Coffee in Myanmar doesn’t shout its story—it simmers, steady and surprising. From colonial seeds to a modern specialty scene, this coffee’s path is less about flash and more about persistence. Let’s walk through how it got here.
It starts in 1885, when British colonists brought robusta to what was then Burma, planting around Pyin Oo Lwin. Missionaries took the lead, setting up small farms in a subtropical climate that welcomed the crop. It grew quietly—no big push, just a side note to rice and trade. Things shifted in the 1930s when Catholic missionaries introduced arabica to the Shan Highlands. With elevations climbing high and volcanic soil in play, it found a home. By 1935-36, production hit 268 tons—175 exported, the rest roasted locally. Not bad for a slow burn, but independence in 1948 changed that. Myanmar turned inward with civil war, and coffee faded into the darkness.
For decades, it stayed small. Under military rule, robusta trickled out informally to neighbors like China and Thailand—nothing fancy, just enough to get by. Arabica lingered in the highlands, nurtured by farmers with little fanfare. In the 1980s, the government, with UN help, nudged coffee as a swap for opium poppies in Shan State—a good idea, but with terrible execution. Progress stalled under isolation and unrest, keeping coffee off the world’s radar.
The shift came in 2011, when Myanmar started opening up. By 2014, USAID and Winrock International stepped in, teaming with the Coffee Quality Institute to lift the game. Small farmers in Shan State—often working tiny plots—learned the ropes: careful picking, natural processing, quality checks. In 2016, specialty arabica broke out, landing in Western cups with scores in the 80s and 90s. Today, Myanmar’s turning out 3,500-7,500 tons a year, mostly arabica, from Shan and Mandalay. It’s got a signature—sweet, spicy, earthy—from high altitudes and hands-on care.
Challenges linger—rough roads, limited tech, ongoing tensions—but the ambition’s there. The Myanmar Coffee Association, born in 2014, dreams of 60,000 tons by 2030. It’s a climb, not a sprint, and that’s what makes this coffee worth a sip. From a colonial footnote to a specialty contender, Myanmar’s brew carries a story of patience and quiet strength, and a damn good cup of coffee.