Paean: O Great Chemex

My parents have this crazy hi-tech coffee pot that makes your coffee BEFORE YOU GET UP. They've had it for years; it is their smoother-over of mornings, a trusty butler to be relied upon day in and day out. But all things must pass, and when they upgraded to the 12-cup model (which is a behemoth and not for the small-kitchened) my mom insisted that, being the only coffee-drinking child, I should inherit the old guy.

Imagine her surprise when she came to visit, only to find the beloved appliance unceremoniously wedged under my counter. Which is when I offered her, by way of explanation, a cup of my Chemex. Now I know the Chemex is not for all and sundry. It cannot be programmed; it doesn't even plug in. It's just a glass jar that could pass for a beaker from high school chemistry class, in which you place a rather ill-fitting square filter. But to me, it is perfection. Not only does it brew a fantastic cup of coffee--rich, smooth, all bitterness leeched out via some magic of physics--it represents a way of doing things that my stubborn heart clings to in this gadget-crazed age.

This is coffee you gotta work for: water must be measured and boiled, filters must be soaked, coffee mounded just so. The hot water (not boiling! just under a boil please!) is then poured over the grounds while you watch the alchemized liquid seep out beneath, pooling at the bottom of the beaker. The wait that accompanies the slow pour--for it must be slow, so slow, so as not to flood the grounds--is agonizingly akin to standing on a long line for the bathroom. But what pleasures await the patient coffee-maker! An impossibly clean brew, as if freshly bathed in healing waters! Nothing sour or distasteful, no burn or tang to fret the tongue. This is a drink to be lingered over. And the leftovers make a refreshing glass of iced coffee of a warm spring day...