Hu Han doesn’t stride into Müller Cafe like a big shot. More often, he’s the guy in the back, fiddling with a grinder or hauling a bag of beans, a big smile breaking through when you catch his eye. At 25, he’s the co-owner of this cozy spot in Shenyang, alongside his partner Le—a duo driven not by grand ambitions but by a quiet love for coffee and the people it brings together.
In a city of 8 million, Shenyang isn’t a sprawling giant like Shanghai, but specialty coffee is still a fresh face here. What it lacks in flash, it makes up in heart—a tight-knit community vibe that feels less commercialized, more like a neighborhood hangout than the polished cafes down south.
Hu Han is making his signature drink
Hu’s coffee story started early. “My family ran a shop when I was a kid—five or six,” he says. Back then, coffee was a puzzle: bitter to taste, but its aroma pulled him in. It wasn’t until he was a restless teen, 14 or 15, that it clicked. He slung a backpack over his shoulder and bolted to Beijing, landing at a youth hostel where Beiping Coffee served him a shot of espresso. He remembers,
“It wasn’t just bitter, there were flavors, this happiness—it hit different.”
The place buzzed with life, and suddenly coffee wasn’t just a drink—it was a feeling.
Now, a decade later, Hu and Le run Müller Coffee in Shenyang’s Peace (Heping) District. It’s not about chasing trends here. “Northeast folks are real,” Hu says with a laugh.
“It’s not as cutting-edge as Shanghai, but it’s homey.”
And that’s saying something—Shanghai’s coffee scene is exploding. By late 2023, the city boasted 9,553 coffee shops, the most of any city worldwide, with a 40% jump in takeout orders since 2019. But in Shenyang, it’s slower, simpler. Locals pop in after slurping knife-cut noodles next door, pairing it with an iced Americano like it’s nothing fancy—just part of the day. “Some want a treat, some just want coffee,” Hu shrugs. “It’s real life.”
Hu Han
Running Müller keeps Hu and Le on their toes. A day might mean fixing the cake fridge, scrubbing the sink, or brainstorming summer drinks—Hu plotting flavors, Le tweaking the vibe. They roast their own, tweaking grinds and water temps daily to coax out the best in each batch. It’s hands-on, unglamorous stuff, but it’s theirs. Regulars turn into friends, dragging Hu and Le to potlucks with rice cookers and hot plates in tow.
“We went from serving them to eating with them, that’s the good stuff.”
One day stands out. A loud guy stormed in, all swagger, like he was at a barbecue joint. “Give me your priciest thing!” he barked. Hu laughs now. “I thought, ‘This isn’t a beer hall!’ But he drank it, and he came back.” That’s Shenyang—big characters, warm souls, open to trying something new. Hu keeps it simple with customers: “What do you want?” he asks, then makes it happen. No lectures, just coffee.
The past few years have flipped China’s coffee script. Urban spots like Shanghai and Beijing are now caffeine capitals, with specialty shops popping up like wildflowers. But Hu sees Müller as something else.
“We’re not competing with that. Here, it’s about sharing.”
He’s proud of Shenyang’s scene—shops hug close, swapping tips, not fighting for turf. “It’s a hug, not a race,” he grins.
Hu’s not after fame. He and Le are just brewing connection—one cup, one chat at a time. “If you love coffee,” he says, “tell your story. That’s how we all grow.”
What’s Your Coffee Story?
