What Do You Taste?

Published in Standart Issue 44

You hear Ondra Štökl before you see him. A laugh, a joke, a hearty ‘Ahoj!’ carrying around the corner — and then the man himself, all 6ft 3in (190cm) of him. It’s mid-morning in Prague, and he’s already at his second venue of the day. As head of coffee at Ambiente, a gastronomy group with more than 30 venues across the city, he’s rarely in one place for long. He steps behind the bar, pulls a shot, sips it and encourages the barista to do the same. This is about as quiet as he gets and for about as long; he lets the hot espresso coat his mouth and, staring into the middle distance, contemplates the aftertaste. He then turns to the barista with the question he asks everywhere, every day:

What do you taste?

We are at the newly opened Myšák patisserie, in the Renaissance-era Schwarzenberg Palace near Prague Castle. Inside, tradition meets modernity. The glistening coffee station stands next to a vitrine filled with classic Czech pastries—větrníky, věnečky, and laskonky—cakes, and chlebíčky (open sandwiches). As head of coffee, Ondra needs to be here, often. Everything is new, not just for the baristas but, to some extent, for him too: a brand new two-group La Marzocco KB90 espresso machine, a new Mahlkönig E80 Supreme grinder, a new station, a new workflow, new colleagues, new challenges.

‘What do you taste?’ he asks. ‘Caramel,’ the barista offers, ‘and chocolate notes.’ A small adjustment, Ondra suggests, could coax out the juiciness of apple. Together, they work through the day’s recipe. 17g of ground coffee in, 44 out, in 26 seconds—the day’s arithmetic, revised hourly. ‘Finer or coarser?’ he asks after another sip. ‘Let’s try it again. What do you taste now?’

The espresso is a washed blend of caturra and catuaí. He and general manager Matěj Pína chose it together last year in Guatemala. Sweet, creamy, slightly acidic, it pairs perfectly with traditional Czech patisserie and the guests it serves. ‘Coffee needs to talk to the guest sitting in front of it,’ Ondra says, explaining that for each concept, he has to think a little differently.

Every venue, he explains, is unique—in its size and the type of food it serves—and the coffee must match. ‘A venue with richer, heavier food often calls for a simpler flavour profile—chocolate, caramel, nougat. Then there are the more modern places, where guests can handle something fruitier, a higher-acidity coffee from Kenya, for example.’

This is the third Myšák in Prague. The first, which Ondra has already visited today, originates from a small traditional pastry shop in the city centre. This new location is huge by comparison, with a summer terrace offering a panoramic view of the entire city. ‘Not a bad view first thing in the morning, right?’ Ondra asks, before returning to work. The approach needs to remain consistent across locations: view or no, guests expect beautifully decorated pastries made from scratch, along with coffee that complements rather than overpowers the sweets.

What does a head of coffee actually do?

‘Let’s continue,’ Ondra says after a hearty ‘Čau!’ to his colleagues behind the bar. ‘Each day is different. With this Myšák, we are still building, so we’re in contact every day—repetition is the key,’ he says. We pass a statue of Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk, the first president of Czechoslovakia, and then stroll down Nerudova Street, paved with cobblestones, from the Castle towards the tram stop, stealing one final glance at the view as we snake through the crowds of oncoming tourists. Ondra, who has walked this path countless times, remains focused on the task at hand. ‘Of course, unexpected situations arise at times, and I have to address them immediately. But that’s also what makes it interesting.’ We can see why.

Most restaurant groups of a certain size now employ someone like him—a head of coffee: part sommelier, part technician, part confidante to the baristas. In practice, Ondra functions as a kind of hotline, fielding everything from coordinating construction at new venues to equipment maintenance and repairs. ‘When a coffee machine breaks down, the entire establishment practically grinds to a halt,’ he says.

Ondra joined in 2015 with the opening of Eska, the group’s bread-obsessed bakery-restaurant renowned for its culinary creativity. He was handed responsibility for the coffee programme on day one, a programme that, like Ondra himself, quickly outgrew Eska.

Across the over 30 locations, that amounts to nearly five tons of coffee a year—equivalent to about 290,000 shots at 17 grams per double, or enough to caffeinate a sold-out Wembley Stadium, three times over, and then some. Cappuccinos are the commonest order. While espresso-based drinks still dominate, the popularity of filter coffee is steadily increasing every year.

‘To be honest, it was much simpler when I started out as a head barista a few years ago,’ he reflects as we approach the city centre aboard the gently vibrating number 12 tram. ‘The main goal was to introduce specialty coffee, experiment, and convince managers why it was a worthwhile investment. It’s more challenging now, especially in this era. The real test at the moment is maintaining the quality and standards that customers expect.’

The battle for specialty coffee in Prague has been won; Ondra helped win it. The remaining task is the more challenging, less glamorous type: ensuring consistent quality across thirty-odd bars, one shot at a time.

What are you looking for?

The tram heading towards Karlín takes us along the river and over the bridge. As we rattle over the Vltava River, Ondra makes a few quick phone calls, transitioning from one conversation to another, before refocusing on us, and the conversation shifts to what he looks for when he visits one of his locations. ‘You know, I always check for the mood—that’s the most important aspect, everywhere. How the barista talks, how they approach guests, how they manage the rush,’ Ondra says. ‘Before I engage with the baristas, I try to grasp the situation. I ask about their day so far, if there’s something that’s not working. Perhaps they haven’t had the best day, and that’s okay,’ he says.

A recorded voice announces the stop: ‘Křižíkova,’ and Ondra appears to be a step ahead already. His stride is long and his pace brisk. It proves difficult to keep up, but keep up we do.

‘It all starts with the barista’s character. While I don’t want to dwell solely on problems, I must address them. But I’ve found that if I raise these issues after understanding the context, people are more ready to share, find solutions, and avoid future issues.’

We’re nearly at our next cafe stop, Eska. Ondra is speaking both faster and louder now. ‘Baristas pour a part of themselves into every cup they serve, and you can discern a barista’s mood in the coffee. A more conservative barista aims to keep the recipe consistent. When someone is in a bad mood, they may pull a longer espresso. When someone is in a good mood, they may experiment by altering the recipe and exploring flavours,’ he says. It is the closest thing his job has to a diagnostic tool: the shot as a mood ring.

What makes a truly great barista?

The scent of bread and coffee cuts through the vast industrial space, where Ondra’s career began and where he still enjoys returning—and not just for the coffee. Eska, the most adventurous of the venues, is known for its lively, fruity coffees. The grinder hoppers showcase beans from various specialty roasters, including BeBerry, Fathers Coffee, and Industra, in addition to Nordbeans’ custom roasts. Their milk-based drinks are creamy yet distinctly fruity—a perfect pairing for a fresh pastry.

Ondra greets his colleagues and asks after the day’s batch brew. ‘An anaerobic natural SL14 from Uganda—quite funky and fruity,’ comes the reply. ‘Oooh. Great choice,’ he says. ‘You need to stop by UM—I have some new coffees from Brussels I’d like you to taste.’ Approaching the grinder that was serviced the week before, he purges a few grams and rubs the grounds between his fingers, checking the adjustment wheel. ‘Can you see the difference? Is it working properly? How is the setting?’ He moves to a nearby table.

Over one of Eska’s staple dishes—potatoes in ash served with smoked carp, egg yolk, dill, kefir, and buttered brioche—the talk turns to what makes a great barista. ‘I think it’s curiosity,’ he says. ‘If someone asks—for example, why the steam wand doesn’t work the way it should, or reaches out for technical support, or just asks for help—that’s the signal that the person is in the right place and is genuinely interested. The support is there. If someone is curious, I or my colleagues will give them what they need to get more involved and to keep moving—because even the coffee world is moving very fast.’

He admits that he can’t always answer every question he receives. ‘But the thing is, don’t be afraid to reach out to other professionals. What my work has taught me is that I don’t need to know all the answers.’

What’s happening out there?

Ondra bids farewell to his colleagues, and we’re soon on our way. ‘I want to show you something,’ he says as we board the tram again. ‘You know, the world of coffee moves pretty fast. And I think the Czech Republic is keeping up with it. Every month, a new specialty coffee cafe opens, and new roasteries come to market. For a country this small, it’s remarkable,’ he reflects aloud. ‘And what’s important to mention is that specialty coffee has become a standard across the country—even in smaller cities, you usually find skilled baristas working with specialty beans.’

Something that doesn’t get discussed enough, he adds, is the presence or otherwise of specialty coffee in restaurants. ‘If a restaurant offers it—even alongside traditional Czech dishes, and even if coffee isn’t their primary focus—it signals a meticulous approach to their products. They take care of the details. This is becoming more common here. Tomáš Karpíšek, the group’s founder, once told me that even when an ingredient isn’t local, we must treat it as if it were, giving it the utmost care.’

‘Okay, here we are.’ We stand before Pleiku, a recently opened specialty coffee shop in the Libeň district. Our visit isn’t for work, but for inspiration. The place is owned by Jackie Tran, a Vietnamese coffee enthusiast born in the Czech Republic, who has an enviable track record of successful cafes, each with its own soul and distinct identity.

We examine the menu: Peru El Morito washed, Ethiopia gesha natural, South Africa racemosa natural, and several other options for pour-over. Opting for the Ethiopia as espresso—juicy and tropical, it tastes like a holiday—we absorb the space around us. A sculptural paper lamp hangs above the bar, throwing warm light over an earthy palette; the effect is calm. ‘What Jackie does is impressive. I admire all his projects and his approach to the craft. Having someone with whom I can share my passion—that’s what I value most about this world,’ Ondra says as we sip.

Why would you want any other job?

As the afternoon wanes, we return to the city centre, heading to UM—the group’s test kitchen, classroom, and innovation hub, and Ondra’s professional home. The inevitable question: Is this a dream job?

‘Yes,’ he answers without hesitation. ‘To me, a dream job means being able to pursue what you love and go deep into it, supported by the time and resources from your employer. The main thing is the opportunity to work with people who want to solve problems, overcome obstacles, and improve things. That, to me, is extraordinary.

‘Also, the ability to travel, see global trends, bring inspiration back here, and teach and learn—and to bring some of my colleagues along to experience the vast and dynamic world of coffee—that’s the dream.’

But isn’t it a demanding role? ‘It is, and I believe it’s not for everyone, as it requires significant availability and a willingness to commit a lot of time. I’ve never truly mastered work-life balance, and I have three children. It’s incredibly difficult. Yet, I love being with them just as much as I love my work.’

Where does it all go?

We descend underground at Národní 28, passing Kino Evald—an old independent cinema named for director Evald Schorm, a pioneer in Czech New Wave cinema—before entering UM. This is where Ondra and his colleagues have established their base. ‘This is our home, not only physically but philosophically,’ he says.

He walks us through to the large test kitchen, where the creative chefs experiment and conduct workshops. Pausing to chat with the chefs, he says, ‘I love working with the people who define what UM is. The entire creative team is truly inspiring. When I see what they’re testing and developing, it ignites new ideas in me.’

He then leads us to the other side of the space: the baristas’ corner, filled with equipment and globally sourced coffee bags. Here, a classroom hosts courses available to the public. ‘Czechs are extremely passionate about coffee,’ he says, preparing for another cupping class. ‘They take part in courses, seek out various coffees and cafes, and are enthusiastic about enjoying quality coffee at home and in their weekend cabins.’ Over the past few years, he has guided nearly 2,000 people through the nuances in their cup. He’ll stay here for a few more hours before heading home.

Just before the class, he brews a V60 with beans from Barista Map—an unusual anaerobic liberica, full of passion fruit, leather, soy sauce, and cedarwood—and carries it into the kitchen for the chefs.

‘Hey, you have to taste this!’

Then the question he has been asking all day, the one he will ask again tomorrow:

‘What do you taste?’