Get rid of your French press or at least put it away deep in a cabinet where you store your old fondue pot. The Chemex is back, and it wants your love. A great example of American design (created in 1941 by Dr. Peter J. Schlumbohn, a German-born Chemist who immigrated to the States in 1936), the Chemex is still manufactured in Pittsfield, MA. Its' popularity has waxed and waned in the decades since, but if the recent introduction of personal Chemex coffee at Intelligentsia Coffee and Tea (where I took all of the pictures in this post), a well-respected leader in the boutique cafe and coffee world, the appearance of the Chemex on shelves of cafes around the country in space usually reserved for the French Press, and the explosion of 'Chemex' tags on flickr is any indication, the Chemex is staging a comeback and it is taking no prisoners.
I first became aware of the Chemex renaissance when my go-to coffee expert, Liz Clayton, started uploading photos of her Chemex to Flickr. Though I do not have one (though I am, for reasons unknown to me two years ago when I discovered my first package, stockpiling vintage Chemex filters), I plan on scouring the local thrift stores until one pops up. I have very fond memories of Chemex as my first great cup of coffee was made in a Chemex sometime in 1986. Though I had been drinking coffee daily since I was 12, the experience of great coffee, when I was 16, is indelibly seared in my mind.
I was in New Hampshire in the mid-80s, spending the weekend with my friend Leslie at her family's country place. Dan and Karen, her parents, were fond of great food and used weekends at the country place to cook up fatty bacon on their wood-burning stove and make coffee using a device that I recognized from my parent's basement, long abandoned after the advent of automatic drip coffee makers. I imagined my parents using the Chemex once or twice, my mother in a maxi-dress serving coffee to an assemblage of neighborhood wives, similarly dressed. I have no visual proof or memory that this ever happened, but that's the only scenario that makes sense to me. The coffee was rich, dark, and smooth. I remember the foam on top of the grounds, and recalled that at home I had never seen anything like that. I was smitten.
Resembling less a coffee maker than an attractive chemistry lab relic, the Chemex has a fetching hourglass figure with an open top, with a handsome wood middle tied with a simple leather string that makes it easy to handle when full of hot coffee. The idea is simple: you place an ultra-fine, thick-gauge filter, also made by Chemex, in the open top. You then place ample fresh-ground coffee in the filter and pour water, off the boil (approximately 200 degrees), into the filter, a small amount at first to allow coffee to 'bloom', then add more water, stirring carefully (if desired) to make sure all the grounds make contact with the water. The resulting fine-filtered brew has fewer soluble solids than a comparable brew made in a conventional filter, and it is easier to keep clean of coffee residue than the plastic parts in a drip coffee maker or coffee cone.
Here's how they prepare the Chemex at Intelligentsia. The cost for Chemex for two starts at $6. I ordered the Nicaraguan Finca Limoncillo Cup of Excellence #2
Once the final cup of water has been poured on, they bring it out to your table with two mugs. Once it is finished brewing, you remove the filter and enjoy.
There is an element of novelty in the Chemex - it is retro, it is mid-century modern, it is attractive, and it does make great coffee. In an area of connoiseurship where the geeks are constantly seeking new and improved ways of making (and drinking) coffee, outside the home (ie in cafes and restaurants) Chemex presents a custom drip coffee experience that few under age 30 have seen before. In-home, it allows the coffee geek to return to drip coffee without the high cost of the Moccamaster, the low quantities (and incovenience, and in the case of plastic, the residue and -of course- the plastic) of the single- and double-cup cone, the messy clean-up involved with the French Press (not to mention the frequent breaking of the beakers) while making a statement about aesthetics and design, with or without intention.
You can buy a Chemex at your local coffee shop if you are lucky. If you aren't, there are a vast number of mail-order sources, including the Chemex site, linked above.
