How Publik Coffee redefined Salt Lake City.
On any given day in Salt Lake City, both locations of Publik Coffee hum with activity. Laptops are open. Coffee cups clink. Someone settles into a seat by the window as if they’ve been there a thousand times before — because they probably have. Regulars enjoy meals at Publik Kitchen on 9th and 9th while the U of U community drops in to Publik Ed’s for coffee, tots, and toast.
The Publik ecosystem isn’t accidental, it’s been created by design, intention, and a culture built carefully over time.
The original Publik Coffee turns twelve this year, a milestone that feels almost improbable in an industry where survival itself is an achievement. Founded by Missy Greis in 2014, Publik helped redefine how the city gathers in coffee shops and restaurants. In fact, Publik is Dutch for “community” and that’s what Greis and her destinations have created.
“People think we’re this big, wildly profitable brand,” Greis says, half-laughing. “We’re not. What we are is a community service.”
That framing — practical, honest, a little irreverent — sums up both Greis and the businesses she’s built.
Publik Welcomes Salt Lake City
When Greis opened the original downtown Publik Roastery in January 2014, Salt Lake City’s coffee culture was still emerging. There were good options but nothing quite like Publik. The aesthetic was cleaner, brighter, more West Coast. The vibe was serious about coffee without being ridiculous about it.
Greis had lived in Salt Lake since 1997, long enough to understand the city and its contradictions. She’d owned the small building on 900 South and 900 East for years — long before it became Publik Kitchen — watching businesses cycle through, neighborhoods evolve, and expectations slowly shift.
“I’ve always been interested in creating space,” she says. “Not just businesses. Space for people to do things.”
Publik Coffee was modeled loosely on West Coast cafés Greis admired in San Francisco and Seattle, where coffee, design, and community coexisted naturally. But the mission was, and still is, about being what Salt Lake City residents need and guiding the city and culture to become what it should be.
Publik’s expansion unfolded organically and sometimes chaotically.
After the downtown roastery and then a small coffee bar at the Kimball Art Center in Park City, Publik Coffee opened its West Temple location in 2014. In 2016, Publik Kitchen followed in the very building Greis had purchased nearly two decades earlier. Then another Publik location opened just 90 days later.
Publik Ed’s arrived just off the University of Utah campus in 2018 after a sudden vacancy left behind dishes, furniture, and a sense of unfinished business. “You could’ve turned on the lights and opened,” Greis recalls. “It was wild.”
Today, Publik operates four distinct locations and employs 67 people, with layered leadership, deep internal training, and a notable lack of employee churn between stores.
“People don’t bounce around,” Greis says. “They build relationships. This becomes their home.”
Each Publik location nods to its roots through subtle signatures: vertical white subway tile, warm wood, thoughtful light. Enough consistency that you always know you’re in a Publik, but variety and individuality that feels distinct.
“They all have their own personalities,” Greis beams. “That comes from the teams.”
The Third Space
Ask Greis what Publik has given Salt Lake City, and she doesn’t hesitate.
“A place for people to do things.”
She talks about students who wrote theses at Publik over the course of a year. Couples who met on first dates and later married. One even hosted their wedding at Publik Kitchen. Regulars who visit two or three locations in a single day as part of a personal routine.
“It’s a third space,” she explains. “Not home. Not work. Something else.”
That concept — so often discussed in urban planning circles — has become a lived reality inside Publik’s walls. People don’t just pass through. They linger. They belong.
A Business That Refuses to Be Neutral
Long before it was fashionable or safe for businesses to take public stances, Greis made it clear where she stood.
“Salt Lake is a city where you have to take a stand,” she says simply. “We know who we are. We know who our community is. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
That has meant visible support for nonprofits, allowing organizations to use Publik’s spaces, posting signs that reflect shared values, and consistently showing for causes that matter locally. It also meant accepting that not everyone will agree.
“If I piss off five or six people but 2,000 feel seen?” she says, “I’m fine with that.”
For Greis, it’s an obligation.
“I don’t have piles of money to throw at problems,” she says. “But I have space. And visibility. And I can say, ‘You belong here.’”
Another of Pubik’s guiding beliefs is “planet over profit,” which ensures that Salt Lake is environmentally unharmed by what they do. The roastery, which produces small-batch, roasted-to-order coffees, is 100% solar powered and filters out 96% of the particulates from the roasting process with an oxidizer. Coffee bags are biodegradable and all of the Publik menus utilize locally sourced ingredients.
The Power of Collective Action
If Publik’s first years were about defining culture, the pandemic years were about survival and solidarity.
During COVID, Salt Lake’s restaurant community banded together in ways that still surprise Greis. A group text thread of restaurant owners became a lifeline, a place to trade information about PPP loans, closures, mask mandates, and staffing.
Out of that chaos came one of the city’s most ambitious grassroots efforts: a multi-restaurant subscription delivery program. Every Thursday, dozens of restaurants dropped food at Shades Brewing, where owners themselves packed bags inside a cooler in puffy jackets and sorted deliveries by zip code.
“It was a disaster,” Greis admits, laughing. “We messed something up every single week.”
But it worked. Not financially, but spiritually. It kept restaurants visible, staff working, and customers connected. It reminded people that Salt Lake’s food scene was people showing up for each other.
“We were closed. We were scared. But we were doing something,” Greis remembers. “That mattered.”
Leadership Beyond Coffee
Greis’s influence extends well beyond Publik’s doors. She serves on boards including the Salt Lake City Police Foundation, where she advocates for community-centered programs that include basketball leagues, summer camps, and, most importantly, relationship-building initiatives that humanize both officers and residents.
She’s also deeply involved in fundraising for the Utah Museum of Contemporary Art’s forthcoming relocation, helping raise millions to bring a long-imagined project closer to reality.
“I thrive on creating connections,” she says. “If I can use whatever influence I have to do that, why wouldn’t I?”
Looking Forward
Today, Greis isn’t slowing down but she’s shifting focus. She talks about writing, health, and skiing when Utah finally delivers good snow. She encourages people — gently but firmly — to leave their houses, stop relying on delivery apps, and rejoin their communities.
“You can DoorDash everything now,” she sighs. “But that’s not culture. That’s convenience.”
Publik, she believes, exists as a counterpoint to that isolation. A reminder that cities are built through presence, not transactions.
Twelve years in, Publik’s success isn’t measured in margins or expansion plans. It’s measured in the quiet, constant evidence of connection — people choosing to gather, again and again, in spaces that ask nothing more than participation.
“I know good things have happened here,” Greis says. “Because people were able to be in these spaces.”
And in Salt Lake City, that might be the most enduring legacy of all.
Feature Image: Taeler Duran, Missy Greis, owner of Publik Concepts, Sarah Mohammed, manager of Publik Kitchen, and Z Johnson. Photos by John Taylor.
