7 Best Citrus Juicers of 2026

The Breville is the only machine in this group that feels like it belongs behind a bar. The body is die-cast, the juicing cone is die-cast and acid-resistant, and the pressing arm runs on a triple hinge, so what you pull down is a lever rather than a piece of fruit.

Where the money goes is that arm. On a pressure-activated reamer you supply the force with your palm, half after half; here the linkage multiplies it, so a thick-skinned grapefruit gives way with a pull instead of a shove. The detail we appreciate most is the dual switch: the cone will not turn until the arm is down and pressing on the fruit, which means there’s no way to start the machine with your fingers in the bowl.

It weighs 10.6 pounds, which is why it stays planted when you lean on the arm and also why it will never live in a cupboard. The 800 ml bowl is the biggest electric reservoir here, so a household that drinks juice by the pitcher spends less time pouring and more time pressing. Two things to know going in: the cone can be stiff to lift off for washing, and the gears inside are plastic — they’re the part that eventually gives on a machine used hard. Buy it for the decade of breakfasts, not as a gadget you’ll move around.

There’s a particular buyer for the Vinci: someone with a lemon tree, or a standing order for a bag of citrus, who has already worked out that squeezing by hand is a twenty-minute job. This machine takes your hands out of it. Halve the fruit, set it on the reamer, close the lid, press the button, and the press comes down on its own.

It’s fully enclosed, which is the part we like more than we expected. Juice runs into a 12-ounce Tritan bowl through a locking spout, and nothing sprays across the counter. Pressure-sensitive extraction reads the thickness of the rind instead of mashing until it hits pith, and the same machine takes key limes and grapefruit up to four and a half inches. Fine and coarse pulp baskets are both in the box.

For volume, this is the most comfortable electric here: a session that would leave your palm aching turns into loading and unloading. The catch is the plastic. The lid latch is the piece that gives trouble, and a lid that lifts mid-press spoils the whole hands-free idea. One piece of housekeeping nobody mentions: the warranty runs a year but you have to register the machine within thirty days of purchase, so do that the week it arrives.

A manual press makes sense in exactly one kind of household: the one where citrus arrives in quantity — a tree, a box from a neighbor, a weekly lemonade habit. For that household the Zulay is the press to buy. Cast iron, a five-inch bowl that swallows a four-and-a-half-inch grapefruit, and a lever long enough that the fruit gives before your shoulder does.

Using it is a two-second ritual: set a half cut-side down, pull the handle, and the dome flattens it against the strainer. All that force has to go somewhere, and it goes into the base — on a smooth counter the whole press will walk unless you keep a hand on it or put a damp towel underneath. We set ours up with the towel and stopped thinking about it.

The rest is what cast iron buys: nothing to plug in, nothing to burn out, and about as much juice as the fruit was carrying. The bowl, dome, and strainer lift out and rinse in the sink, and they’re hand wash only, so it’s a sink job rather than a dishwasher job. It’s also heavy enough that wherever you put it is where it stays, which suits something you use in bursts rather than all morning.

Small kitchens decide this one. The Eurolux is the machine we point to when the counter is already full, because it earns its footprint the way a toaster does: you leave it out, use it, wipe it, and forget it. The design is the one that has become standard — fruit on the cone, lid down, one button — and it’s a shorter reach to the cupboard than a lever press.

It’s the cheaper of the two lid-down machines here, and for a household juicing two or three oranges at a time that covers the job. What it doesn’t give you is choice: there are no interchangeable fine and coarse baskets, so the pulp in the glass is whatever the strainer decides. The 300-watt motor turns at 110 rpm, a slow deliberate press rather than a fast one, and there’s rest-interval protection built into the motor — a reminder that this is a glass-at-a-time machine and not a juice bar.

The removable parts lock in place and go on the top rack, and the base is steady enough that it doesn’t need a second hand. How it ages is the open question, and that’s the question that eventually decides every electric juicer. Buy it because the size is right and the price is right, and treat the motor as the thing you’re trusting.

On a manual press, the base is the whole argument. A lever multiplies whatever you put into it, and the reaction goes straight into the counter, which is why so many cast iron presses skate across the worktop mid-squeeze. The CO-Z has a suction base, and that single detail is why it made the list.

The rest is solid: a cast iron frame, 304 stainless steel on every part that touches fruit, an extra-long lever with a rubber grip, and a removable strainer that catches seeds before they reach the bowl. The bowl holds 0.8 liters, more than the other cast iron press here, so there’s less pouring between fruits.

At six kilos it isn’t a drawer appliance; it’s a piece of equipment that claims a corner, and the weight is the reason it feels the way it does under a hard squeeze.

For the money, this is the manual press most people should start with. It does the same job as the pricier cast iron press here, gives you a bigger bowl, and holds itself down while you work. The trade is a handle you have to mind — it doesn’t latch upright, so it drops if you leave it raised between fruits. Keep a hand on it and it’s the best value in the group.

Two cones and a 24-ounce pitcher are why this one is here. Most electrics in this group give you a single universal cone and expect a lime to manage; the Astralship nests a small cone inside the large one so small fruit sits properly instead of wobbling, and the pitcher below holds two generous glasses.

The rest of the specification is aimed at a small household: an 80-watt motor, pressure activation, a stainless body over a weighted base, a dust cover, and a pulp filter that lifts out with the cone. The pitcher has measurement markings and a handle, which sounds like nothing until you’re pouring one-handed with the other hand full of fruit.

It’s a lot of machine for a budget price, and the parts that touch juice are dishwasher safe. What we can’t give you is a long verdict: this is a newer design, and the honest position is that we like the way it’s built without being able to promise how it holds up in year three. If you want the safest version of this purchase, the Cuisinart’s three-year warranty is the reason to spend a little more.