After a particularly long day of listening to atomic bomb survivor testimony for my Fulbright research, I turned to my translator Kanade who already knew what I was going to ask. We needed to go for coffee.

Having spent the previous year in Rwanda living in a Youth Village for vulnerable teens, I not only grew a taste for well-sourced coffee, I developed an affinity for places where the local farmer would get as much of my money as possible. Starbucks wasn’t going to cut it for us. Luckily, Hiroshima is overloaded with fair trade, independent coffee roasters. She knew the perfect place to take me, and it wasn’t even a coffee shop. “I come to this store all the time to