Americans, I hate to break it to you, but we’re getting screwed on the iced-coffee front. While you think we’ve got it made at Starbucks, Greece is totally lapping us.

Yes, Greece. You might think they’re a bunch of ouzo-drinking, tax-dodging yahoos, but da-yum, have they got the cold caffeine down. Check it:

First, we have the classic frappe, the signature drink of Greeks young and old. Whether you’re in a café in Athens or at a beachfront cantina, it should take you no less than four hours to drink a single one.

Frappes are so ubiquitous that every tiny grocery sells insta-frappe kits: a plastic cup with a lid, plus the frappe ingredients. We went on a walk out in the fields outside Eressos, and the roadside was littered with disposable frappe cups. Yup, even farmers drink frappe.

This is all dodging the issue of just what goes into a frappe. Well, I’ll tell you now: it’s Nescafe, plain and simple. Except it’s Nescafe made in Greece, so it tastes much better than what we get in the States. (Yes, I have done side-by-side tests.) You shake up Nescafe with cold water and sugar (if you like), and it turns crazy-foamy. Then you add ice and, if you like, milk. Then you sip for hours.

In our apartment at the beach, we found a handheld frappe whizzer, the same kind we have at home–but this one had a cord, a weirdly permanent detail on such a flimsy machine. (Ours is battery-powered–I guess so you can take it on picnics?)

Still don’t believe me? It’s all documented in Frappe Nation, a surprisingly gripping book by Daniel Young and Victoria Constantinopoulos. I even own a Frappe Nation tank top.

But Daniel better start taking notes for a sequel, because not only does Greece have the near-perfect frappe, but now it’s marching on to the ‘freddo espresso’ …

and, more beautifully, the ‘freddo cappuccino’–which is pronounced the Greek way, ‘fray-do cap-oo-tsi-no’. That one on the right is the newfangled thing, next to a dowdy old frappe:

I should’ve been a more diligent reporter, but I can’t tell you how they make these. They are not coming from an espresso machine. Just a different blend of instant coffee? Never mind–I just want to preserve the magic another year or two.

And I’m still not done. What’s even more staggering is the ridiculous proliferation of much goofier coffee drinks, like the Freddito:

Even weirder was this product, the Cafe Zero. We saw it practically first thing, in the metro stop at the airport. (Americans, Greece is also kicking our ass in the public-transport department–but who isn’t?) There they are, in an open fridge, just waiting for the busy jet-setter to whiz by and snap one up.

Jennifer popped it open on the train and took a cautious sip.

She was grossed out. But then she got used to it. But then, near the end, she said, “I’m getting kind of disgusted. This thing has stayed the exact same temperature and consistency the entire time, and it doesn’t have any condensation around the outside of the cup.” We felt, and sipped cautiously. She was right. It was creepy. Here’s what it looked like inside:

So, OK, Americans–maybe we don’t want to import this last miracle of coffee culture. But the others? Hell, yes. And fortunately, our trendy Greek neighbor has advised us that the ‘freddo cappuccino’ is available just down the street here in Astoria, Queens. In to-go cups. Athens, we’re gaining on you.