The Passion of the Pull
A Candid Look at Espresso Machines and Their Owners
By Robert Barnett — Photograph by Frank Barnett

Most industries involve the use of tools of some sort, and specialty coffee is no exception. While we have the cups, insulated containers, sinks and display cases, carts and kiosks, the heart and soul of this business is naturally the espresso machine. Without it there would be little to differentiate us from anybody else slinging coffee in anonymous diners and truck stops. The espresso machine raises the bar of the drinks that we serve; it is the silver workhorse that, more than anything else in our business, puts the 'specialty' in specialty coffee.
   It doesn't seem surprising, then, that there is an ongoing passionate affair between espresso machines and their owners. But in some ways it is a little surprising, because not all industries share this love for a machine that is really just a tool. (I feel like I committed a sin by saying that. "What do you mean, just a tool?") It's true, though. Auto mechanics don't love their tools, and I've never heard a baker talk about how much he loves an oven. Even the most passionate artist doesn't seem to love paint or paintbrushes with the same ardor and intensity that people in this industry seem to love their espresso machines.
   I have to confess that I am not much of a machine person myself, so I took a figurative trip around America via the Cellphone Express in an effort to find out why these machines inspire so much feeling and reverence. My first stop was near the gray, windswept shores of Lake Michigan, at Rancilio North America, in Woodridge, Ill. I asked Don Berquist, who handles western U.S. accounts, to share the secret of these machines and the people who love them.
   "Well, this is a passionate industry and a passionate product," he says, "and when it comes to me and espresso machines, it's a passionate relationship. This feeling extends from the most artistic barista to the most analytical, left-brained tech. You say espresso machine, I think electrons, water and water pressure, and how this thing is engineered. I realize the history behind it, and how long it took to get it right. For me it's a romantic thing, but a technically based romance. My favorite machine, my most romantic machine is one of the simplest machines out there, the Rancilio Epic-timeless, yet unique."

Of Love and Levers
Since I am something of a newcomer to this industry, Don also told me about the old lever machines, the ones with a monstrous spring and a two-foot lever. "Every once in awhile you'd let go at the wrong time and it would spring up and rip the tip off your nose," he says. Perhaps, I thought, the old machines were a very literal interpretation of an old Spanish proverb that says, "Where there is love, there is pain."
   Back in the wooded green hills of Oregon, I spoke with Pete Miller of Caravan Coffee, a Newberg, Ore.-based retailer-turned-roaster and fifteen-year industry veteran. "I fell in love with espresso machines because of the lever machine," he reveals. "I started out with an old two-lever manual Astoria machine [because] I liked the artistic flair that it gave. Even when everyone was switching to automatic or semi-automatic machines, I resisted because I loved the look of the old machines. People who've been around for over 10 years get nostalgic about the manual machines, about their artistry, where the barista is actually controlling the flow of the water. When you pull the lever and when you engage, the upstroke affects the flavor so much, and the machines just look cool! It looks like there's a lot going on with the barista compared to just pushing a button."
   I felt like I was getting nearer to the heart of this relationship between man and machine. To find out more, I headed north to Seattle's Ballard district, hard by Puget Sound, and found Kent Bakke, president and founder of Espresso Specialists Inc., importers of Franke, La Marzocco and Rio espresso machines and grinders.
   "About espresso machines," Bakke offered, "to synthesize it, there's something about people and machines.there is an anima about it.that even though it's a machine, I think we associate something more [with] it. There is a mystery to the mechanical aspect of it and what it produces. There's a connection there, even though [the machine] isn't actually living, the differences between [various machines] create something special. What happens in the cup defines the machine; it's a transformation of a bean into this cup of nectar, and the uniqueness of the design and equipment make it a tool in the barista's hand [equivalent to] a sculptor's chisel."

The Mona Lisa
For another opinion, I went east, toward the tobacco fields of North Carolina. In Greensboro, I imagined a pungent and welcoming aroma of espresso drifting over the fertile fields, possibly coming from the office of Umberto Terreni, of General Espresso Equipment Corp. He clarified further:
   "The feeling that emerges through time between the operator and the equipment-I think it's human nature. First, every machine is a little bit different. The barista manages nevertheless to come out with the best solution even when the equipment is not in top shape. He or she learns to adjust the pressure, the grinding, the tamping, the pressure in the pump a little higher or lower.the barista develops tricks that help do their job. This develops into a relationship between each operator and each machine.
   "In our industry we see people who love a particular machine, and if you ask how old the machine is, we find out that it is 10 or 12 years old and has never been rebuilt. Sometimes we receive a request to rebuild a machine, and the parts cost more than a brand new modern machine. They don't care, because they love that machine more than they want a new one. Sometimes, though, if we can convince them to get a new machine, they are surprised how much better the new machine performs."
Terreni was describing the world of the aficionado, which (not to depart from the more general love of espresso machines found throughout the industry) has its parallels in the world of cars-people who just love the Ford Mustang beyond all reason, for example, or the people who feel that if you aren't on a Harley you aren't even riding a real motorcycle, and should have training wheels. In this vein, I asked Terreni what he thought was the most beautiful espresso machine ever made, the Mona Lisa of machines, the Sistine Chapel of what would become the heart of specialty coffee.
   "In my opinion the most beautiful machine was called the Permozona, made by Tortorelli. I believe it was the only piston-operated machine made at the time, and the body was out of this world. It was very elaborate with fancy features, cup warmers on top, all sorts of features." Then he had an idea: "Since there is such a love in America for all these old machines, I suggest that the SCAA create a museum of antique espresso machines. Every company could be encouraged to contribute old machines and other espresso memorabilia.it would be a fine thing."
   I told him I thought such a museum was an excellent idea (and it is), and continued on to my next stop, Olympia, Wash., home of Raven's Brew Coffee and Michael Beech, its founder and coffee guru.

The Harley Davidson Espresso Chopper
"My love for my espresso machine approaches a fetish," claims Beech. "It's a true wonder to behold. It's like a Harley. I love its appearance. It's beautiful-aesthetically unsurpassed-and besides the pure aesthetic you can see right away how extremely rugged and sturdy this machine is. It's all German steel.I can take a body panel off this machine and beat most other espresso machines into tin foil with it, and put it back on my machine and make espresso with it."
   Beech says most espresso machines have flexible copper tubing, but the apple of his eye has stainless steel with welded joints. "Besides its general beauty and ruggedness, it has LCD readouts of temperatures at various points, and has virtually perfect thermal stability."
   This is what I'd been seeking, the dharma, the pure unadulterated love between man and machine. Before leaving the rainforest environs of Olympia, I ask Beech to come up with five words describing espresso machines. "Bliss, euphoria, ecstasy, pleasure and ultimate organoleptic sensations," he says, adding, "Until about the mid-'70s, you could drive 1000 miles without being able to find espresso." Although I'd venture to add, at least you could do it on a Harley. By the way, Beech's machine of steel? The Synesso Cyncra.

Fear and Fire
Now of course, not everyone is destined to fall in love with espresso machines, and anything that can inspire love can also inspire a certain amount of fear. As I traveled, I kept a wary eye out in case one of the old lever machines had gone feral and was lurking in the woods somewhere, out to rip off the tip of my nose. In Portland, Ore., the Rose City, I found Geoff Guiger, account executive at Boyd Coffee. Over the years, he has watched many espresso machine operators develop an affection for their Reneka machines. He related his first encounter with espresso machines, though, and it wasn't love at first sight.
   "When I think of espresso machines, the first thing that comes to mind is fear. That's because my first experience with one was in 1990 when I went to work for Pete Miller at the Coffee Cottage [Miller's old coffeehouse] in Newberg, and had to learn how to make my first latte on his manual two-head Astoria machine with lever arms." I commented that I'd heard these older machines had a temper. Guiger continued, "That thing was tough to get a handle on and a couple of times I didn't bring the arm all the way down, and the handle shot up and almost whacked me in the jaw! Not only that, I feel horrible for the first few customers that had to suffer through my first barista 'creations.' The good news is, after a couple of weeks I was having fun and could make a pretty mean drink."
   Despite that early experience, after 15 years Guiger is still in the business. I guess the moral is that sometimes love comes on fast and strong, and sometimes it's a slow, sneaky affair.
   Another veteran of the fiery nature of the espresso beast is Andy Melnick, co-owner of Kaladi Brothers Coffee in Denver, who builds custom espresso machines for Versalab and retrofits modern electronics onto older machines.
   I contacted him in the oxygen sparse, mile-high city, possibly where he'd gone to escape after causing an espresso emergency in his first coffee job in New Orleans. He is quite happy with the advent of digitally regulated roasters, and with good reason.
   "Back in the day, long before digitally regulated roasters, I was working at a little coffee joint in New Orleans. It was the ultimate grungy, hippie coffee shop. On one particular day, I'd just started a batch of coffee in the roaster, when a beautiful woman came in and ordered some coffee. She was being kind of flirtatious so I sat down to try to pick her up. We chatted, and I forgot all about my coffee roasting. The coffee kept burning and burning, and when the manager finally got to it, he opened the machine and started a huge fire. The fire department came, and they had to close down the whole street. I knew I'd lost my job. Thinking I'd at least salvage something out of the disaster, I asked the woman out. She looked at me and said, 'I'm sorry, but I'm gay.'"
   As it turned out, Melnick didn't lose his job, and today claims that Versalab makes the best espresso machines ever. He compares an older machine he has at home to the 1980s Ferrari Daytona Spider.
   The last stop on my tour was the Nuova Distribution Center Inc. in Ferndale, Wash. Roberto Bresciani, president of the North American division of Nuova Simonelli, explains the final pieces of the relationship.
   "Espresso machines are a tool that people use in the trade, and they become pretty passionate about it. When you think about it, it's something that's really intimate, you're touching it all the time, putting the portafilter in and out, and you have to live with it."
   He comments that the relationship between machine operators and their machines is akin to that of a parent nurturing a child, caring for it, cleaning it, watching over it. His favorite current machine is the Aurelia, made by Nuova Simonelli, but when asked about his favorite older machine, he expresses nostalgia for the classic look of the Victoria Arduino machines, with the vertical-style boiler and the polished copper and brass.
   About espresso machines in general, he says, "The look isn't everything, but I think [how a machine looks] signifies the pride a company has in its products. If they take the time to make it look good on the outside, you know they care about it on the inside as well."
   Tools and human beings go back a long way, and since we owe so much to these creations of our hands and minds, it makes sense that we feel quite attached to them, inorganic as they are.
   When it comes to machines of any sort, there are the craftsmen who build them, who know their inner secrets and every nut and bolt. The machines they design and build are their gift to the world, and they have the joy of seeing their handiwork used and appreciated by others.
   Then there are the artists, in this case the baristas, who use the machine to create wonderful and delicious works of art. Though the artistic talent lies within, they rely on the machine to bring it forth as espresso masterpieces.
   And then there is the aficionado, who may be artist, craftsman or both, but who is distinguished by the singular love and passion they have for the machine itself. The aficionado's passion is often rooted in nostalgia for a particular model that is no longer made. But they may also be in love with the newest, fanciest machine available.
   I asked most of my interviewees to come up with words to describe that attachment, and this is what I heard, spoken from the heart: trust, admiration, love, adoration, dependable, reliable, art, technology, taste, efficient, accurate, romantic, sturdy, well-built, personality, adulation and enchantment.
   Taking these words into consideration, the relationship between man and espresso machine seems strong, but more importantly, these are the symptoms of an entire industry hopelessly in love with these machines. And no one would have it any other way.