My Chemex broke this morning. Its rim barely brushed the tile backsplash of my kitchen counter and it imploded, suggesting that it was a quarter century of near-misses, rather than this lone event, that caused its demise. The inevitability of glass shattering is the Achilles heel of a design which is, in every other respect, perfect.
How was this lowly coffee maker elevated to an object of cult worship? Indivisibility. A single component, the Chemex has been distilled to its essence, incapable of further refinement. Although Dr. Peter Schlumbohm’s 1939 prototype included a spout and handle, production versions were streamlined to their present form. Shaped like an hourglass with an open top, a filter is thrust into the neck, grounds and water added, then the filter is removed and coffee poured. The bespoke paper filter traps oils as well as grounds for a “Cleaner,” less bitter cup of coffee. Connoisseurs of coffee, as well as design, appreciate what has been wrought here.
Simply put, the Chemex is immune to simplification, which makes it simply perfect.