After eleven in the morning, the coffee orders placed by businesses around Athens’ Commercial Triangle with Mr. Kostas at the local kafeneio became largely symbolic. By then, he had usually finished his fifth glass of ouzo and would bring whatever he felt like serving. While such colorful local characters have long since disappeared, until at least the 1970s nearly every modern office building housed a tiny basement coffee shop. These were equipped with what was then cutting-edge technology: an intercom system connected to a telephone on every floor. The coffee maker (or, as we would call them today, the barista) would take orders and deliver them on a deep brass tray with a broad handle.

The menu was almost entirely Greek. Apart from brandy and toast, nearly everything was listed under its Greek name. Ordering coffee itself came down to one simple question: how much sugar did you want?

Greek coffee – or, more accurately, ibrik-style coffee – is prepared in a small long-handled pot (briki) and served unfiltered, with the finely ground coffee left in the cup. Because the grounds settle at the bottom, sugar has to be added before brewing. Over the course of five centuries, that simple fact gave rise to a remarkably precise vocabulary through which every coffee lover – or, in some cases, hopeless coffee addict – could communicate exactly how they liked their brew.

As folklorist Elias Petropoulos writes in his book Turkish Coffee in Greece:

“If one listens carefully to the waiters calling out coffee orders, it becomes clear that the varieties of Turkish coffee are remarkably specific. Every coffee has its own name. The official names (used in the trade) most commonly heard are:

• Me oligi (“with a little sugar”): three spoonfuls of coffee and half a spoonful of sugar. Also known as nai-kai-ohi (“yes-and-no”). 
• Varyglyko (“heavy sweet”): three spoonfuls of coffee and four of sugar. 
• Poly varyglyko (“extra heavy sweet”): four spoonfuls of coffee and six of sugar. 
• Elafrys glykos (“light sweet”): one and a half spoonfuls of coffee and five of sugar. 
• Othomanikos (“Ottoman”): three spoonfuls of coffee and six of sugar, brewed until it develops foam; more boiled than a glykivrastos. 
• Glykivrastos (“sweet-boiled”): three spoonfuls of coffee and six of sugar; the briki is lifted from the heat several times to allow the coffee to foam repeatedly. 
• Metrios (“medium”): three spoonfuls of coffee and two of sugar. 
• Metrios varys (“medium-strong”): three spoonfuls of coffee and three of sugar. 
• Metrios vrastos (“medium-boiled”): three spoonfuls of coffee and three of sugar; the briki is lifted to create foam. This coffee is also known as vrastos-kai-ohi (“boiled-and-not”). 
• Varys se miso (“strong in half”): three spoonfuls of coffee and six of sugar, prepared with only half a cup of water. The result is as thick as yogurt. 
• Sketos (“plain”): three spoonfuls of coffee and no sugar. 

As my reader will have realized by now, the official name of each particular Turkish coffee is nothing more than the sum of the proportions of coffee and sugar used, combined with the length and method of brewing.”

From the introduction of coffee in Greece until the middle of the last century, the kafeneio (traditional coffeehouse) was one of the country’s most important social institutions. An elaborate ritual evolved around both coffee and raki, complete with its own customs and unwritten rules of etiquette.

Much has changed since then. Traditional neighborhood kafeneia have become increasingly rare, while the market share of Greek (or Turkish) coffee has steadily given way to espresso, cappuccino, and an ever-growing range of international coffee drinks, many featuring additions that would once have been unthinkable, such as almond milk or caramel syrup. In place of the old kafeneia, cafés and coffee bars have sprung up in even greater numbers. Coffee – and the spaces in which it is enjoyed – remain central to Greek social life, but the rituals have changed.

As a result, enjoying authentically prepared Greek coffee is no longer as easy as it once was. Your best bet is a traditional kafeneio, ideally in a village where time seems to move more slowly. Baristas in fashionable urban cafés generally do not know how to prepare or serve Greek coffee properly, and there is a real risk of being served mavrozoumi (“black sludge”), the colloquial term for a poorly made cup.

Fortunately, ordering is much simpler than Elias Petropoulos’ exhaustive taxonomy might suggest. In most cafés, all you need to specify is the amount of sugar: sketos (no sugar), metrios (medium), or glykos (sweet).

Greek coffee is meant to be enjoyed exactly as it is served. Although a small minority of people add milk, this is widely considered inadvisable. One should also drink it carefully, as the muddy sediment of finely ground coffee settles at the bottom of the cup. Swallowing the grounds is harmless, but certainly not pleasant.

From a purely sensory perspective, Greek (or ibrik) coffee cannot rival the aromatic complexity or flavor range of a well-made espresso. What it offers instead is something different: the experience of drinking a beverage whose preparation has remained largely unchanged for nearly half a millennium. And if you’re lucky enough to share your coffee with someone who practices tasseography, they may even read your fortune from the grounds left behind in the cup.