Espress yourself

New Zealand champ Carl Sara, a six-year veteran, came armed with Insomnia, a mix of espresso with honey, ground cinnamon, mandarin orange peel and a bit of cream on top. As a coup de grace, he served the shot-sized drinks atop a platter of dry ice, to whoops and gasps from the 500-strong crowd.

“Still no doubt when you finish the drink, it’s coffee,” noted his father Kelvyn, rooting from the front row.

Perfect concoctions alone won’t advance you to the finals. The barista has become the focal point of the entire coffee industry — part chef, part server, part host, part sommelier, and then some. Each part must be performed almost simultaneously, in mere seconds, all while making change and small talk. “You want the whole experience that embodies the café,” said Bronwen Serna, last year’s U.S. champ.

Points are awarded for flair, and can be deducted for even the tiniest faults, like forgetting to serve sugar. Personality is crucial, and competitors must treat judges like customers, even setting the table and presenting them with menus. Danish champ Troels Overdal Poulsen asked judges to “imagine this happening in a restaurant” — as a coffee course to complete a grand meal.

Moreover, competitors are expected to engage in a chatty patois as they work, talking the judges through their routine. It can be a nerve-wracking game of expectations; precise descriptions of flavors in each drink must match what judges actually taste.

As if this weren’t enough, judges check that each cup is identical in taste, appearance and temperature. A single command performance is impressive, but competitors must achieve the same peak results with each drink over two days of preliminary rounds and a third day of finals.

“If you’re getting a good cup one day, you want to get the same cup the next day,” said Justin Metcalf, a Melbourne, Australia, coffee consultant and the WBC’s head judge.

A truly global contest
The Olympic comparison fails in another way, unless you’re thinking of handball or kayaking: The WBC is by no means dominated by the United States, even the North Americans. In the competition’s six-year history, only two North Americans have reached the finals, including Piccolo, who made it twice. The Scandinavians have an uncanny knack for winning; Norwegians or Danes captured four of five previous titles.

Still, being the best barista in America is no mean feat. Tran, who runs Lava Java in Ridgefield, Wash., and trains baristas at Seattle’s Zoka Coffee Roaster and Tea, hoped to wow judges with her Crimson Sage latte, made with a hint of white pepper and sage-infused milk. She was downcast after failing to reach the finals, but intends to focus on coaching. (Yes, baristas have coaches.)

“We had a good chance,” she said. “It was a good opportunity for us because it was in Seattle.”

Piccolo, who brought his own sizable cheering section across the border, worked in a blur of frenetic energy. He sweatily dashed about his station, chatting with judges in English and broken Italian (one judge was Italian), then lifting his arms in triumph with just seconds on the clock after serving his final drink — Hemispheres, a mix of coffee zabaglione, vanilla chantilly and caramelized pear. “I try to use the whole 15 minutes,” he said.

In the end, he placed third and will retire from the world circuit. He’s 26.