The Original Frappé
Greek instant coffee
by Moira Bucciarelli

Does anyone born after 1950 drink instant coffee? Apparently, lots of people do—at least in Greece. The Greek version might even taste pretty good, considering 1.5 million gallons of it are consumed there every year. As coffee professionals, you surely want to know what people are drinking on the other side of the world—and maybe even how to duplicate it at home.

Maybe you remember Nescafé from the '70s, that innocent, pre-specialty coffee era when a can of desiccated brown nuggets conjured up wooly romance, served in an etched glass, globe-shaped mug. Leave it to the Greeks to keep the spirit of Nescafé alive in the ubiquitous beverage they call frappé.

After arriving at the spanking new Venizelos Airport outside Athens, one of the first billboards you'll see on the drive to the city is for Nescafé frappé: two dolphins bottlenose their way toward a tall glass of dark, foamy liquid. The sign is your first clue that Greeks have a mysterious love for this iced-coffee concoction. So what's the chemistry behind this affair? Those tiny brown crystals—spray-dried remains of a cup of coffee—once in contact with cold water and sugar, then sealed in a plastic cup and swiftly shaken, yield a fluffy, caramel-colored froth. Pour this foam into a glass and dilute it with water and milk—oriste!—you have frappé.

According to Nestlé legend, this unfussy coffee drink was discovered by accident at the Thessaloniki International Trade Fair of 1957. A Nestlé employee named Yiannis Vakondios was desperate for a cup of coffee. Necessity being the mother of invention, he poured water and coffee crystals into a shaker being marketed for another Nestlé product and shook the two together, and the frappé was born.

Greek consumption of Nescafé—at almost 1.5 million gallons per year—places the country at number 13 in the world for per capita coffee consumption. Not bad for a population of 10 million. Evidence of frappémania is everywhere during summertime, with café tables cluttered with tall, foam-filled glasses.

The typical time for a frappé is between 11 a.m. and noon, when it heals the previous night's bacchanalian bruises and prepares the psyche for the midday heat. This is followed by the chance for a late afternoon pick-me-up around 5 to 6 p.m. Then at around 9 p.m., frappes are often consumed as a wakeup drink to rev the body for reveling. It is the ultimate social drink—you won't see frappé drinkers alone. Greeks have discussions, spin their komboloi beads, chain smoke and sip frappés; they are social folk. When Greeks say, "Let's meet for a drink," they usually mean coffee. Alcohol is psychically paired with food for Greeks, either during or immediately following a meal.

Athens offers some choice spots to enjoy a frappé. Some of the best are along the pedestrian walkway (Pezothromos) in Thissio. Walk up the hill toward the Acropolis from the Thissio metro station, and you soon hit café central. At the intersection with Athinogoras Street, any café will offer you a magnificent view of the Acropolis as you sip your frappé. And in an unprecedented move to accommodate Americans, frappé décaféiné—decaf frappé—is now available.

It is perhaps a myth that ouzo is the national drink of Greeks. Take a look around when you're in Greece—be it on a sunny Cycladic island or a busy urban street—and you will see that frappé wins, hands down.

Foam is Where the Heart Is

A conversation with Marios Dimitriadis, division manager for Nestlé Hellas, dispels the mysteries of frappé for the American coffee drinker: To understand frappé, says Dimitriadis, you have to understand foam. "The existence of foam is the ultimate quality of frappé. Without it, you just have a cold cup of coffee, which anyone knows is disgusting."

Foam is partly aesthetic, though—drink it quickly, and the custardy layer sinks to the bottom. Linger over your drink, and some of the buoyant layer will dissolve into your frappé. "The question of foam is one of both quantity and density," Dimitriadis says. "The ideal foam is more like a layer of cream the density of mayonnaise." But you neither want too much foam, nor too little. "Like everything in life," Dimitriadis sagely informs me, "there is a balance."

 

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