Dr. Rubino's Mean Bean Machine: Volume 3, The Blow-Up

[For my birthday, my brother gave me a steam-powered home espresso machine, the DeLonghi Caffe Parma BAR6. While I have been a coffee enthusiast for a long time, I've never actually made espresso before. This blog series chronicles my experiments, failures, and successes as a home-kitchen-barista.]

With Saturday's espresso under my belt, I perhaps felt overly confident about the process. Sunday, I set about making 4 shots of espresso so that my brother and I could enjoy Americanos together. I had hoped it'd be a nice bonding experience, where he could enjoy the fruits of my birthday present. I never expected the near-disaster that would follow.

I was initially worried when I saw how much espresso grounds I needed to use to fill up the basket. Obviously, you use much more when going for four shots, but I began to worry when I saw that the espresso wasn't dripping as fast as it had the first time. Clearly, the water was having some trouble getting through the extra grounds. Danny, ever the Cassandra, was declaring that everything was going wrong. Refusing to believe him, I began fiddling with the dial on top of the machine that controls the strength of the espresso. I figured maybe if I set it to a stronger or lighter setting that it would pump the water differently. Eventually, the thing did spit out four shots, but it took a little longer than I would have liked.

With the espresso complete, I figured I had dodged the bullet. For some reason, I was struck with the idea to grab the filter's handle and unscrew it from the machine. The moment I shifted the handle back to the left, dislodging it, a powder keg exploded. Like something out of Backdraft, the pressure remaining in the machine caused the grinds in the filter basket to explode! The noise was fairly loud and dull, but the aftermath was major. Grounds encircled the machine, as if the DeLonghi had tried smoking a cigar given to him by an ill-willing Bugs Bunny. Grounds flew into the carafe, which I stupidly left sitting beneath the filter. There were even some black specks on our dishwasher, below the counter. (The photo accompanying this entry doesn't do the mess justice).

After a good bit of laughter, I tried my best to clean out the excess grounds from the carafe and serve the Americanos. Only after enjoying my creation (which wasn't as good as the first time, mainly because of the trauma I had endured), did I return to the kitchen and clean up the huge mess. During this time, my dad was forbidden from entering the room... it was for his own good.