In a viral TikTok video that has amassed over 82,000 likes, the camera zooms in on the shelves of a Pennsylvania coffee shop. Three rows are stacked with an array of Torani syrups in familiar flavors like blueberry, brown-sugar cinnamon, English toffee, and salted caramel. “I just know my latte isn’t going to be good,” the caption reads. Across social media platforms, similar sentiments are echoed by disillusioned consumers. “If I see these at a cafe, I’m walking out immediately,” declares one widely shared tweet co-signed by numerous commenters. In a multipart video series, another creator meticulously documents her journey of replacing all of her pantry Torani syrups with alternatives sourced strictly from small businesses. Last year, the niche food newsletter Unsnackable even published what was explicitly described as a “Torani tirade.”
While Torani frequently bears the brunt of this online backlash—largely by virtue of its massive market dominance—it is not an isolated issue. Competitor Monin faces similar scrutiny, drawing criticism across online forums like Reddit over allegations from consumers that it tastes “like chemicals.” For a growing segment of specialty beverage drinkers, the core issue has expanded to include premade, mass-market syrups across the board.
For these consumers, rows of commercial plastic or glass bottles have transformed into an unmistakable coffee shop red flag. They serve as a visual signal that a so-called specialty establishment asking customers to fork over eight dollars plus tip for a latte is unfairly cutting corners when it comes to quality, authenticity, and craft. To this demographic, mass-market syrups symbolize corporate standardization—the very impersonal institutions that many patrons are deliberately trying to escape when they choose to support a local small business. On the flip side, for independently owned coffee shops across the country, crafting house-made syrups has suddenly emerged as a major business opportunity.
When Carrie and Dennis Medina first envisioned their coffee shop, Room Service, in Ventura, California, they intended to adopt a purist approach similar to the one practiced at Sightglass Coffee, where they both began their careers in the industry. “Very purist, with no syrups, no specialty drinks,” Dennis recalls. They initially imagined offering eight distinct types of pour-over coffee and placing an absolute emphasis on single-origin beans, a philosophy that aligned naturally with their separate venture running a local roastery. “We said we’re never gonna do cream tops; we’re never gonna do these crazy drinks,” Carrie adds. Yet, during their very first week in business, every single customer walked through the door asking for precisely those items.
Today, Room Service offers between 10 and 12 different syrups at any given time, alongside six different styles of cream tops, all of them prepared entirely in-house. The menu features elaborate creations such as a cinnamon roll latte topped with a literal miniature cinnamon roll, and a honey cornbread latte finished with an ube cream top. “I hear that question all the time,” Dennis says. “’Hey, do you guys make your syrups in-house?’” In his view, a contemporary coffee shop that fails to make at least the basic flavors, such as vanilla, from scratch is quickly “falling behind what the times are pushing for.”
The local demand for intricate syrups and artisanal embellishments has become so intense that the Medinas have hired a full-time prep person who works exclusively on producing “all these things that we do in-house that make us special,” according to Carrie. Room Service’s seasonal pumpkin spice latte, for instance, begins with whole kabocha squash. The squash is roasted, blended with traditional spices like cloves and cinnamon, and meticulously cooked down into a syrup—a multi-day process. Echoing a pragmatic sentiment shared by many coffee shop owners navigating today’s culinary landscape, Carrie describes their operational approach as “not necessarily the coffee shop we wanted, but it’s more like the coffee shop we have to be.” If the market demands complex syrups and cream tops, the Medinas wanted to ensure that the rigorous intention and emphasis on quality they applied to their coffee beans carried over completely to every component of the drink.
A similar evolution occurred in Ohio. In 2025, Michael Smith opened Trust Coffee Co. in Bay Village, taking over, completely remodeling, and rebranding an older existing coffee shop. Like the Medinas, he initially envisioned a more traditional, pour-over, third-wave style establishment. “लेकिन I’ve been a business owner for a long time,” says Smith, who also manages a local restaurant and a catering business. “I’ve realized over the years that your customers tell you more about who you are than who you actually think you are.” As it turned out, his clientele was clamoring for seasonal syrups featuring niche, sophisticated flavor profiles like maple rosemary, caramelized banana, and strawberry rhubarb.
The purist approach is no longer coffee’s north star; the maximalist has firmly taken its place.
We are currently living through an era of food culture that the New York Times has dubbed “hyperflavor,” in which familiar, everyday foods are rendered novel and interesting through the addition of complex, unexpected flavor combinations. The inclusion of miso in a peanut butter or chocolate chip cookie, once groundbreaking, has become practically banal. Naturally, specialty coffee drinks have followed this exact trajectory. While a studied self-seriousness once governed pour-over coffee meant to be consumed strictly black, the tide has turned, directing that same level of precision and craft toward the previously derided and sometimes frivolous category of the sweet-treat coffee drink. The way specialty cafes now approach these creations feels far more aligned with how a pastry chef might assemble a plated dessert, or how a skilled bartender builds a sophisticated cocktail.
While bottled syrups like Monin—which the previous iteration of Smith’s shop utilized—still “serve a purpose in the industry,” Smith notes that he ultimately wanted total creative control over his menu. To achieve this, two full-time pastry chefs from Smith’s other culinary ventures now oversee the creation of the coffee shop’s syrups. “It’s become such a huge thing,” he explains, noting that every time Trust’s social media manager announces a new syrup flavor, lines stretch out the door for days. “It sets us apart.”
When Sabrina Kaylor opened the first location of Bizarre Coffee in Canton, Georgia, in 2020, the shop relied entirely on bottled syrups. Having never worked in the coffee industry prior to opening, she found that approach simply felt like the industry norm at the time. “It allowed us to hone our craft and learn what we were doing,” she says. Over time, however—particularly as Kaylor became active on the company’s official social media platforms—she noticed a distinct shift in consumer conversations. In the immediate post-COVID years, people were cooking and baking more at home, leading to a renewed appreciation and pride in scratch-made goods. As her business gained widespread recognition for creative lattes in flavors like blueberry, banana, and guava, Kaylor decided to transition toward making more syrups in-house. While customers rarely asked about ingredient sourcing in the early days, inquiries have now become a daily occurrence.
Despite the strong industry valorization of a completely from-scratch model, Kaylor maintains a healthy dose of skepticism regarding the current wave of severe backlash against brands like Torani and Monin. Today, roughly 90 percent of Bizarre’s beverage menu utilizes house-made syrups, yet one of its absolute best-selling drinks still relies on the bottled alternative. Given the expansive nature of their menu, producing every single flavor from scratch would demand an unsustainable investment of daily labor. Regarding the anti-Torani viral movement, Kaylor observes that much of the house-made syrup conversation is driven by marketing. As for the intense bandwagoning visible in anti-Torani memes, she views it as a standard reflection of modern consumer behavior, acknowledging that it can occasionally feel discouraging for independent small business owners trying to find their footing.
Ultimately, the broader debate over premade versus house-made syrups crystallizes a deeper economic and cultural tension between small, independent businesses and major corporations. For a growing number of consumers, the financial and social realities of the current economic climate have fostered deep skepticism regarding the growing influence of massive corporations and private equity firms within the broader food and beverage landscape.
This environment has even sparked collaborative solidarity among independent operators. The Minnesota coffee shop Little Joy gained a broad social media following by posting detailed DIY videos of its signature drink recipes. The shop subsequently launched a membership program allowing other independent coffee shop owners to purchase its proprietary recipes scaled up for commercial use, access comprehensive staff training videos, and sell the drinks without needing to attribute them to Little Joy—though participating shops can optionally pin their use of the recipes to an online Drink Finder map.
In an interview earlier this year with Eater’s industry newsletter Pre Shift, Little Joy owner Cody Larson described the system as a practical mechanism for building solidarity among independent operators. “The big coffee chains, they’re never gonna do house-made syrups, so I think that’s where independent shops can get a leg up,” he noted. “Ultimately, the chains are our competition… If independent shops can, in any way possible, raise the bar across the board, that’s good for all independent shops, including us.”
It is difficult to examine the elaborate specialty drinks emerging from independent coffee shops today—topped with dense, pillowy foams and flavored to evoke nuanced desserts like Swedish princess cake and tiramisu—without recognizing the undeniable cultural shadow of the Starbucks Frappuccino. The powerful combination of app-based ordering systems and social media “secret menu” culture has successfully mainstreamed ultra-elaborate beverage requests. This shift has allowed major chains to position themselves as purveyors of highly customized, complex beverages, cementing the overarching mindset of hyperflavor.
Addressing why consumers have steadily drifted away from the minimalist, single-origin pour-over approach that once dominated third-wave coffee shops, Smith offers a clear perspective. “My guess is that these are a lot of people who used to be Starbucks loyalists and they’re looking for something that’s more local,” he says. “It’s a trend across everything where people want local, and we’re able to provide what Starbucks did, but in a more high-quality, more local way.”
Intentionality has become the core quality that consumers gravitate toward, particularly as economic pressures cause menu prices to rise. If customers are spending significant amounts of money on a daily indulgence that clearly qualifies as a luxury, they expect reassurance that every component of that beverage has been crafted with care. When patrons make the deliberate trip to a new, independent shop, they want proof that the menu offerings cannot simply be replicated anywhere using mass-produced, easily accessible brand flavorings. For small coffee shops navigating a crowded market, meeting that demand for authenticity may depend entirely on the syrup in the bottle.
