A month ago, while walking my dog through Kypseli—one of Athens’ liveliest neighborhoods—I stopped at a kiosk to buy a bottle of water.
As I was leaving, my eyes drifted to the ice cream freezer.
It was sleeker and shinier than the ones I remembered growing up, but it carried the same promise it always had. I turned around, reached inside, and found exactly what I was looking for: a Cornetto.
The creamy center. The great love of my childhood.
Don’t think I was simply swept up in the wave of nostalgia that’s everywhere these days. Every summer, I make sure my very first ice cream comes from a Greek periptero—the small street kiosks that are as much a part of everyday life in Greece as coffee shops or bakeries.
It’s my own little tradition, a tribute to one of the most familiar phrases of childhood: “Let’s start counting ice creams.”
For a moment, I was four or five years old again, standing on tiptoes in front of the freezer, stretching to see what treasures were hidden inside.
I’d pull open the heavy glass door, letting the cold air wash over me after hours of playing outside, and rummage through the ice creams as long as I pleased. I had to make absolutely sure I’d picked the right Lucky Cap—or the best-looking Push & Lick, always strawberry flavor.
The kiosk owner was an essential part of the ritual.
Eventually, he’d lose his patience and shout that he couldn’t stand children leaving the freezer door open for so long.
I knew better.
He tolerated us just fine.
On his good days, he’d even throw in a piece of chewing gum.
Every summer, it was the same story.
I never got tired of searching for the perfect ice cream—or of hearing him complain.
I’d hand over my 50, 60 or maybe 80 drachmas—who remembers anymore?—flip the ice cream upside down to retrieve the little toy hidden inside, usually lose it later that afternoon in the playground sandpit, and then happily enjoy my vanilla, chocolate or strawberry treat.
Life was as simple as the ice cream itself.
Today, I’m an adult.
I know the freezer door shouldn’t be left open.
But once every summer, when I buy that first kiosk ice cream of the season, I do exactly what I did as a child.
I don’t close the door until I’ve found the one that unlocks my memories.
I know the flavor I’m chasing doesn’t really exist anymore.
Yet every bite fills me with an irrational sense of joy.
More often than not, I end up buying a Push & Lick. It freezes my tongue, numbs my senses and leaves me smiling for no particular reason.
The Ice Cream That Taught Me a Life Lesson
One of the moments that made me a better person happened 13 years ago.
Ignoring my sister’s instructions, I bought my three-year-old nephew, Nikolas, a Cornetto.
He had only recently discovered sugar, and I couldn’t wait to introduce him to one of my own childhood traditions.
My mother and I met him at a park near Cholargos, an Athens suburb, and together we stopped at Mrs Soula’s corner shop behind the playground.
We sat on a bench while I drifted into memories of my own childhood summers.
Nikolas turned towards me, holding his rocket-shaped ice lolly.
He looked at me with his bright blue eyes and asked whether I was sad.
I admitted that I was.
Just a little.
Without a second thought, he held out his ice cream.
“Would you like some?”
As though every problem in the world could be solved with a single bite of ice cream.
As though he’d discovered the secret recipe for happiness.
That simple gesture—reducing life’s worries to something as uncomplicated as sharing an ice cream—became one of the greatest lessons I’ve ever learned.
And for that reason alone, I hope kiosk ice creams never disappear.
A Trip Back to Childhood
Come with me for a short walk back to the summers of our childhood.
Well… those of us lucky enough to remember them.
Let’s revisit the flavors that thrilled us, the cups, cones and ice lollies that served as rewards for taking an afternoon nap, surprise treats from grandparents or the very best way to spend our pocket money.
Let’s remember the tiny toys hidden inside some of them that made us feel as though we’d won the lottery.
The brightly cultured ice pops that took us straight to heaven—without it ever crossing our minds that they were probably little more than cultured sugar water.
The stretchy kaimaki ice cream our grandmothers adored.
The enormous rocket lollies adults bought while we stared in disbelief, wondering how anyone could possibly finish one.
And, of course, the legendary Cornetto.
The television adverts had convinced us it hid a “heart of cream” inside—and that if we ate enough of them, perhaps we’d even find true love.
The best part?
Many of those ice creams are still waiting inside kiosk freezers today.
Who wouldn’t smile at the sight of a Cocktail or a Chicago?
And honestly—haven’t you ever bought a Push & Lick to eat while sitting in traffic with the music turned up?
Laky Cap
It wasn’t the tastiest ice cream in the freezer.
That wasn’t the point.
With Laky Cap, you always opened the bottom before the top.
The tiny toy hidden inside was the real prize, making you feel—for a few glorious seconds—as though you’d just won the lottery.
Chicago
The ice cream cup adults always chose while children tried to steal a spoonful.
Rich, intensely chocolatey and unlike anything else.
And no Greek who grew up in the ’90s could possibly forget its legendary television slogan:
“Wow… we’ve become Chicago!”
A line that stayed in our heads for decades.
Big Foot
An ice cream shaped like a giant footprint.
That alone made it the funniest thing in the freezer.
You didn’t buy it just for the strawberry and chocolate flavors.
You bought it because you wanted to walk around holding a giant foot while your friends laughed.
Turbo
The ultimate Push & Lick.
A frozen fruit ice that slowly emerged from its cardboard tube every time you pushed the base upwards.
It seemed to last forever and was the perfect companion for the walk to the beach.
Shock
Its name was no exaggeration.
One of the biggest, richest ice creams around, combining vanilla ice cream, chocolate and sour cherry syrup.
It was the ice cream your cool uncle always bought—the one who secretly thought the packaging looked incredibly sexy but would never admit it.
Cocktail
Vanilla, caramel and chocolate swirled together in a small cup that seemed to taste different with every spoonful.
You ate it slowly, trying not to ruin the beautiful spiral pattern on top.
Troika
Three flavors.
Three moods.
One stick.
The first decision was always where to take the opening bite—as though it were the most important choice in the world.
Back then, those were the only dilemmas we had.
Trinita
The cup many considered Chicago’s little cousin.
Chocolate, vanilla and a luxuriously creamy texture from a time when nobody needed cookie pieces or extravagant toppings to be impressed.
Kaimaki
Our grandmothers’ favorite.
A traditional Greek ice cream flavored with mastic—a natural resin harvested on the island of Chios—which gives it its distinctive aroma and uniquely chewy texture.
As children, we found it strange.
As adults, we finally understood why they loved it so much.
Cucciolone
Before taking the first bite, you always read the little comic strip printed on the biscuit sandwich.
Then came the real challenge:
Trying to eat it before it fell apart in your hands.
You usually failed.
That was part of the fun.
Mega Bite
One of the most satisfying ice cream bars in the freezer.
Chocolate on the outside, vanilla inside and large enough to justify its name.
It was the kind of ice cream that lasted long enough to cheer you up after your football team had lost.
Lollipop
The most honest ice lolly money could buy.
Strawberry and lemon flavors, just a few drachmas, and a first bite so icy it sent a shock through your teeth.
After that, you had no choice.
You had to finish it the only way possible:
One lick at a time.
