A love letter to instant coffee

During a recent holiday in Venice, I bought myself a pair of chunky china cups from Cafè Girani, the cult roaster founded in 1928. But despite enjoying real coffee with its satisfying crema while in Italy, at home I fill my new cups with instant. Heresy? Probably.

Delicious? Definitely. 

I think nothing of boning a fish to make lemon sole goujons from scratch or knocking up piles of pastel macarons for a party. (I trained as a chef and like to keep my hand in.) But I have neither the time nor the appetite for the fa  of ‘real’ coffee. Not for me the biohazard of an exploding cafetière or the burn risk of a stovetop moka pot.

And don’t get me started on pods.

I grew up on tea, eschewing the bland Mellow Bird’s or the occasional mouth-puckering Camp Coffee favoured by my family. But once I started working, I grew to love the mini electric-shock effect of caffeine that I could achieve with just a kettle, a mug and a spoon.

Instant coffee might share the swirly-carpet aura of 70s convenience foods, but in fact it predates the 20th century. Dried and ground or powdered coffees have been around since before the American Civil War, and ‘soluble’ coffee was patented in New Zealand in 1890 by factory owner David Strang. His innovation was principally of interest to scientists until 1909, when a version went on sale in the USA. After the Wall Street Crash, Nestlé was tasked with finding a way to preserve leftover Brazilian coffee beans while retaining as much of their flavour as possible, and in 1938 Nescafé was born.

Not just any old instant will do, though. I like Illy Classico 100% arabica granules with a dash of Minor Figures Barista Oat. The water must be boiling to ensure the granules dissolve properly. As for the vessel, my small cup means I can consume several a day in perfect, piping-hot condition.

There’s a lot you can do with instant too – the likes of dalgona coffee (a sweet, whipped confection that went viral during lockdown), not to mention icy Greek frappé; its frothy layers are made with my beloved granules. But it’s best taken dark and strong. That properly grown-up flavour is the reason I use the same granules to make tiramisu.

I like to think the slightly bitter edge of Illy instant signals a maturity. It says: “I’m busy, but I’m still a woman of discerning taste.”