Turns out, the Bistro’s not so hot. Literally.

The Bistro’s dual-walled construction *is* a marked improvement over the Chemex, but its thermal qualities pale when compared to most any stainless thermos. And that other advance — the Bistro’s gold-plated permanent filter — while more eco-friendly than the Chemex’s fussy, folded, paper filters — don’t hold a candle to, say, SwissGold permanent filters.

In the end, the Bodum Bistro is more style than substance. It *is* pretty. And it’s well made. (Which is not to say that it isn’t extremely fragile!) I appreciate that Bodum dares to take risks, and to keep pushing the envelope of brew tech. Not every product will enjoy the success of say, the electric Santos, but surely some will. This Bistro, however, just doesn’t add up.

Meanwhile, if you’d like to try one of these for yourself — they do look elegant on the table after all — Amazon has them at fire sale prices, probably until they’re all gone.

There’s two notable improvements over the Chemex here. The first — and long the Achilles’ heel of the Chemex — heat retention. The Bistro’s dual-walled construction solves that issue, and looks spectacular, too. Second, the Bistro forgoes the Chemex’s fussy, folded, paper filters — which were always a challenge to align just right — and uses a gold-plated stainless permanent filter, instead… and in so doing makes this an appropriately green design.

Other design bits: a silicone and rubber grab handle at the neck of the brewer, likewise a lid to further retain heat when the glass filter assembly is set aside. I appreciate the fact that the whole kit can be chucked in the dishwasher. And did I mention the, “Hey, my coffee is hovering above the table!” effect? Tres cool.

It remains to be seen whether the Bodum gold filter functions as well as, say, those made by SwissGold, but I’m hoping for the best.

You’re no doubt familiar with the Bialetti stovetop espresso maker — you may know it as a moka pot — long the staple of little Italian grandmothers, everywhere. Dead simple and robustly made, it’s not unusual for these little coffee makers to be handed down from one generation to the next. ‘Course, they’re cheap (read, inexpensive) enough it’s an altogether sentimental thing. You can buy one for your stovetop, buy another to use exclusively on camping trips (they make great camp coffee) and buy one for Nonna to have as a spare and you’ll *still* get change for a 50 dollar bill.

That’s not to say there isn’t room for improving the traditional stovetop espresso maker. Firstly they’re a bit of a bugger to clean (all those corners in the octagonal base can prove tricky,) and over time — depending on just what kind of water you’ve got — the aluminum can oxidize. Still, it’s nothing some elbow grease and a pot or two to re-season things won’t fix. However… you do need a stove-top. Or a hot-plate, or — did I mention? — a campfire. Finally, if — like me — you don’t *have* a little Italian grandmother to school you, it can be a rather haphazard learning experience to know just when a traditional stovetop espresso maker is finished brewing. And, er… messy, too.

Bodum scores on all three marks: materials, heat source, and — maybe most important — making the brewing process transparent. Quite literally, as it happens.

Let’s begin with materials. The Bodum Mocca sports a stainless base — a *round* one — that’s easy to clean. Like the eSantos, it features a corded base that uses induction to heat the contents of its cordless pot, and the base features electronics that turn the espresso maker off — automatically — when the brew cycle is done. Finally — and again like the eSantos — the Mocca makes really good use of heat-safe polycarbonate so you can *see* the brewing cycle. It’s not just a coffee brewing appliance, it’s kitchen-counter theater! (And it doesn’t really need a kitchen… which makes this an office- and travel-friendly accessory.)

The result? Identical in every way to what you’d achieve with a traditional stovetop espresso maker… rich, dense, strong espresso-style coffee. With crema. A wee little bit, anyway. Stovetop espresso makers *do* brew under pressure, but it’s not quite the same as what you’d get with a pump-driven espresso machine, and that’s okay. So long as you understand the analog is to Bialetti, and not to say, La Marzocco, then you’ll be perfectly content with the Mocca.

Which brings us to Bodum’s problem. It would seem the folks tasked with marketing this coffee maker didn’t really understand it’s analog, themselves. Consequently, they simply labeled it as a six-cup coffee-maker. For good measure — and blissfully unaware they were talking about an espresso maker — they added, “24 ounces.” Its actually capacity, of course, is rightly measured in cups of espresso, or about 7 to 8 ounces of brewed espresso coffee.

Oops.

Worse, they continued to market the Mocca just this way on their own web site until only just a week or two ago… and because web marketers steal product copy all the day long it remained likewise unchanged on virtually every one of their online retailers. (Today I note the product is no longer in Bodum’s online catalog. Perhaps they’ve finally realized their error and have taken it offline to correct it?)

Marketing issues aside, there’s a lot to be said for this nifty little brewer, not the least of which is the great coffee it makes. This style of coffee can manifest hidden qualities of given bean… those subtle tones that might typically play bit parts and secondary roles are suddenly at center stage. I’ve just tasted the complete set of Green Mountain’s Special Reserve series all over again — yes, I’ve kept some bags of each bean in cold storage — and I’ve found new and interesting flavors in each.

At the same time, I’ve also found coffees that prove stubbornly one-dimensional. That’s not a surprise, really… a great many single-origin coffees lose their composure when pulled as an espresso shot. Same difference.

If you’re in the market for an espresso maker — and if inexpensive and user-friendly are qualities you admire over E61 group-heads and naked portafilters — you may very well be thrilled with the Bodum Mocca. I think even Nonna would approve.

More: coffee | espresso | stovetop | bodum | mocca | bialetti | review

Every year I get lots of emails (for a given value of lots) packed with questions from harried shoppers — Which brewer should I buy? Which coffee? Got any ideas for stocking stuffers? — and every year I answer as honestly and completely as I can, ’cause you never know, they might be buying something for me. (Hasn’t happened yet.)

And thus, the Best of Coffee 2005 is born. This is a compendium of coffee products I’ve tried this year, and liked. Everything on this list has seen a fair amount of hands-on scrutiny, some have seen lengthy reviews, and all have my personal thumbs-up.

The List

Best Auto-drip Coffee Brewer

Long-time readers of these pages know that I’ve been a fan of the Bunn line of home auto-drip coffee brewers since way back. So it will likely turn their heads that my choice isn’t a Bunn, but the Zojirushi Fresh Brew.

Sure… the Bunn’s always-on system and reservoir is still about as easy and convenient to use as ever (and one remains on the kitchen counter even now… herself uses it for the first pot of the day, every day) but all else being equal, the Zojirushi makes a better cup of coffee. Especially when the Zoji is paired with a SwissGold permanent cone filter.

Best Coffee Press

I’ve got not one pick, but two, for this classical (and classy) method of brewing coffee. For its spiffy refinement to the process of brewing with a cafetiere, I pick the Bonjour Maximus coffee press. A turn of the Bonjour’s knob closes the business end of its plunger, separating coffee grounds from brewed coffee, thereby eliminating most of the danger of bitter, over-extracted coffee. Nice.

While Bonjour may have refined the process, Frieling has refined the brewer itself… the Frieling 6-Cup French Press is something of a work of art. Its mirror-polished stainless finish has the heft and feel of old-world hotel silver; its brewing mechanism is exceptionally sturdy and smooth in operation, and its dual-wall construction brews and keeps your coffee hot, but not so long as to confuse you into thinking this is a thermos. (Remember, too much heat for too long in a press leads you down the path to overextracted coffee.) The Frieling press is a pleasure to use.

Best Vacuum Pot

No contention here… the Bodum Electric Santos is the hands-down winner in the category. The only question is, what size? Oh, and what color?!

The eSantos’ electronics really do make it easier to use than a more traditional glass vacuum pot, and its durable polycarbonate construction is much safer to use that a glass pot. The nylon filter captures nearly all the coffee fines, leaving you with a clean, flavorful cup. Like all vacuum pots, there’s the mess factor to consider — it’s not as easy to clean as, say, a drip-brewer with a paper filter — but for cup quality, it’s really, really difficult to top a vacuum brewer.

Next time: Grinders and Gear…

More: coffee | coffee+brewer | review | brewing

A recent conversation in the kitchen of chez Cadmus…

“It’s cool!”
“It’s a mess.”
“It’s caffeinated performance art!”
“You’re cleaning it.”
“It’s good coffee, though…”
“Well… yes. But it’s a mess.”

We are of two minds — my wife and I — over the relative merits of the Bodum Santos electric vacuum coffee pot. I see an evocative design that’s equal parts mad-scientist chemistry set and Frank Gehry angular assemblage. Herself sees… a mess.

Granted, the eSantos doesn’t have the drop-dead convenience of one of those push-button pod machines. And it’s not the grinding, measuring and filling thing… we’re more than used to that. It’s the post-brew mess that herself frowns at.

Like a great many vacuum pots, the eSantos has a permanent filter. [Okay... semi permanent. Bodum recommends replacing it every so often.] This filter is a very fine mesh screen; it allows dissolved coffee solids and oils through, making for an exceptionally flavorful cup with lots of body, and it does so without choking on coffee finings, a problem that I nearly always experienced with my Vintage Cory glass vacuum pot and its permanent glass filter rod.

The net effect is — of course — a mess. No denying it. There’s no paper filter to toss in the trash bin [or compost heap, if you're of the composty ilk]. Instead, after the brewer has cooled it’s necessary to rinse the coffee grounds out of the brew globe, and then to wash it. Yes, wash it. By hand, no less. Matter of fact, if you’ve brewed especially fresh coffee that wasn’t roasted to death [and you are, aren't you?] you’ll find a lovely, oily frothy mess left behind.

Want convenience? Get one of those push-button things. But if you want really great coffee it’s hard to beat a vacuum pot. Bodum’s update on the classic vac is about as good as it gets.