Day 1: A No-Bike Zone and the First Coffee Date
On the very first day, we had to be on the festival grounds by 10 a.m. sharp — orientation meeting, mandatory, no exceptions. Show up late and you're out. So I thought: cycling is fun, let's take the e-bikes and ride leisurely through the park south of the Atomium.
Leisurely turned out differently. Right in the middle of the park, the motor suddenly cut out. My first thought: this can't be a technical fault. A glance at the Bolt app revealed the truth to us (Alp and me — we were riding together): we were smack in the middle of a no-cycling zone. Five kilometers, no battery, uphill. Anyone who's ever had to pedal a dead e-bike up a hill knows exactly how much fun that is.
We still made it by a quarter to ten, only to discover that the bikes had to be parked in a designated spot — of which there wasn't a single one anywhere on the entire grounds. We simply parked the bikes in front of the entrance and accepted the 10-euro fine. Not a perfect start, but definitely a funny one.
The actual orientation meeting turned out to be almost unspectacular, until I noticed at check-in that half the participants barely spoke English. It really was a true world championship with a global community — many had brought their own translators. A small eye-opener that showed me: you can't assume a common baseline.
In the afternoon, we got to examine the green coffees for the first time, visually and physically — tasting wasn't allowed yet. That came the next day.
Day 2: 12.5 Minutes That Decide Everything
The second day began with sample roasting and sample cupping — exactly what I do professionally every day, just under completely different time pressure. I had to evaluate four coffees, and each roast cycle on the test roaster took about 12.5 minutes. That's 50 minutes for a 45-minute slot. In the stuffy hall, even the cooling took longer than usual. I genuinely wondered how this was supposed to work out.
Luckily, Nucleus, the manufacturer of the test roaster, had a booth on site. I simply walked over and asked how to shorten the roast times. The tip: choose a batch size only as large as truly necessary, and intervene manually during cooling instead of waiting for the automatic process. Thanks to these two tricks, I finished in 42 minutes instead of 50, with time to spare.
That wasn't a luxury — it was sorely needed. In my group (we were always five to a station, six groups of five contestants, so 30 in total), someone didn't manage to evaluate their last coffee in time. Suddenly there was a huge question mark over whether that coffee was even usable at all. A lesson for life: if experts are nearby, just ask them. Most are happy to share five minutes of their expertise, and that's exactly what gave me the decisive edge that day.
After roasting came straight into sample cupping — the sensory evaluation (slurping) of the brewed coffee. I'd deliberately gone without coffee all day so that this first sip would be my sharpest sensorially. I had plenty of adrenaline anyway.
Four green coffees were up for selection: a natural from Tanzania with a very inconsistent bean appearance and lots of defects — honestly, my first thought was that it wouldn't amount to anything — plus washed coffees from Peru, Ecuador, and Nicaragua. The surprise came during cupping: the unassuming Tanzania natural turned out to be fruity, intense, and full of character. It became the main component of our blend.
A small aside for anyone outside the coffee world: a roast profile is basically a forecast. How will the coffee taste, smell, and look in the end? Based on the cupping result, you have to predict this as precisely as possible, and it's exactly this forecast that the jury later evaluates.
By the way, speaking of the nitty-gritty: half the participants had booked an Airbnb without air conditioning, right in the middle of Brussels in June. I'd actually found a gorgeous rooftop apartment with a balcony, but ended up choosing a pragmatic hotel by the train station with AC instead. Best decision of the whole trip. At an event like this, your form on the day is everything, and good sleep is half the battle. Otherwise I'd have been roasted like a bean myself overnight.
Day 3: Show Day, When the Plan Meets Reality
The final day was the production roast: single origin in 30 minutes, blend in 60 minutes, the order fixed. During practice I'd seen that even two batches in 30 minutes cut it close — my test run came in at 31.5 minutes. On an unfamiliar, large roaster, in a hall where applause for another event was happening at the same time, hearing the so-called "first crack" was a real challenge.
My head was pretty scrambled right before the start. I shared my problem with Danny (a contestant from Australia), who said he'd simply start with the blend since it has more time. No sooner had I begun than I asked my personal jury coach whether I could actually start with the blend instead. Her answer: "You're the roaster." The very fact that this moment happened at all was only because I'd just talked it over with Danny shortly before. That's exactly what I found so beautiful about this community: it's a competition, and yet everyone is ready to help each other get the best possible result (in their own eyes) out of the bean and its country of origin.
With my neatly printed roast plan in hand, everything went according to plan at first — until two minutes before the end. A different machine, a different room temperature, different chemical conditions: you have to be able to deviate from the plan, and that's exactly the skill that needs the most practice. Probably also the reason it didn't quite reach the podium in the end. I finished 14th out of 30, in the top half of the international field, and I'm genuinely proud of that.
My Biggest Takeaway
I deliberately carved out time from my everyday life beforehand to practice for this event. Everyday life is constantly trying to push its way in, and there's always a good reason not to do something. That's why I love deadlines: whether it's a sports event, a chess tournament, a cooking showdown, or simply a new language level — with a fixed date on the calendar, you actually follow through.
A quote has stayed with me ever since: "Being brave isn't a feeling, it's a decision. Courage doesn't come with a green light and an outstretched hand, but with a racing pulse, a trembling voice, and 'What if it goes wrong?'" On repeat, too.
Q&A: The Questions I Was Asked Most Afterward
Question: Did you prepare this together with your coach?
Christoph: Yes, absolutely. I practiced regularly with Alp, my coach. Pascal (COO at ViCAFE) had kindly made the connection when he happened to sit next to him on a plane. Alp roasts in Zurich on a machine similar to the one used in Brussels — not identical, but close enough to allow for valuable training. Coaches are allowed during cupping, so we were able to put our training into practice together. We could taste together and work out the roast plan together.
Question: Can you describe what raw material you had?
Christoph: Sure. We had four coffees: a natural from Tanzania with a very inconsistent bean appearance and lots of defects — I nearly sorted it out — plus washed coffees from Peru, Ecuador, and Nicaragua. The surprise came while grinding: the Tanzania natural smelled so fruity and intense that it became the main component of our blend.
Question: What were your insights from the final cupping, when all 30 single origins and 30 blends were tasted?
Christoph: It was fascinating. All the cups were coded, so you never knew which one was yours — you could only hope or worry. There was a handful that stood out positively, a large middle field, and a few that stood out negatively. The top coffees mostly had noticeably higher acidity and sweetness.
Question: What made the best coffees so special?
Christoph: Honestly, that's hard to pin down. I talked to a lot of people about their approach, and there were quite different ideas of what makes good quality. The Belgian champion, for example, relied heavily on the Peruvian coffee. For us, though, it was clear: the Tanzania natural had the greatest potential because it was the most fruity. The goal was never to make the coffee I personally enjoy drinking most, but the one that scores the most points.
Question: Can the scoring system actually be calibrated?
Christoph: That's my biggest skepticism about this whole system. At the end of the day, even top cuppers are only human. If one person rates acidity intensity at 8 and someone else at 10, how do you really make that comparable, especially when 30 cups have to be judged? Yes, there are calibration rounds among the judges beforehand, but a piece of humanity always plays into it. That makes it complicated, but also honest.
Question: What was your personal takeaway from this competition?
Christoph: That preparation gives you security, but never covers everything. Your form on the day, in the end, is a key factor that plays a role. In the end, what counts is whether you dare to deviate from the plan when necessary, which takes experience and courage. And that it's worth reserving exactly that kind of time in everyday life, even though there are always a hundred reasons not to.
Thanks to everyone who supported me along the way: above all Pascal and Alp, the SCA for of course everyone involved who made this World Championship such a special experience. And of course my family, who looked after my daughter May during the event. The coffee scene is a fantastic, open-minded community, and I'm already looking forward to the next Swiss Championship.
By Christoph (Head Roaster at ViCAFE)
