Simple Isn’t Easy: Somewhere Between Law Enforcement and a Cup That Finally Made Sense

Not every coffee competitor comes from a café background. Some arrive from completely different worlds, carrying experiences that quietly shape the way they brew, think, and connect with people. Jeff Rambo is one of them. Before becoming the 2025 USA AeroPress Champion, he spent nearly twenty years working in law enforcement, a path that eventually led him toward specialty coffee through something surprisingly simple: the search for a better cup.

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What started as curiosity slowly turned into something deeper. Years of teaching himself how to roast, brew, and build a space for people eventually brought him onto the competition stage. But even after winning the AeroPress Championship, Jeff’s perspective on coffee still feels grounded in something very human. Hospitality, repetition, learning, and the idea that coffee should remain accessible rather than intimidating.

In this conversation with HUDES Magazine, we talked about the pressure behind competition, the beauty of simplicity in AeroPress brewing, practicing recipes in a hotel gym, and the personal moments that shaped him far beyond the stage itself. More than a story about winning, this became a conversation about showing up, staying curious, and finding meaning in the small details that often go unnoticed.

Before we talk about trophies and recipes, who were you before you decided to compete in AeroPress?

Before competition, I was simply a coffee professional running a shop. Someone deeply passionate about the craft and the people it brings together. I’ve always believed that competition is where industry advancement happens and where real thought leadership is born.

At the same time, I’ve approached my cafe as a competition stage in its own right. Every guest interaction is an opportunity to represent coffee at the highest level, to be an ambassador for the industry. That mindset wasn’t accidental; it took years, and two full iterations of my business, to build a space that truly reflects that intention.

Before coffee, I spent nearly two decades in law enforcement. Ironically, it was bad coffee that pushed me into this world. I kept asking myself why there wasn’t more good coffee out there. After years of teaching myself how to roast and brew, I eventually just took the leap—opened a shop—and now here we are.

Do you remember the exact moment when you thought, “I’m really going to take this competition seriously”?

I remember watching Sasa Sestic compete in his documentary and thinking how compelling and inspiring it was. Then I saw people like Frank La representing Los Angeles and Mehmet representing San Diego, my past and present homes and it clicked.

I realized that competition could be a platform to elevate specialty coffee in Southern California while also serving as an ambassador for the craft. From that point on, it became more than curiosity—it became a pursuit. I just kept showing up and putting myself out there.

If you had to describe your relationship with coffee in one word before competitions and one word after, what would they be?

Before: curiosity.
After: intention.

There are many coffee competitions out there. Why AeroPress?

AeroPress felt like the perfect bridge between purity and inclusivity. It allows you to focus on making the best possible cup of coffee in its simplest form, while competing alongside people from all walks of life—not just seasoned baristas following similar routines.

It brings together a wider community in a way that few other competitions do. That diversity of approach and perspective is what makes it so special.

People often say AeroPress is simple. From your experience, what is the most misunderstood thing about it?

AeroPress is simple—but simplicity is difficult.

When something feels too easy or too good to be true, human nature makes us want to complicate it. We start pulling too many levers. The truth is, simple things are easy to perfect—but just as easy to mess up.

The real skill lies in discipline: understanding the fundamentals—water, extraction, and sensory perception—at a high level, and resisting the urge to overcomplicate them.

Do you see AeroPress more as a tool, a playground, or a mirror of your personality as a brewer?

It’s all three. It’s a tool—I travel with it everywhere. It’s a playground—I experiment constantly, especially since I’m fortunate to receive a lot of coffee and want to explore different ways to approach it.

In a cafe setting, it’s less practical because of workflow and cleanup, but I’d love to see that evolve—whether through design improvements or even creating something inspired by its fundamentals.

What was the most mentally challenging moment during the USA AeroPress Championship?

Finding a place to practice.

Being in a different city made it difficult to access proper brewing space, so we ended up practicing in a hotel gym—which, ironically, became part of the winning formula.

Practice is everything. Winning routines are built long before you step on stage. Without repetition, execution under pressure simply doesn’t happen.

Was there a point when you doubted your recipe or yourself during the competition? How do you deal with pressure when you only have one cup to prove everything?

At the end of the day, judges are just coffee drinkers. Not everyone will like what you like—and that’s okay.

That realization simplifies things. You focus on brewing the best possible representation of the coffee in front of you, and you accept that if it’s not chosen, it doesn’t mean it’s bad—it just wasn’t for them.

That said, there’s still strategy involved. I considered the roaster, the judges’ backgrounds, and the likely flavor preferences based on roast style. From there, I tailored my approach—but once I committed, I trusted it fully and didn’t overthink.

In the final round, while pressing the AeroPress, what was actually going through your mind?

It came down to me and Nick Ginter, and neither of us fits the typical mold of what people expect in specialty coffee—we both come from military and law enforcement backgrounds.

In that moment, I realized that no matter who won, it was a win for the industry. It showed that coffee is for everyone—not just the stereotypical “coffee person.” That perspective made the moment bigger than the result.

Everyone can now read your winning recipe—but what part of your preparation cannot be written in grams or seconds?

Water. Everything starts and ends with water. You can have the best coffee in the world, but if your water isn’t right, it won’t express itself the way you intend.

Recipes matter—but what goes into the cup at a foundational level matters more.

Did your final recipe represent your original idea, or did it evolve under pressure?

It stayed exactly the same. I dialed it in before leaving San Diego and committed to it fully. The key wasn’t changing the recipe—it was repetition. Practicing until the routine became second nature so that when the pressure hit, execution was automatic.

Grinding on a Comandante while running on a treadmill in a hotel gym might sound ridiculous—but it worked.

What does winning this championship change in your life—and what does not change at all?

It’s given me a louder voice, which I’m grateful for. With that comes a responsibility to be an ambassador for the industry—to invite more people into it and represent it well.

What hasn’t changed is my curiosity and intention. I’m still learning, still exploring, still trying to get better—every single day.

Is competition more about proving something, learning something, or letting go of something?

All of the above. It’s a platform to express what you know and what you enjoy, while also being open to feedback—whether people connect with your approach or not. And in that exchange, there’s always something to learn.

Has competition made your relationship with coffee more joyful or more complicated?

More joyful. Not only do I get to explore incredible coffees from around the world, but I’m constantly experimenting with new ideas. It feeds that curiosity in a really fulfilling way.

If competitions disappeared tomorrow, would you still brew coffee the same way? How has losing shaped you?

Yes—I’d still brew the same way. I don’t brew for competition; I brew for people.

Losing was essential to winning. Competing in the April Brewer’s Cup for example against people like Esther Kim, who is incredibly talented, pushed me to trust myself more. Watching her not just win there but succeed afterward in winning the US Brewers Cup Championship was inspiring—and motivating. Loss creates perspective, and perspective creates growth.

What did this competition teach you about yourself that has nothing to do with coffee?

On the morning of my regional competition, my father passed away.

That experience reminded me that when people believe in you—even in the hardest moments—you can still show up. Win, lose, or draw, just showing up can be everything.

Is there a version of yourself before competitions that you sometimes miss?

The version that didn’t have to write recipes down to remember them.

Many home brewers feel intimidated by competitions. What would you tell them?

Just do it.  Such simple advice inspired by Nike… but it’s meaningful.  Just do it.

What matters more: confidence or curiosity?

Both matter—but curiosity wins.

Curiosity pushes boundaries, and exploring those boundaries is what drives progress.

What is one unsexy habit in your brewing routine that made a big difference?

Blowing chaff and fines out of the grounds.

It probably looked more suspect than it actually was—but it made a difference, even if it meant getting coffee in my eyes.

If someone has one AeroPress and zero intention to compete, what mindset should they borrow from competitors?

Don’t get lost in the details—get lost in enjoying the cup.

As you represented the USA at the World AeroPress Championship, what excited you more—the stage or the learning?

The learning.

Being surrounded by 65 national champions was an incredible opportunity to grow.

Are you chasing another win—or a better version of yourself?

Both. I want to refine my preparation, become more disciplined, and continue improving—while also chasing another title.  My eyes are set on the 2027 US Brewers Cup Championship…

What did success look like for you in Seoul, even without a trophy?

Executing the cup I set out to brew.

I didn’t win, but my round came down to a split decision. One of the judges who selected my cup was Leif, the founder of Stereoscope—the roaster of the competition coffee.

As a roaster myself, that meant everything. It told me I honored the coffee the way it was intended. That, in itself, was a win.

If coffee could talk, what would it say about you right now?

“Not too much—save some for later.”

What does brewing with an AeroPress mean to you today, in this exact moment of your life?

It’s the ultimate “come as you are” brewer.

It doesn’t demand a specific identity or approach—it simply allows you to make great coffee in your own way. It was the second brewing device I ever owned, so there’s a personal connection there.

At its core, it represents accessibility, creativity, and enjoyment—and that’s what makes it so special.