Does Summer Start With the First Glass of Iced Coffee?

Did you call it cold coffee?

It’s the first day of summer when you order an iced coffee. Yes, I am convinced of it. I drink it regularly. I grew up with it. My parents called it cold coffee. “Would you like a glass of cold coffee, Peter?” chirped my Mom from the pantry.

The other day, I read that someone declared it was the beginning of the iced coffee season and, therefore, the beginning of summer. Really? So what about iced coffee today? Why such a summer favorite?

My parents had a never-ending stash of iced coffee in a glass jug in the refrigerator (AKA icebox, Frigidaire) and attended to it often. Open the freezer, shake out some cubes from the cavity of the ice tray, refill the tray with water, return it to the freezer, add the cubes to the glass, add the milk (always before the coffee), add the coffee, tinkle, tinkle, and voila, iced coffee. Simple summer cold drink.

What is the origin of iced coffee, and why is it so expensive in today’s coffee bars?

Iced coffee’s roots likely began in Algeria in 1840. Known as Mazagran, this cold coffee beverage originated with the French military during the Battle of Mazagran. When the army ran out of milk, they added water to the coffee and drank it cold due to the brutal outdoor heat of the day.

When the veterans returned to Paris and presented the idea to café owners, Café Mazagran made its debut in France and the world.

In 1920, iced coffee was introduced in the United States and quickly gained popularity. I’m sure that not long after, my parents, avid coffee drinkers, became hooked and adopted it as their summer beverage.

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Nowadays, iced coffee is a popular drink, particularly among young people. The young generation seems more likely to drink cold coffee rather than hot coffee because it renders a more flavorful and nuanced drinking experience. Whatever. It was expensive. My parents would have considered it an unaffordable luxury.

For them, coffee was about three things: the coffee pot, the thermos, and something social. Their coffee pot was a wobbly metal percolator perched on the stove in perpetuity. “Watch the coffee, Peter. Be sure it does not boil over.” And so often it did. They ran to the first hiss, often to no avail. A mess of grinds and water doused the gas flame and hopes for a perfect brew. They somehow made the remains drinkable.

They carried sizeable thermos bottles in their lunches. The caffeine kept Dad going as he was up daily at 4:30 AM. For Mom, it contributed to her already hyperactive behavior. She worked in Providence. She started running to catch the bus to work early in the morning. During her lunch hour, with a coffee-laden thermos top in one hand, a sandwich in the other, and her handbag over her shoulder, she walked several blocks to the city to shop.

And then there was the social piece, as in, “Anna, come down for coffee,” a clarion call from her sister who lived on the first floor. They had been talking all day, but had more to say, over a cup of coffee, of course. Mom dropped everything and flew down the stairs.

Or Dad’s “Anna, how’d ya like to go out for coffee an’? In the Studs Lonigan novels, coffee an’ meant coffee, or more likely booze, and a cigarette. But for my parents, it meant something like coffee and a treat. Rather than a doughnut, their treat was strawberry shortcake and coffee at the nearby Triangle Diner on a Saturday night.

What would they think of the plethora of coffee shops today? And the prices? And the flavor varieties? Coffee shops on my parents’ day were diners where you sat at a counter and ordered one selection of coffee for ten cents.

What would they think of iced coffee now available in easy-to-purchase cans in grocery stores? Gad! How tough can it be to make your own at home? And how much less expensive.

Johann Sebastian Bach wrote, in his “Coffee Cantata” from the eighteenth century. “Coffee, I have to have coffee.”

The average coffee consumption in America is less than two cups per day. Moderate consumption? Not for my parents. Coffee was their ambrosia, a necessary, daily, work and social ritual; the number of cups be dammed.

The cold coffee added summer value.

While writing this, I am sitting in a coffee shop, and I hear the scintillating sound of a frappuccino blender. What, a machine to make iced coffee? Wait, wait, was that a dollop of whipped cream they put on that iced coffee? What, five dollars? Oh, dear. I have an idea.

Here’s are some lyrics from a song I love by a group I love, The Ink Spots:

I love coffee, I love tea
I love the java jive and it loves me
Coffee and tea and the java and me
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, boy

Listen up

Go to the refrigerator, shake out some cubes from the ice tray into a glass, pour the milk and...

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