The Clover is so eyebrow-raisingly expensive because it's not mass-produced: Each device is built to order by a small Seattle company. It brews coffee like a French press, but it's more dramatic to watch and much more precise.
Unlike lesser methods of making coffee, which are no more reliable than their users and can't be counted on to produce the same cup twice, the Clover is equipped with a "PID algorithm" for regulating temperature and "programmable workflow modes" to help micromanage the brewing process.
The Clover's manufacturer arranged for Adams to try out this Cadillac of coffeemakers. Adams used the dials on the Clover to brew three different cups of coffee.
I'm becoming a Clover addict, just as I feared. It's not the tasty coffee itself that's drawing me in — although that caffeine euphoria certainly colors my mood. It's the joy of tinkering, really delving into the possibilities of a coffee bean in a way I've never considered before.
. . . I dial in the same settings that produced cup No. 2, the greatest success so far. Forty-four seconds later, there it is, the exact same delicate, floral-scented brew I remember. That's the consistency you pay for.
And consistency is getting very expensive . . . $11,000 — to be precise.