1967 Olympia Cremina Restoration

Half of the fun of espresso is the machine itself, and as someone who's mechanically inclined, learning how machines tick (sometimes by taking them apart) is bonus fun! When I first got interested in espresso, I spent way too much time, as everyone does, watching all of James Hoffman's videos, with his Cremina video in particular sticking with me -- how could such a simple machine cost so much and still be worth it to the many people who've bought and used them over the last 50+ years?

Upon receiving the Cremina, I pulled everything apart since it was fairly dirty. When pulling the boiler off of the frame, I noticed there were some loose things rattling around. I tipped out the culprits: a mix of loose detritus and acorns of all things! The seller told me the machine had previously been stored in a warehouse for many years (probably a few decades) but seemed totally functional, i.e. boiled water, when he tried it before selling (thankfully he didn't pull a shot when testing it). Like any worth-while project, the scope had just massively increased.

Instead of the light dissassembly, gentle cleaning, and reassembly with a few new parts, I would now have to do a complete dissassembly and do a proper check for every single part. Dissassembly was pretty unremarkable: any stuck components got a squirt of WD-40 and some extra persuasion with a larger wrench. Nothing was more permanently attached (thank god). 

With everything apart came cleaning. The gross scale lining the inside of the heater element and boiler were of course insoluable in lightly acidic ultrasonic detergent (unlike the sight glass paint, which very much dissolved away -- Orphan Espresso has a warning about this, but I had missed it in my cursory reading during the research phase of the project). I switched over to mechanical removal with a wire brush and a home-made boiler brush: some steel wool bolted to a piece of all thread and spun in a portable drill. It proved incredibly effective and only took a few hours to get the interior surface of the boiler to something I'd be happy to drink out of (regarding brass surface passivation, I ended up following this method recommended by many, although it lacks explanation for why it works, making it feel more like a peace of mind placebo -- regardless I wasn't too concerned about lead-leaching). 

While the clean up has happening, I also started taking a look at what parts were missing or damaged and needed to be replaced. One of the things that drew me to the project in the first place was the missing power switch: it's a notoriously weird size and isn't made anymore. Usually, Cremina rebuilders will by a similar sized alternative and use glue or putty to secure it into the sheet metal front panel of the Cremina. This seemed rediculous as there are more electrical switches of all shapes and sizes  than there are grains of sand in the Sahara Desert. I measured the panel cutout and went searching on Digikey and pretty quickly found the LRGSCK611-R-S-B-0/125N, which, while slightly undersized, should fit well with its snap-in barbs. It also could switch the right amount of current, had a long life neon bulb (as a plasma physist, all arc lights are a cut above the rest), and had the correct width spade terminals used by the rest of the wiring harness. Upon arrival, I test fitted, and the switch fit great with only a bit of play! One of the hopes of this project write-up is to make other Cremina rebuilders aware of this drop in alternative. While it's not a perfect match aesthetically, it's functionally identical and still made today!

With parts cleaned and missing bits identified, I placed my order with Orphan Espresso for all the gaskets (and replacement sight glass) that needed replacement and began assembly. I used Orphan Espresso's guides for the correct order of reassembly (Doug and Barb are the true power couple of espresso and they, through Orphan Espresso, made this whole project possible). With everything assembled, I filled the boiler with water, checked for any leaks, tightened a few fittings a bit more, and powered it on for the first time (via a surge protector plugged into a GFCI outlet actuated by a wooden soup spoon). Nothing happened. I tried a bit of reordering (since all the electrical components in the Cremina are in series and have insulated outer cases, it doesn't matter if the power switch, indicator light, t-stat, or thermal fuse are before or after the lead (heater)). In one configuration, it turned on and then immediately tripped the GFCI, something was very clearly wrong. 

After checking the wiring diagram I had drawn while wiring the electrical components back together and checking each component with my multimeter, I found two culprits that explained the weird behavior of one wiring configuration doing nothing while the other tripped the GFCI. The thermal fuse was melted beyond repair and stuck permanently open. A new one was swiftly ordered. The other culprit I was much more hesitant to realize because it meant some rework. Orphan Espresso had mentioned this as a notorious and annoying issue with old Creminas: the heating element is a nichrome wire insulated with a porous ceramic from the outside copper tubing cover. At the ends of the heating element, red insulating varnish was used to cover the ceramic and prevent water egress. The varnish would chip and deteriorate over time, and coupled with my silly picking of it while cleaning the heating element and submerging the whole heating element in an ultra sonic bath to try and clean it, the ceramic had been moistened and now had a conductive path from the heater wire to case ground, which tripped the GFCI. With the damaged thermal fuse wired ahead of the heater, nothing would happen since line voltage wasn't reaching the damaged heater. With the heater before the thermal fuse, the heater provided the only path to ground through the failed insulation, tripping the GFCI.

The last piece of the rebuild and another part of why I had looked forward to the project was the shower screen. The project as sent to me didn't have the original or a working screen. Like the power button, 67 Cremina shower screens are no longer made, and I wanted to try a few replacement solutions. 

First, since the Cremina is a 49 mm group, I decided to start with a 49 mm basket. The original Cremina shower screen has small tabs that snap onto a groove in the group head. To recreate the shower screen, I cut the lip and most of the wall of the former 49 mm basket off. I then used tin snips to make small vertical cuts in the remaining wall of the basket to create the tabs the old shower screen had. I bent the tabs inward a bit and did a test fit. Amazingly, it worked; however, the vertical cuts used to make the tabs created a path for water to escape out the side of the shower screen. While this absolutely doesn't effect espresso quality, it looked hacky and when flushing the group, the jet of water out the side would always find at least one of my hands. Ouch! 

While no manufacturers make shower screens for 67 Creminas, 67 Creminas are still 49 mm lever machines, and so the shower screens of similar machines like La Pavoni's could be modified to fit. I saw that IMS made shower screens for La Pavoni and decided to pimp out my Cremina with one. While the diameters of the groups of the two machines are the same, the distance between the bottom of the group and top of the portafilter gasket are different. The IMS shower screen designed for the La Pavoni was too short for the Cremina, which caused the top lip of the shower screen to block the portafilter gasket from seating all the way. To remedy this, I sawed off the lip of the shower screen and let the friction of the shower screen wall on the inner surface of the (now properly seated) portafilter gasket hold it in place. It worked a treat and looked bitchin'! Here's how to make one yourself.

The Cremina is a good espresso machine because I use it and I was able to repair it myself (with the help of the Cremina's supporters -- suppliers of Cremina parts and repair guides). Although the Cremina doesn't heat up much faster than my E61 Rocket, it's simpler and feels more approachable and enjoyable. It's nice not being jolted awake by a vibratory pump first thing in the morning. Both are built solidly and can outlive me with proper care and servicing, but I could see myself schlepping the smaller Cremina around the world because it feels more personal (and is also half the weight and half the size of the Rocket). Cremina's are simple and solid, and that's nice when everything else in the world is turning into an unnecessarily complex and fragile device. 

All that being said, you shouldn't buy a Cremina, or at least not buy new or at the insane prices used models still command. Despite their reputation for being tanks, Creminas aren't built to the price being paid for them. The cost premium, in my eyes, is due to the lack of simple lever machines (with basic enclosures that don't expose the boiler -- Jesus Christ, La Pavoni) and the low volume of existing Creminas. Of course the machine is legendary when few actually have them and all that makes it to the masses is a few anecdotes from the lucky few. 

If you agree with my assessment, let's work together to develop a mass-market simple lever machine to give the people what they want!