Bests & Worsts Reviews from Amazon

I am not a true believer, but a coffee agnostic. I allow for the existence of an angry coffee god whose strict rules must be followed to the letter, but I don't operate under that assumption. Instead, I bask in the earthly pleasures of a daily cup of hot, black, strong coffee, and the Zishoruji is a perfect device of such hedonism. The believers say that the Zujishori doesn't heat the water to optimal extraction temperature. I like my coffee blow-before-sipping hot and thicker-than-mud strong, and I get both. They say that the water temperature impacts the bitterness as well. I take my coffee black, and I find the bitterness level just right to balance the acidity and create a wonderful complexity. The believers say that coffee beans should be ground mere seconds before brewing. I grind mine at the store where I buy them, and lightning has yet to strike me. The believers say that a five-cup coffee maker ought to serve two mugs of coffee. I say that filling the Zishoriju's removable water tank to the brim produces two 13-oz mugs of coffee. That does require filling past the 5-cup tick mark of the tank, but then again, I do not recognize the infallibility of the tick mark. The believers say that coffee grinds should not spill into the pot. I agree, and find that if I shape the five scoops of coffee into a cone in the filter of the Zoshujiri--that is, if I form a depression instead of a mound in the middle--then the dripping water does not splash the grinds into the pot. See, we can agree on something. The believers say that the filter contraption that sits unnaturally inside the Zijiroshu pot is likely to slip and spray and scald during the act of pouring. I say that, as a primate with opposable thumbs, I intuitively hold the pot by wrapping four fingers around the handle and resting my thumb on top, where the handle, cone filter, and lid all converge. The pot pours smoothly, cleanly, with nary a drip on the counter, and the top remains firmly & effortlessly in place. The believers say that the Zurijisho's gadgetry is gratuitous and out of line with tradition. I appreciate gadgetry for its own sake as well as for its functionality. All the important pieces are removable, which makes clean-up and assembly a cinch. With previous coffee makers, cleaning the swing-out filter holder had always been a pain. The removable water tank brings me more joy than a piece of plastic should (you heard me). And the filter contraption that sits atop the pot is a pleasure to fill and breeze to dump out and rinse. The believers say that the Zujirishi's pot and its handle are weak and will inevitably break, and I say the pot is light and the handle is secured in place by a metal band. True, I would hesitate before filling the pot with pebbles or slamming it in anger on the granite countertop; but I hasten to add that the pot remains in one piece after a year of daily use, and the handle feels as secure as day one. The believers say that the absence of an auto-off feature is a fire hazard and a moral hazard, and I testify that I have failed to start several fires though I have forgotten to switch the Zoshiriju off about once a month. The believers say that the plastic in the water tank contains carcinogens. I worry less about this because (a) the water is in there for all of three minutes, (b) there's a Zirojushi email somewhere in the reviews claiming they don't use BPA in any of their plastics, (c) a Wikipedia blurb claims that Japan has removed BPA from most of its food plastics, and (d) one is more likely to damage one's health from indignation.