I recently had the distinct pleasure of dining at one Mr. Bartley’s in Harvard Square. Most of the things on their menu are solid, and therefore aren’t of much interest to liquephiles like you and me, but I did encounter the darndest concoction: the frappe.

A “frappe” is pronounced “frap” (we require none of that high-falutin’ French here), and it is made of milk, ice cream, some flavoring that I assume comes in syrup form (said a Southern-bred friend: “It tastes like that powered strawberry milk I drank as a kid!” and indeed it did), and a blender.

In other words, it’s a milkshake.

Well, almost — the one I had was thinner than I imagine a milkshake should be (though still far too large and rich for me to finish because I have the digestive fortitude of a newborn panda bear), especially when coupled with an enormous plate of… well, you don’t really care what they serve there. So nevermind. For an extra 25¢ I could have gotten a “Western style” shakefrappe that (the menu claimed) would have been thicker, so apparently they must get that all the time.

The menu claims that they were voted the “Best Frappe in Boston”, but as far as I know they serve the only frappe in Boston. As far as I know “frappe” is a name Bartley’s invented just so that they didn’t have to worry about whether or not they had the best milkshake in Boston. My fellow-travelers told me that that wasn’t the case, that that’s actually what they call milkshakes up here. I’m not sure whether or not to believe them.

I mean, I’m a grad student; I live in Massachusetts, but I know, like, three people who actually grew up in this state. That ridiculous Boston accent? As far as I know that’s really just found in Good Will Hunting, and I guess the occasional cop or homeless person.

So whether or not a “frappe” classifies as a whole new beverage, a weird local name for a common concoction, or a clever marketing ploy, I can’t say — though if it’s the lattermost of those then perhaps they’ve succeeded, since here I am.

I mused about this to one of my dining-mates and she insisted it made sense: “After all, what does the ‘frapp-’ in ‘frappuccino’ stand for?”

“Milk and sugar?” I imagined I was being witty.

“Well then, there you go! How’s that different from what you’re drinking?” And she was right: whether or not the frappe has a ridiculous name, it’s no more ridiculous than a frappuccino. I realized, to my horror, that Starbucks sells essentially the same thing for about the same price; the “local” thing I thought I was consuming in the name of scientific journalism was actually present in pretty much every city in the English-speaking world (and most of the rest of the world too).

So normally I’d say something like: “If you find yourself in Cambridge with nothing to do, you should go try a frappe.” But honestly? You really already have.

This entry was posted on Friday, April 11th, 2008 at 5:02 pm and is filed under Boston, Random, Review.