Battlefield Coffee: How Ukraine’s Coffee Culture Survived and Thrived During War

In the early hours of 24 February 24 2022, as Russian missiles struck cities across Ukraine, life changed in an instant. Sirens wailed, families fled, soldiers mobilised and the rhythms of ordinary life were upended. Yet in the days and weeks that followed, amongst the rubble and sandbags, one aroma remained strangely familiar: the rich, earthy scent of freshly brewed coffee. Across Ukraine — in Kyiv, Lviv, Kharkiv, and even near the front lines — people kept making coffee. What began as a quiet act of normalcy became a resilient ritual, and by 2025 Ukraine’s coffee culture has not only endured but adapted and flourished in the most improbable places.

A Nation Already in Love With Coffee

Long before the war Ukraine had cultivated a strong relationship with coffee. Cities like Lviv had built reputations on old world coffee houses steeped in Austro-Hungarian tradition, while Kyiv had developed a vibrant scene of new wave coffee shops serving cold brews and oat milk lattes with hipster flair. Coffee was not just a beverage but a cultural expression — a reason to linger, to socialise, to think. When the war began, the disappearance of these daily rituals symbolised the deeper shock to the social fabric.

But they didn’t disappear for long.

The Cup That Calms the Chaos

In basements, shelters and makeshift kitchens, people began brewing coffee again — at first, as a source of comfort during blackouts and bombardments. Volunteers handed out instant coffee at train stations to displaced families. Soldiers learned to grind beans by hand at checkpoints. Aid workers from abroad were astonished not just by Ukrainians’ hospitality, but by the quality of the espresso offered even in temporary field kitchens.

Coffee became more than a beverage. It was a gesture of normalcy, an improvised therapy session, and a small assertion of control in a world shattered by violence. “If I can make coffee, the day has a shape,” one café owner in Bucha told a journalist in 2023. “Even if the windows are gone.”

Cafés That Stayed Open — and New Ones That Opened

Some café owners refused to close, even during missile attacks. In Odesa, Lviv and Dnipro, many small coffee stands and carts continued to operate, supplying caffeine to tired journalists, aid workers and civilians on edge. Some shifted to charity models: every latte paid for also paid for a soldier’s coffee near Bakhmut.

By 2023, something unexpected happened. Not only did cafés reopen — new ones began to emerge. In Kharkiv, barely a few kilometres from the Russian border, an espresso bar opened inside a bombed-out cinema lobby. In liberated Kherson, a team of returnees built a mobile coffee van out of salvaged parts and parked it near a destroyed bridge, handing out drinks for free the first month.

In Kyiv, “Coffee with a View” — a rooftop pop-up café offering skyline views of both church domes and missile defenses — became a quiet hit among locals and foreign volunteers alike. The city, though weary, rediscovered its appetite for culture and caffeine.

Front Line Baristas and Trench-Side Espresso

Meanwhile, on the front, coffee morphed into something rougher, more improvised — but no less important. Soldiers brewed espresso over portable gas stoves using Bialetti moka pots or Aeropresses mailed from abroad. Some units designated unofficial “baristas” whose sole job, in rare moments of calm, was to keep morale high with something warm and familiar.

In some areas, soldiers joked that they could gauge the day’s danger level by the strength of the coffee. “If it’s bitter and burnt, it was a bad night,” said one marine near Vuhledar in 2024. “If it’s smooth, the barista had time — maybe we’ll survive.”

Bean Supply Chains and Wartime Roasting

War disrupted everything — but not entirely. Roasters in western Ukraine picked up the slack from those in the east. Importers rerouted supply chains through Poland and Romania. Ukrainian businesses began sourcing green beans directly from cooperative farms in Latin America, often with solidarity deals or fair trade guarantees.

Some cafés began roasting their own beans in-house for the first time, and roasters embraced patriotic branding: “Victory Blend”, “Ghost of Kyiv Roast”, and “Resilience Espresso” became staples of care packages sent to the front. Ukrainian brands replaced some international giants, and domestic pride began to infuse even this humble commodity.

Coffee as Resistance and Identity

By 2025, coffee had become an unlikely but powerful symbol of national resilience. Images of troops sipping coffee from tin mugs in snow-covered trenches became as iconic as drone footage or battlefield maps. In bombed cities, “We are open for coffee” signs became defiant slogans of civilian endurance.

Even in exile, Ukrainian refugees brought their habits abroad. Pop-up Ukrainian cafés opened in Warsaw, Berlin, and Toronto — blending traditional comfort foods with sharp espresso and raising money for resistance efforts back home.

At a deeper level, coffee helped Ukrainians hold onto identity — not just in opposition to Russian aggression, but in affirmation of the civil society they were defending. It was a ritual rooted in community, culture and calm — everything that war seeks to erase.

Conclusion: Brewing Hope in the Midst of Ruins

As the war enters its fourth year, Ukraine’s coffee culture is no longer just a story of survival — it is one of quiet triumph. From the ruins of cities to the bustle of refugee camps, from mobile cafés near artillery lines to the buzzing espresso machines of Kyiv’s technology workers, the simple act of making coffee has become a stubborn affirmation of life.

In Ukraine, even under shellfire, the kettle whistles. The beans are ground. The aroma wafts through broken windows. And someone — soldier or civilian — smiles into their cup and drinks, as if to say: We are still here. We still live. We still brew.