My philosophy of gadgets is simple: Use them until they fall apart. Ignore the new models as long as you can; they’re a plot to separate you from your money. As for “planned obsolescence,” basically the secret self-destruct feature built into the product to make sure that you’ll need a new one at some point, put it out of your mind. If you expect your machines to croak, you will be more likely to buy replacements even before they croak. Ironically, planned obsolescence works as a marketing ploy.
Don’t get dazzled by ads that promise too much. It’s only a gadget — it’s not going to change your life. Allright, ridiculously expensive sportscars seem to work for trolls and gnomes, but they have to know that their wallet is their most attractive feature. Pick a sturdy piece of equipment from a reputable manufacturer, check the warranty, then forget about it. Unless you throw it around the house, it’ll live. And if it doesn’t, call the manufacturer and yell at someone. On second thought, you’ll probably be routed to their call center and driven insane by muzak, then by drones. Report it to a columnist, or blog about it yourself.
Nowhere is my gadget philosophy more evident than in the case of my coffeemaker, the Baron Von Krups. It’s a white plastic Krups drip machine with a basket filter and a glass beaker that holds four cups. I bought it 11 or 12 years ago for P1,395 — I remember the number because it was the rare instance that my friend, a fanatical comparison shopper, did not shriek that I’d been gypped.
The Baron Von Krups has served me well. I have used it every single day, brewing myself a single cup one to five times a day. By my calculations, the Baron has brewed 8,763 cups of coffee.
A couple of years into its service, the glass beaker was broken. My fault, it fell out of my hand while I was washing it. I should’ve had the beaker replaced, but I discovered that a mug would do just as well. If it’s the same height as the (extinct) beaker, it pushes against the thingy at the bottom of the basket, and voila, my caffeine fix.
We could’ve gone on happily for the next decade, but a couple of months ago the red plastic on-off switch fell off. I tried to reattach it, but it wouldn’t stay on. To turn on the coffeemaker, I had to slip the switch into the crevice, take a deep breath, and move it around until the light went on. Oddly, it did not occur to me to buy a replacement. The warranty, of course, had expired.
Acouple of weeks ago, the switch fell into the crevice and I couldn’t get it out. But this was not the end of the Baron Von Krups! I could turn it on by inserting a thin plastic knife into the crevice and poking around the machine’s innards until the light went on. (Although I was not dumb enough to use a metal utensil; poking around a machine’s guts when it’s plugged into a socket is daft and probably dangerous. Don’t do it.) Last Sunday, I realized the ludicrousness of the situation and admitted that I had to get a new coffeemaker.
I have a French press that someone gave me years ago, but I don’t want to use it. It’s too fussy. I don’t like boiling water, then having to wait a few minutes. With drip-type coffee makers you put the coffee in the filter, put water in the “tank,” and voila. I also have a small Union-brand espresso machine that a friend gave me six years ago. Also too fussy: I feel like I’m packing explosives. And too dramatic — the noise as the coffee brews sounds like a rocket at lift-off. It scares my cats.
Today I hit the appliance stores with my friend Carlo, who knows his way around kitchen gadgets, being a pastry chef. While examining the coffeemakers on display, I remembered another friend’s gadget philosophy: Get the most expensive kind that will last for many years, or the cheapest kind and replace it as needed. The exact same Krups model I’ve been using is still available for P1,699. Carlo suggested a metal coffeemaker — it would keep coffee warm longer, and I wouldn’t have to worry about breaking the glass. However, the stainless gray metal Krups 10-cup machine costs P7,889.75, and the Braun version, called “Aroma Passion,” P6,795.
If you live alone and want to limit your coffee intake, a single-cup coffee maker may be a good idea. The 3D brand has one in black plastic (including the cup) for P399.75. Oddly, it costs P50 more than the 10-cup machine from the same company. Upmarket, Black & Decker’s single-cup coffee maker, retails for P1,195.
Those who intend to use coffee as an intravenous drip can choose between the 10-cup Hanabishi (P715), Oster (P1,914.75), Tefal (P2,499.75), and the Cuisinart version (P2,495), which lets you program the number of cups you want, then does the coffee and water math on its own. Dowell has a 12-cup maker (P1,049.75), and Imarflex a 1.5-liter contraption (P1,214.75).
After checking out all the options, and with Carlo’s approval, I chose a small white Imarflex coffeemaker which dispenses its brew directly into two ceramic cups (P550). You can replace the two cups with a mug. And there is no beaker to wash! I like a machine that doesn’t make me work.
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