Why is chicory coffee still a thing?
Back when real coffee was expensive and in short supply, chicory was used as a substitute. But instead of disappearing after the Second World War, the drink stuck around. Why? I gave it a try in a bid to find out.
Old people are built different nowadays. In this day and age, elderly folk jog around you in sparkly pink tracksuits, telling you unprompted about the rock gig they’re going to later and how great life is at 70. When I was a kid, that’s not how things were. Back then, old people would simply water their houseplants, stare out of the window and drink chicory coffee.
What is chicory coffee?
Numerous foods were rationed in Switzerland during the Second World War, including coffee. Each person was only allowed a certain amount of coffee per month. However, even before that, coffee was expensive and people on low incomes were especially keen to find substitutes. The most popular substitute was chicory root, which was generally mixed with real coffee grounds.
Incidentally, I’m talking about the same chicory plant that’s cultivated for lettuce leaves.
That all makes sense so far. However, the one thing I’ve never understood is why people didn’t switch to drinking pure coffee after 1945. Okay fine, lots of people did – but certainly not everyone.
The packaging has the X factor
Not everything was better in the olden days, but food packaging designs absolutely were. That’s why packaging designs that’ve remained unchanged over time straight up look better. You can apply that verdict to the seal-decorated Migros vanilla ice cream packs, Nivea hand cream and – surprise, surprise – bags of chicory coffee. The variety I’m about to test, Franck Aroma, is an alternative to ground coffee. Incarom, on the other hand, is a dissolvable instant drink, consisting of half coffee, half chicory.
Attempt number 1: not bad at all
The drink doesn’t pass my sniff test. It smells musty, and doesn’t bear any resemblance to the aroma of coffee.
According to the packaging, it’s traditionally prepared with one third chicory and two thirds coffee. So I grind some fresh coffee, fill two thirds of my Bialetti coffee pot with it, then fill up the rest with the old-timey stuff. The result’s drinkable, but not as good as regular coffee. Fortunately, I barely pick up any of the mustiness.
Attempt number 2: nasty!
Spurred on by that experience, I decide to go all in. In other words, 100-per-cent chicory coffee, zero-per-cent bean coffee. As an added bonus, I also prepare it using the same method that a Swiss military recruit would probably go for. Namely, the coffee filter method. You see, it doesn’t always work if you use an espresso pot. On my second attempt, some of the chicory powder squirts into the top compartment along with the finished coffee, making quite the mess.
Pure chicory coffee obviously doesn’t contain caffeine. But that’s the least of my worries.
I’m now picking up that dodgy musty smell in the finished drink. It’s gross enough that I have to crack the window open, despite it being a cold February day. Still, at least it’s the same colour as real coffee. It even keeps more of its dark colour when I add milk.
I couldn’t really taste the chicory in the one-third mixture, but now I definitely can. Unfortunately.
The root brew is bitter, but in a different way to coffee. It’s a bitterness that lingers in your mouth for a long time. Whether that’s a negative thing is, quite literally, a question of taste. Some people will love it. After all, there are people who prefer «Feldschlösschen» over real beer.
I’m not a coffee snob by any means. During military training, we recruits would be served a drink at 5:30 a.m. on Saturdays mornings that nobody could quite figure out. Was it a latte or a hot chocolate? Either way, I drank it without batting an eyelid. When I was at uni, there were coffee machines that’d spit out a suspicious mixture of instant granules, powdered milk and sugar. Although it was bottom-of-the-barrel stuff, I chugged it down by the litre. Even today, I still drink pretty much any kind of coffee – unless it’s from one of those unmaintained, limescale-covered machines.
But I can’t stomach this stuff. After drinking about two thirds of the cup, I pour the rest down the sink. Half an hour later, I’m so sick of the aftertaste that I have to brush my teeth in the middle of the afternoon.
A 50/50 compromise
In fairness, the manufacturer doesn’t actually recommend drinking straight chicory coffee. So I decide to give a third version – a half-and-half variety – a go. It’s the same mixture used by Incarom. I again use a filter to prepare it, closing the kitchen door so that the odour doesn’t stink out my entire flat.
And once again, I’m taken by surprise. Unlike on my first attempt, I can clearly taste the chicory, but I don’t find it nearly as off-putting as the 100-per-cent version. It’s an acquired taste, but I get why people who grew up with it would like it.
The manufacturer claims that chicory «brings out the best in coffee beans». Personally, I don’t think that’s true. It’s more that the coffee beans neutralise the smell and, to a certain extent, the taste of the chicory. They give the whole concoction a bittersweet note. Which can sometimes be a good thing. A copywriter, who I can only assume had been drinking too much real coffee, waxes lyrical over the drink on the Swiss Made website:
By mixing it with ground coffee made from real beans, you unlock a symphony of flavours that dance on your taste buds.
It’s been a while since I’ve laughed that hard.
One of life’s mysteries
I’m amazed at how much the mixture impacts the taste. When it’s added to real coffee, chicory coffee’s perfectly drinkable. However, it’s not like you’ll save any money by drinking it. The cheapest variety of real coffee is cheaper than any chicory alternative. Incarom’s even available as Nespresso capsules, which are significantly more expensive.
Coffee capsules
Quantity discount
CHF6.95 per piece for 4 units CHF0.43/1x Port.
Nescafé Dolce Gusto Incarom Latte
16 x Port.
So why would anybody drink chicory coffee in this day and age? As hard as it is for me to relate, I guess people like its unique flavour. Or maybe they drink it for health reasons. It contains less caffeine, and may be better for your gut too. Chicory can also be grown in Switzerland, so there’s an environmental benefit too. But at the end of the day, you need to like the taste.
My very subjective verdict? Five stars for the packaging, two for the taste and minus two for the smell. That being said, the downsides disappear to a surprising degree once you add real coffee. All in all, it was fun to try out, but I’ll be steering well clear in future.
David Lee
Senior Editor
David.Lee@digitecgalaxus.chMy interest in IT and writing landed me in tech journalism early on (2000). I want to know how we can use technology without being used. Outside of the office, I’m a keen musician who makes up for lacking talent with excessive enthusiasm.
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