kyōto to Fukuoka.
And it’s not hard to see why West Coast roasts have spread so easily here in Japan. School Bus’s honten (main branch) is America-warm (think bookshelves, communal seating, and a broad bar), and the place has a supersized menu: tea, flat whites, piccolos, honey flat whites, mochaccinos–even hot dogs.
School Bus fills up during lunchtime, and the food’s a touch expensive, but it’s unpretentious in its execution and the coffee is excellent.
Ue.
Ue.’s graces have yet to be fully sung in English, maybe due to its solitude or its newness–Ue opened up just last November.
But it won’t stay underrated for long. Ue’s funiki (atmosphere), partly the work of Transform Inc. renovators, is heavenly: when I sat at the terrazzo bar there, a Neil Young LP filtered in from overhead. Spacious windows let in sunlight.
Shinya Ueda, Ue.’s creator, handed me my Ethiopia blend shot in a gold-glancing cup made by Yoshiaki Imamura of Okinawa (nice comes at a price: the ceramic demitasse costs ninety bucks–but you can drink from it for free with the price of your espresso). And what an espresso I had! Rhubarb, raspberry, red apple… at some point adjectives fail.
Ueda san heightens his green coffee’s quality by “building relationships with reliable importers and producers first.” He light-roasts to showcase origin and variety.
“My mission is to enrich lives through specialty coffee,” Ueda tells me, putting down his portafilter. Ue means “up” in Japanese; all the skill shines through Ueda san’s shop, which is certainly a cut above the rest.
Aoma Coffee
I first heard about Aoma Coffee at Kyōto’s Black Cat Coffee and later at Okayama’s Aburakame Art Space, which was hosting Aoma’s goods. I chanced upon Aoma in Kurasu Journal and Typica. But what was Aoma, this Hommachi hub that had so many people talking? And how did it get so popular in five short years? I had to see it for myself.
And when I finally got to Aoma, Hiroshi Aono, the proprietor, was staring deeply into a Probat’s bed of coffee, inspecting them for “raw potential,” as he put it.
Aono crafts his coffee, he says, from a “literary” angle; a Coffea fruit’s first chapter is its terroir and farmers. Naturally, Aono goes on origin trips (to Colombia and Tanzania, for example) to parse his product’s story.
And at Aoma’s bar, I tasted a seasonal woriwori Colombia/El Salvador espresso blend, a double shot, ground on a Mazzer Robur S and pulled on a Synesso S200. What else can I say? My ’spro tasted like fruit when it hit–orange zest and Hershey’s chocolate.
It seems the denouement of Aono san’s coffee, then, lies on the palate; and now I know what all the buzz was about.
Coffee Taiga
How about a Kansai “deep roast”? For that, subway to Tennōji and get off at the Tsuruhashi stop. At the end of a lane of quiet houses, cater-cornered to a karate studio, lies Coffee Taiga, a refugia for authentic Ōsakan pour-overs.
“It’s a little bit sad,” Taiga san told me, “that in Ōsaka in 2025, there are fewer shops that offer dark roast coffee, and even those that do appear to be decreasing.”
But this is specialty coffee we’re dealing with. With resoluteness, Taiga san directed hot water over my to-go Kenya’s grounds. His gaze was laser-like.
“The key is to keep going. That is all,” said Taiga.
My takeout hand-drip was fresh and full-flavored–an earthy respite from Eastern Japan’s tea-like brews. Taiga’s coffee, I should mention, held its own against the superlative sugar donut I ordered.
“When making coffee,” Taiga san told me, “I ask three questions: does it have an enticing aroma? Does it leave a lingering aftertaste? And is it still delicious when it cools?”
Delicious is an understatement.
Had I stayed, I could have sipped from one of Murasawa Tōen’s cups or supped on any of Ohnishi Masafumi’s ravishing dishes. I will have to leave that for my next of many visits.
Aun Coffee
Rule 27? “Coffee and food play well together.”
Expert baker Kyōsuke Fuji first worked strictly as a pâtissier, until he discovered “that pastries alone were not enough. One must also have great coffee!” To complement his artistry in tarts, in 2024, Fuji san launched Aun Coffee across from Shittenō-ji, Ōsaka’s oldest Buddhist temple. Much was brought to the table: Fuji san’s Aun has peerless chocolate chip cookies, butter scones, and pound cakes (and try the “financier,” a square pastry featuring 100% maple syrup).
We all love baked goods, but how’s the coffee? Well, my Guatemala/Ethiopia/Brazil blend, “roasted expressly for combining with sweets,” made for a superb shot, and it came, moreover, with fine sekkyaku (customer service).
From the business end of a Sanremo Zoe, Fuji san remarked, “We go beyond the simple equation of ‘1+1=2’; we want all elements–people, time, space, coffee, and sweets–to harmonize. Our name comes from the phrase ‘Aun no Kokyū,’ which refers to perfect timing in collaboration.”
Fuji san went on, “We cup to assess consistency and quality, staying up to date with new methodologies to better suit our coffee. We believe that through addition, better possibilities emerge.”
With a new roastery planned for 2025, a growing customer base, and a distinct synergizing scheme, I’d say the possibilities at Aun are pretty endless.
Coffee Long Season
Takuya Okita opened his small cafe in Abeno back in 2022—”on February 9th,” he tells me. Takuya’s kettle twirls over a Kalita Wave. I chose a Colombia El Naranjo Pink Bourbon for my drink. I could have had an Ethiopia Tabe Burka Washed. Or a Kenya Ruarai AA.
Okita san’s Coffee Long Season offers tasteful selections, to be sure. He brings years of discernment to each pour-over (eight years in Ōsaka’s Tamakura Coffee Roasters and two in his native Fukuoka’s Coffee County, to be exact).
“I want to deliver a coffee that feels as comfortable and familiar as the records playing in the shop,” Okita san continues. “That, I believe, represents the ‘terroir’ of Coffee Long Season.” A Probat roaster’s in the corner. There’s a Scandinavian couch. A carved bear. “Compared to Tōkyō, there are fewer specialty shops here in Ōsaka,” Okita san says, “so all the cafes here need to have a clear identity. That makes it easier for customers to enjoy their coffee.”
How best to describe Long Season’s hand-drips–as most enjoyable? And what to say of Okita san’s hygge hideout? Words fall flat. The little joys in life–the big ones, too–are untranslatable.
Red Stone Coffee Kitanoda Honten
Red Stone Coffee Kitanoda Honten is the last stop on our long Ōsaka list, and it’s a 25-minute train ride south of Namba (barely in Sakai).
The beginning of wisdom is to know things by their names, and Red Stone’s name comes from its founder’s, Akaishi (literally, “red stone” in Japanese). The branding on the front door and the logos on the cups reference Red Stone’s La Pavoni Diamante.
At Red Stone you will find, among much else, marocchinos, shakeratos, and inexpensive shots ($1.60 each); sans sugar, my double had that rubbery robusta bite that sweetens instantly to caramel. Soddisfazione!
“I always roast the beans,” Akaishi explains, “to a medium-dark roast–never light–to ensure authentic expression.”
Akaishi is, you guessed it, an Italophile (he’s operatic, too, on YouTube). Red Stone’s leader frequents Rome and rattles off the tasting notes for Florentine and Napoleon espressos (the latter’s darker). Akaishi bought a Wega Vela Vintage Lever Operated Espresso Machine to boot.
So Italy’s stamp is everywhere impressed at Red Stone–with the exception of the made-in-Japan Fuji Royal 1kg roaster in the corner. Here you have a true melding of cultures, creating something distinctly Osakan.
Michael Joseph is a freelance journalist and photographer based in Hiroshima. Read more Michael Joseph for Sprudge.
