In Clover: A Caffeine-Based Revolution

It’s the complex piece of machinery that US coffee connoisseurs fete as the greatest thing since sliced brioche with a pot of organic bilberry jam. Since the Clover first appeared in 2004 in indie brew shops across (where else?) Seattle, it has been spoken of in hallowed tones, revered in blogs and spoken of as the holy grail of coffee makers in the sort of deliriously anal online forums where claims like that are not made lightly.

What the Clover does is break down the process of brewing a cup of joe into minute detail. This is the caffeinated Westerners version of a Chinese tea ceremony- ritualising the end product and, with brewing taking up to 5 minutes, re-introducing the art of waiting and salivating into a culture that impatiently taps its fingers on the counter when its latte and muffin to go takes a fraction longer than expected. It sure ain’t tipping Nescafe granules into a chipped Forever Friends mug.

What makes the Clover so unique and groundbreaking to java nerds is that it is essentially a single-cup brewing system which can be altered to bring out the best characteristics of each individual bean. The grounds go into their Guantanamo-sounding ‘brew chamber’, are steeped for a computer-designated amount of seconds and, finally, a vacuum is created by a rising and descending piston which draws the coffee through the grounds and deposits a cupload of perfection.

This is a black coffee like no other. It’s not espresso–based, so no Americano-style short, sharp shock diluted in hot water and it’s not decanted from a giant pot, left fermenting indefinitely on a hotplate. This is the antithesis of the chocolate caramel frappe with non-fat whipped topping and extra ice that 21st century coffee has become. Although the mythology around it smacks a little of smug I-know-which-plantation-this-bean-comes-from-and-the-name-of-the-famer’s-cousin foodieism, what the Clover really offers is simply a good cup of joe. Milk would seem like mucking it about- mention hazelnut syrup and you're just asking for trouble.

The Clover is a seriously pricey piece of kit, setting commercial retailers back around $11k. This is resolutely not a method that can be reproduced domestically. With punters now fetishising their George Clooney-endorsed, kitchen work surface Nespressos to be enjoyed (sadly sans George) in the comfort of their own homes, the Clover is reclaiming coffee as something to go out for and not to be dallied with by an amateur.

For all its gourmet credentials, the Clover caused a stir earlier in the year when it was bought over in the US by omnipresent, all-seeing mermaid goliath Starbucks. Rumours abound as to whether this will mean a monopoly in its distribution and if the small coffeehouses that first started the buzz will now be unable to stock them.

When The Guardian's Ravi Somaiya wrote briefly about Clovers last September, he confirmed that Starbucks would be bringing them to their UK stores 'soon'. However, we Scots have got one-up on expectant Londoners because, in typically unassuming style, the UK’s only commercial Clover sits innocuously next to the panini press and hot chocolate mix in Tinderbox’s Merchant City branch.

Renowned Glasgow-based coffee roasters Matthew Algie (for whom Tinderbox is their glossy storefront) currently own the UK rights to Clover and have been happily trying their baby out on Glaswegian coffee lovers for the last six months. So does it live up to expectation? Certainly it’s presented in a serious manner, with a menu of single-estate, origin-centred coffees (Sumatra, Kenya, Ethiopia etc) to choose from and sommelier-style tasting notes-ranging from fruity to nutty to sweet- to guide your choice.

The resulting cupful lacks none of the bitter aftertaste, chalky texture or eye-watering abrasion of regular black coffee and, with beans ground to order for every cupful, it’s as fresh and complex as you’ll ever get. Price-wise, we’ve got one up on our cousins over the pond. Whilst Tinderbox will fix you a fix for around the two quid mark, American aficionados are shelling out upwards of $8 a cup of black gold.

Tinderbox sell their Clover-friendly beans to take back home with you and they’ll no doubt brew up pretty good. But, unless you’ve got £6k lining your back pocket and a sizeable space in your kitchen, it’s best to leave it to the pros.