A Brief History of the Disposable Coffee Cup

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  • A Brief History of the Disposable Coffee Cup

    Precio : Gratis

    Publicado por : dnfsdd815

    Publicado en : 28-10-21

    Ubicación : A Coruña

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    A Brief History of the Disposable Coffee Cup

    A Brief History of the Disposable Coffee Cup
        It's what you walk away with after the first financial transaction you make every

    day. It's the bane of clumsy interns in offices from Seattle to Key West. And it's

    left its mark on your car dashboard, your favorite pair of work pants, your waistline—and

    American culture.
        Yet you've probably never given a second thought to that lowly vehicle of caffeine

    consumption, the disposable coffee cup.
        "A lot of people would be surprised to learn how many choices went into that cup

    of coffee they're buying," says Matt Fury, director of coffee at Think Coffee.
        Just Add Water
        If you're really going to trace the history of coffee drinking, you have to begin

    with the history of water drinking. And if you're going to follow the history of

    polycarbonate coffee

    , you have to begin with the history of disposable water cups.
        That story begins at the beginning of the 20th century with a man named Lawrence

    Luellen, a Boston lawyer and inventor. Since the end of the Civil War, plain old drinking

    water had become increasingly popular, thanks to the growth of the temperance movement.

    Temperance activists had dotted cities with water fountains and traveled from bar to bar in

    temperance wagons, offering water as a healthy alternative to beer or liquor (and giving

    rise to the term "on the wagon" for reformed alcoholics). Whether people drank

    water from a fountain, barrel, well, or wagon, they passed around a cup of metal, wood, or

        "The communal cup was literally a bucket of water that people would dip out

    of," says Susan Strasser, author Waste and Want: A Social History of Trash. "If

    you don't know about germs, then that's an OK solution."
        Separately, however, more and more Americans were learning about the germ theory of

    disease. Luellen, who was one of those people, was distressed by the now-obvious health

    hazards posed by a communal cup. In 1907, he invented a paper cup—almost more of a paper

    bag at that point—that didn't have to be shared, and that could be thrown away after

    use. He called it the Health Kup, but changed the name five years later to that of a

    popular line of toys, Dixie Dolls.
        By the time the U.S. had entered World War I another five years after that, disposable

    culture already had a clawhold on American culture.
        "Before that, everything was used and reused," Strasser says. "People

    used broken crockery all the time. Even for very upper-middle-class women, when you cleaned

    the table, you saved the food on the plates. People shared all kinds of ideas for how to

    repair glass. Clothing was used and reused."
        Then, in 1918, the Spanish flu swept in. The epidemic killed anywhere from 50 million

    to 100 million people around the world, or about one of out every 20 people on Earth. In

    the U.S., nearly one in three people was infected, and over half a million died. Suddenly,

    a healthy fear of germs wasn't just for hypochondriacs anymore. Disposable cups were

    here to stay.
        Things Get Heated
        Obviously, though, we don't drink coffee out of Dixie cups today. The 1930s saw a

    flurry of new handled cups—evidence that people were already using paper cups for hot

    beverages. In 1933, Ohioan Sydney R. Koons filed a patent application for a handle to

    attach to paper cups. In 1936, Walter W. Cecil invented a paper cup that came with handles,

    obviously meant to mimic mugs. By the 1950s, there was no question that disposable coffee

    cups were on people's minds, as inventors began filing patents for lids meant

    specifically for coffee cups.
        But the Golden Age of the 280ml polycarbonate water cup seems to have been the

    '60s, when four major things happened: the foam cup, the Anthora cup, the tearable lid,

    and 7-Eleven.
        Michigander William F. Dart and his son William A. Dart had been experimenting with an

    expanded polystyrene, a substance that companies had been struggling to find a practical

    commercial use for ever since it was developed in 1954. The Darts started trying to

    assemble a machine that could manufacture expanded-polystyrene foam cups in 1957.
        "It was a very experimental material," says Chrissy Rapanos, senior market

    research analyst at what's now known as Dart Container Corporation, which makes 70

    percent of the world's foam cups. "People were trying to use it as insulation for

    baby bottles, as shampoo bottles, even flower pots."
        In 1960, the Darts shipped their first batch of styrene cups to a paper-distributing

    company in Jackson, Mississippi. For the next two decades, foam cups increasingly became

    the choice for coffee.
        Coffee cups were also starting to get attention for their aesthetics. In 1963, a Czech

    immigrant named Leslie Buck designed the iconic Anthora cup for Sherri Cup of Connecticut.

    The instantly recognizable design—blue and white with bronze lettering, with an ancient

    Greek theme (Buck named it "Anthora" because he mispronounced the word

    "amphora") and the words "We Are Happy to Serve You"—became a constant

    of everyday life in New York City, with a 1995 New York Times story declaring it "the

    most successful cup in history."
        (It's also extinct: Sherri Cup was later bought by Solo Cup, which was in turn

    recently bought by Dart. The original Sherri machines used to make the Anthora cup were

    thrown out. Though the Anthora design can be special-ordered, it is now printed on slimmer,

    taller Solo cups, rather than the squatter cups New Yorkers remember, according to Melissa

    Dye, product manager of the Solo division of Dart.)
        And in 1964 on Long Island, N.Y., convenience chain 7-Eleven became the first chain to

    offer fresh coffee in to-go cups. The company quickly expanded to-go coffee to the rest of

    its Northeast chains, and then nationwide.
        Toward the tail end of the decade, coffee lids began to come into their own, too. In

    1967, Philadelphian Alan Frank filed a patent for a tearable coffee lid, finally

    acknowledging that Americans were drinking their coffee as they walked.
        "We've always been a nation on the go, on the run, in a hurry, and since the

    Boston Tea Party, we have been fueled primarily by coffee in that rush to wherever

    we're going," says Mark Pendergrast, author of Uncommon Grounds: The History of

    Coffee and How It Changed Our World. "So it's really quite natural that we would

    want coffee to go."
        Throughout the '70s, as styrene cups invaded our desks and car cup holders,

    disposable-coffee-cup innovation seemed to hit a relative lull, with the most exciting

    developments taking place with lids—most importantly when it came to to-go drinking. In

    1975, for example, the pull-back tab was invented, building upon Frank's tear-away lid.
        Yup, Starbucks
        The '80s, however, saw a second renaissance of disposable coffee cups, despite the

    fact that Americans were actually starting to buy less regular coffee. Instead, they were

    drinking cappuccinos, lattes, cafe mochas—specialty coffees that often included a frothy

    crown. To maintain that signature topping, to-go cups now had to come with domed lids that

    not only kept drinks hot, but also left headroom for the foam. Inventors responded

    appropriately: In the '70s, the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office had received nine

    patents for coffee-cup lids. The next decade, 26 came pouring in.
        "Even something like the humble coffee lid—everything is designed to an

    incredible degree," says Louise Harpman, a New York City architect who, along with

    business partner Scott Specht, owns the largest collection of coffee-cup lids in the world.
        For many fans of practical design, the apotheosis of the coffee-cup lid came about in

    1984, when Solo filed the patent for the Traveler lid, which combined a sleek, functional

    look with a lid domed enough to accommodate specialty drinks, a protruding rim that helped

    cool coffee before it reached the drinker's mouth, and even a depression in the middle

    so the drinker wouldn't have to smush his nose against plastic every time he took a

    sip. (In 2005, the Museum of Modern Art added the Solo Traveler lid to its permanent

        Meanwhile, as the coffee-cup lid was having its decade in the sun, the styrene foam cup

    was going through dark times. The environmental movement was no longer a niche philosophy,

    and mainstream Americans were finally absorbing the concept of conscientious consumerism.

    Styrene cups began a decline, and polycarbonate wine glass staged a comeback.
        But the pivotal moment in the war between foam and paper came about in 1987 and can be

    summed up in a single word: Starbucks.
        That year, the new owner of Starbucks, Howard Schultz, had to choose what sort of

    disposable to-go cups his stores would carry as they underwent massive planned expansion

    throughout the U.S. Just like other purveyors of drinks like cappuccino, he knew he needed

    lids that could hold but wouldn't crush the foam atop the company's frothy drinks—

    those domed lids that were suddenly popping up in cafés everywhere. Solo made just the kind

    of domed lids he needed—but they only fit on Solo paper cups. So Starbucks went with paper

    —and the styrene foam cup has never recovered.
        How Cosmo Kramer Changed Your Morning
        In the '90s, safety became the predominant theme. As paper cups became standard

    again, the downsides of the material became apparent as well—styrene was a much better

    insulator. Consumers began double-cupping their hot coffee, which was not only

    environmentally wasteful but cost stores twice as much on cups as they expected.
        In 1991, Portland, Oregon, dad Jay Sorenson had an epiphany about making paper cups

    safer when he spilled hot coffee on himself while dropping his daughter off at school. So

    he invented the Java Jacket, an insulated cardboard sleeve that slides over a paper coffee

    cup. Paper-cup manufacturers, meanwhile, developed double- and triple-walled cups that

    improved insulation.
        In 1994, the infamous hot-coffee lawsuit, Liebeck v. McDonald's, was decided by a

    jury. Albuquerque grandmother Stella Liebeck was in a parked car, trying to add cream and

    sugar to a coffee she'd just bought from a McDonald's drive-through, when the

    styrene foam cup spilled the hot liquid on her, giving her third-degree burns and sending

    her to the hospital for eight days of skin grafts. The jury awarded Liebeck $2.86 million.

    America, and American coffee stores, took notice. So did comedians: A year later, a lampoon

    of the case was immortalized as an example of a frivolous lawsuit on Seinfeld.
        "It's a shame this woman was so ridiculed, but maybe in the end some good came

    of it, and some cups are more safe," says Susan Saladoff, an Oregon attorney and

    filmmaker who produced the documentary Hot Coffee about the incident and subsequent legal

        In recent years, the two themes that seem to have emerged in coffee-cup design are

    conscientious and experiential.
        Florida inventor Tim Sprunger falls firmly into the latter category. He's invented

    the Arom-Ahh!, a coffee lid that takes advantage of that insight from the designer of the

    Solo Traveler in 1983—i.e., people have noses. He inserted a compartment into disposable-

    cup lids to enhance both the smell and taste of hot coffee, making beverages smell like

    nuts, fruit, even cheese—or sometimes just more like coffee.
        "I can make Starbucks coffee taste better than they can," Sprunger says.
        On the other hand, Fury of Think Coffee has emphasized compostability in his

    ice cream cup, with his stores using

    cups from U.K. firm Vegware, while encouraging people to bring in reusable cups.
      "The future will be semi-reusable," Fury says.
        The rise of reusable to-go cups, like Australia's KeepCup, would bring the story of

    disposable cups back to the pre-Dixie-cup days in a nice, neat circle, but don't count

    on it. Disposable coffee cups are here for good, says food historian Cory Bernat, who co-

    curated the Smithsonian National Museum of American History's American Food & Wine

    History exhibits.
        "When I look at food culture, it's all about habit, and businesses have a lot

    more influence over our behaviors than we like to admit," she says. "I see

    companies that are very quick to reassure people it's OK to ask for convenience, and

    people who are very quick to accept that offer. People just want this thing out of their

    hands in the easiest way possible."

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