I freaking love my Chemex. But I love my AP and FP too, and the vac brewer. And, of course, my deepest love, the ristretto.
The Chemex. Smooth, balanced, totally enjoyable. A summer fling, without the awkward first few days, with an exotic foreign girl who turns every head at the beach. She drives a Bentley. She listens to La bohéme, or maybe Rigoletto.
The AP. Harder to predict than the Chemex, offering both better and worse. With the disk, full of flavor and fun, but faster. A weekend instead of a summer, with someone you will never forget, and may never see again; you know it at the time, but you do not care. She drives a Ferrari, probably a 1962 GTO. Der Rosenkavalier, or some wonderfully lilting music that you know but can't quite name.
The FP. The AP's big sister, but bolder, and messier. Rough around the edges, and she has not cleaned her car for years. But, oh the satisfying boldness and, well, body. She drives a Rolls Royce Phantom with every option; every acid and oil is here, bursting into your life. Like an early Wagner. I hope she is playing Tannhäuser.
The Cona D vac brewer. Terribly high maintenance; the girl in a far off city you lust after, but only rarely visit because more would be your doom. Anything more would doom you for life, doomed forever to be dissatisfied with everything else. The Liebestod. The glorification, in an Isotta Fraschini.
And, the ristretto. With the first taste you fall instantly in boundless love, but she is fickle and runs and you are forced to chase her for many years; at times you get close, one night you think you have grasped her arm, only to be left empty. With stubborn persistence born from your first taste, you continue the chase. Only when you have paid her price, in time and devotion, she relents, and the passion becomes a deep, abiding, endless love. She drives a Bugatti Veyron. O mio babbino caro, or Che gelida manina, or Libiamo. You don't care which.