Vienna, Ausria - It seemed so brash and, to many Viennese, so American when Starbucks arrived three years ago bearing frappuccinos and caramel macchiatos into this proud capital of coffeehouse culture.

The coffee chain established its beachhead on prime real estate across from the famed Hotel Sacher and the Vienna State Opera. And this, said the management, was only the beginning. Starbucks would open a new store at least every month. By 2005, there would be 60 locations across the country.

But with 2005 only days away, Starbucks's Austrian empire stands at just eight stores in and around Vienna. That's down from 10 - two didn't make it, including one at a high-profile spot by the Naschmarkt, Vienna's beloved central outdoor market.

The perceived travails of what one newspaper called the "U.S. paper-cup store" have inspired no small amount of schadenfreude.

"We don't want to burst out in unrestrained coffeehouse chauvinism here," said a recent commentary in the daily Die Presse. "But a little satisfaction that not every standardized global chain can just take over the Naschmarkt is allowed."

Starbucks arguably has done little to inspire such gloating. It hasn't driven local coffeehouses out of business. It doesn't advertise and, aside from the hype of its grand opening, has turned out to be a relatively unobtrusive presence.

Nevertheless, for some Vienna cafe partisans, the American chain symbolizes the insidious creep of globalization. The traditional coffeehouse, in this view, stands as a noble bulwark against the uniformity brought on by mass culture.

"Individuality is the core argument for the coffeehouse," said Tobias Leibetseder, a patron at Cafe Jelinek in Vienna's residential 6th District. Table mate Angelika Karner said she had never been to Starbucks and wasn't planning to do so. "It is just too American for me," she said.

The Viennese coffeehouse, almost by definition, offers free newspapers and an oxygen supply severely compromised by the fug of cigarette smoke. The coffee is brought to the table - ideally, by a surly, tuxedo-clad waiter - on a small silver tray, accompanied by a glass of water with the coffee spoon balanced on top.

Cafe Jelinek is one of thousands of coffeehouses playing a cherished role in the life of the city. For decades, it was run by the Knapps. Guenther took care of the kitchen and made the coffee, but it was Maria's benevolent dictatorship that set the tone.

Children, dogs and cell phones were forbidden to disturb the shabby cafe's hushed ambience. A sign posted on the wall above the vintage wood-burning stove informed customers that "whoever is in a hurry will not be served," a decree that Frau Knapp had no qualms about enforcing.

Beset with hip problems and migraines, Maria Knapp wanted to retire, threatening to consign Jelinek to history. But the Haases and Schiffners, two couples who ran a traditional Austrian restaurant across the street, persuaded her to let them take over at the start of 2004.

"We always liked the place, and we always wanted to have it," Manfred Haas said. "We also didn't want anyone to destroy it."

Haas said Jelinek regulars made it clear that they wouldn't tolerate change. Children and dogs, and even cell phones and laptops, are allowed now, and customers in a hurry will not be summarily booted out. But little else has been altered.

The cafe is, as ever, heated only by the wood-burning stove. The "apfelstrudel" and other traditional Viennese pastries are made on the premises by Nicole Haas and her mother.

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