Browsing through Bed Bath and Beyond’s drip coffeemakers, I see that the most expensive models top out at about $200. And those babies grind your beans and brew your coffee automatically. So why, then, does Clover’s 1s drip coffeemaker cost around $8-10,000 (yes, thousand) when it can only brew a cup at a time and requires somebody there manning it during the entire process? If the phrase “water line with a 3/8 compression fitting” doesnºt mean something to you, it probably doesn’t matter how much the Clover costs. That’s because it’s designed for use in commercial settings (coffee houses) only. The Clover’s major innovation is its “VacuumPress” brewing method. Essentially, it works like an upside down French press, but awesome. The barista dumps the ground coffee into the brew hole on top of the machine (an aside: I knew a guy in college that everyone called Brew Hole), and the Clover adds a precise dose of water at an exact temperature. After the coffee has steeped, the Clover’s piston rises, creating a vacuum that pushes the grounds upward and sucks the coffee itself down into the cup. Because everything’s automated by the Clover, each cup is brewed the same way, every time. On top of that, different types of coffee can be brewed with different sets of parameters, all stored in the Clover’s memory. The whole process takes about three minutes and the result is supposedly a cup of coffee with a ton of flavor, and none of the residue that usually muddies pressed coffee. Of course, we were dubious about Clover’s lofty claims, so Ian and I headed down to Chelsea’s Café Grumpy, where they have two Clovers brewing away.
I ordered a Maubesse from Timor-Leste, while Ian tried a Rwandan Humure (a prerequisite for owning a Clover seems to be that you have to be extremely haughty about the beans you offer). As we tasted them, we felt more like we were writing tasting notes for wine than coffee. But, honestly, the coffee did taste incredibly fresh, and the differences between the two cups were extremely noticeable—the brewing did seem to really be the difference maker (Ian’s had strong notes of berry, and mine had strong acidity with a slightly bitter finish). The brewing might not have created the differences in the coffees, but it certainly went a long way to highlighting them. Is it worth five figures to buy a Clover? Well, I suppose that’s up to the coffee house’s business plan. But it was more than worth the $2.35 I paid for my Maubesse to give it a try. If you’d like to try some yourself, but aren’t sure where there’s a Clover-friendly store near you, there’s a shockingly helpful map on Clover’s website that lists all of the places where you can get some seriously mean joe
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