Walk down any block in Manhattan or Brooklyn and you’ll see it. It’s blue. It’s white. It has Greek-style meandering borders and three gold cups overflowing with steam. It’s the New York City coffee cup that basically defines the morning commute. You know the one. The Anthora. It’s ubiquitous, yet most people have no idea where it came from or why it’s still here.
Honestly, it’s kinda weird that a paper cup became a cultural icon. Usually, people care about what’s inside the cup—that burnt, diner-style hazelnut brew or a $7 oat milk latte. But in New York, the vessel matters. The Anthora cup represents a specific era of the city, a time when Greek immigrants dominated the diner and sidewalk cart scene. It wasn’t a branding exercise by a massive corporation. It was just a practical solution for a bunch of small business owners who wanted to make their customers feel at home.
The design is intentionally kitschy. "We are happy to serve you" is printed in a font that feels like it belongs on a 1960s postcard. It’s a relic. But it’s a relic that refuses to go away. Even as Starbucks and Dunkin’ took over the street corners, that little blue cup stayed. It’s become shorthand for "New York" in movies and TV shows. If a character is walking through a fake NYC set in Los Angeles, they’re almost always holding an Anthora. It’s the visual cue that says, "Hey, I’m in the Big Apple."
The Man Who Designed the Icon
Leslie Buck is the name you need to know. He wasn’t a world-famous artist or a marketing guru. He was a Holocaust survivor who worked for the Sherri Cup Company. In the early 1960s, he noticed that the Greek community was taking over the city's food service industry. If you wanted to sell paper cups to Greek diner owners, you had to speak their language—visually, at least.
Buck didn't have any formal design training. He just looked at what might appeal to his clients. He chose the blue and white of the Greek flag. He added the amphoras (those ancient jars) and the "Meander" border. He even misspelled the name "Amphora" as "Anthora" because of his accent or perhaps just a simple typo that stuck. It didn't matter. The owners loved it. By the 1990s, the Sherri Cup Company was selling hundreds of millions of these things every single year. It was the standard.
Then things got complicated.
In the early 2000s, sales started to tank. The Solo Cup Company bought Sherri in 2005 and, seeing the declining numbers, they basically mothballed the design. People were devastated. It’s just a cup, right? Wrong. To a New Yorker, the disappearance of the Anthora felt like another piece of the city's soul being sanded down by gentrification and corporate blandness. It wasn't just about the cardboard; it was about the ritual of the morning cart coffee.
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Why It Made a Comeback
Nostalgia is a hell of a drug. After years of being relegated to the "antique" status, the design started showing up in museum gift shops and high-end boutiques. The MoMA started selling a ceramic version of the cup. It was a weird meta-moment where a disposable piece of trash became a $15 souvenir.
Eventually, the demand got so high that Solo (now part of Dart Container) brought the paper version back into production. You can find them again at the street carts, though they face stiff competition from generic "good coffee" cups and the green sirens of the world. But there’s a nuance here: the Anthora isn't just a design. It's a marker of the "old" New York. When you hold a New York City coffee cup with those Greek borders, you’re participating in a lineage of commuters that stretches back sixty years.
The Design Details Nobody Notices
Look closely at the cup next time you're holding one. The "Meander" or Greek key pattern is supposed to symbolize infinity or the eternal flow of things. It’s a heavy concept for a cup that’s going to be in a trash can in twenty minutes.
The gold color isn't actually gold leaf, obviously. It's a specific shade of yellowish-brown that’s meant to look regal but cheap. And the steam? It’s stylized into three distinct loops. There’s a weird symmetry to it that shouldn't work, but it does.
- The color palette: Blue (Reflex Blue) and White.
- The typography: It’s a custom-drawn script that feels vaguely Mediterranean.
- The slogan: "We are happy to serve you." Not "Have a nice day" or "Enjoy your beverage." It’s a statement of service. It’s a nod to the hospitality of the diner culture.
You’ve probably seen the knock-offs, too. Because the design became so famous, other cup manufacturers tried to mimic it. You’ll see variations with different borders or slightly different shades of blue. But the true Anthora has that specific "Anthora" soul. It’s the one that collectors and historians point to as the definitive New York artifact.
The Environmental Impact of a Cultural Icon
Let's get real for a second. We’re talking about a disposable paper cup in a world that’s increasingly (and rightly) obsessed with sustainability. New York City generates a massive amount of waste, and coffee cups are a huge part of that. The original Anthora wasn't exactly eco-friendly. It was a standard poly-coated paper cup.
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Nowadays, there’s a push for better materials. Some vendors use compostable versions of the design, but the classic "feel" of that waxy paper is hard to replicate. It’s a conflict. We love the icon, but we hate the landfill. It’s why the ceramic version became such a hit. It allowed people to keep the aesthetic without the guilt of tossing it in a wire trash basket on the corner of 42nd and Lex.
Where to Find the Real Deal Today
You can’t just go to a Starbucks and ask for one. They’ll look at you like you’ve lost your mind. To find the authentic New York City coffee cup, you have to go to the source: the silver street carts.
Specifically, look for the carts that haven't been "modernized." The ones with the rows of Danishes under plexiglass and the big metal urns of coffee. Most of these vendors still buy from local distributors who carry the Anthora. It’s usually the cheapest cup of coffee in the neighborhood—maybe $1.50 or $2.00 if they’re pushing it.
- Midtown Carts: Still the most reliable place to find them.
- Diner Takeout: Many old-school Greek diners in Queens and the Bronx still use them for "to-go" orders.
- Museum Shops: If you want a version that lasts longer than ten minutes.
It’s worth noting that the cup’s popularity fluctuates. In 2024 and 2025, there was a massive surge in "vintage NYC" aesthetics on social media. This led to a bunch of pop-up shops and "reimagined" diners using the cup to gain "clout." It’s a bit cynical, but it keeps the design alive. Whether it’s being used by a construction worker at 6:00 AM or a fashion influencer at noon, the cup remains the same.
The Cultural Weight of a Paper Vessel
What most people get wrong is thinking this is just about marketing. It’s not. It’s about the immigrant experience. Leslie Buck didn't create this for a "brand." He created it for a community. The Greek immigrants who ran the diners were looking for a way to fit in while still honoring where they came from. The cup was a bridge.
It’s also about the pace of the city. New York is a place that moves fast. You don’t sit down for coffee; you take it with you. The paper cup is the engine of the city’s productivity. When you see someone carrying an Anthora, you know they’re going somewhere. They have a destination. They have a job to do.
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What Really Happened with the "Missing" Years
There was a period between 2005 and 2015 where the cup almost went extinct. Solo Cup Company really did stop promoting it. During those years, if you saw one, it was usually a "leftover" or a generic imitation. The reason it came back wasn't a boardroom decision; it was a grassroots demand.
People started writing letters. Bloggers started "cup watches." It became a symbol of what New York was losing—its grit and its specific local flavor. When Dart Container finally ramped up production again, it was a rare win for the "little guy" of design. It proved that some things are too important to the fabric of a city to just let die for the sake of a corporate spreadsheet.
Actionable Insights for the Enthusiast
If you’re a fan of the NYC aesthetic or just someone who appreciates good design, there are a few things you can do to keep this piece of history going.
- Support the Carts: Buy your morning coffee from a street vendor instead of a massive chain. It’s cheaper, usually faster, and you’re supporting a small business owner.
- Get the Ceramic Version: If you want the look but care about the planet, the ceramic Anthora is a legit great gift. It’s heavy, holds heat well, and looks cool on a desk.
- Check the Bottom: Authentic cups usually have the manufacturer's mark. Look for the "Dart" or "Solo" branding to know you’ve got the real deal.
- Learn the History: Next time you see one, remember Leslie Buck. It’s a classic American success story—a man who survived the unimaginable and ended up designing the most famous cup in the world.
The New York City coffee cup is more than just paper and ink. It’s a three-dimensional piece of the city's history that you can hold in your hand for the price of some pocket change. It has survived city-wide blackouts, economic collapses, and the rise of the "third wave" coffee movement. It’s probably going to be around long after we’re all gone, still steaming, still "happy to serve you."
How to Identify a Real Anthora:
Check for the specific Greek "Meander" border. It should be a continuous interlocking line. The blue should be deep, not sky-blue or navy. The "We are happy to serve you" text should be centered perfectly between the two amphoras. If the font looks like Arial or Times New Roman, it’s a fake. The real one has a distinct, hand-drawn quality that’s hard to replicate without the original plates.
Next time you find yourself in Manhattan, skip the fancy cafe for once. Find a silver cart, hand over two bucks, and ask for a regular coffee. Hold that blue and white cup. Feel the heat through the thin cardboard. You’re holding a piece of New York. That’s something no expensive espresso machine can give you.