You won’t find Moritz Güttinger—the founder of ZURIGA—on the front page of the company’s homepage. In fact, you have to scroll all the way down to the team section to see his photo, quietly placed among the rest. It’s a small detail, but a telling one. It reflects how he sees his role—not as a figurehead, but as part of a collective effort.

ZURIGA may be a made-up word, but it sounds a bit like a person who lives in Zurich —and the brand lives up to the name in the most literal sense. It’s an espresso machine company that designs and assembles every product within the city’s limits, inside a former SBB railway workshop. ZURIGA’s mission is both ambitious and deceptively simple: to bring café-grade espresso into the home, without compromise.

But its most radical decision isn’t about engineering—it’s about culture. In an industry dominated by offshored manufacturing and scale-at-all-costs logic, ZURIGA chose to stay honest, local, and precise. A team of 35 people works collaboratively to build each machine by hand, with the kind of care and clarity that’s rare in consumer electronics—or anywhere, really.

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When I met Moritz, we didn’t talk about specs or pressure valves. We talked about conviction. About the patience it takes to shape an idea, assemble a team around it, and invite others to believe in something new—something that doesn’t exist yet. And yes—how deeply satisfying that can be.

Zuzanna Gasior: Your professional path isn’t immediately clear from the outside, and I found it slightly enigmatic. Can you walk me through your background—what shaped you creatively before ZURIGA?

Moritz Güttinger: I think I come from a pretty normal family (laugh), but we were deeply immersed in classical music—we listened to it, we made it. I then went to a Steiner School, the Waldorf Schule.

That experience made me care about colours, forms—and eventually, design. It wasn’t about engineering or math. Steiner School is much more about music, creativity, and observation. But even back then, I was always fascinated by technology and how things work.

After Waldorf, I went on to study at grammar school. I continued with music initially, but eventually decided to study engineering—specifically, environmental engineering.

So, if you're asking what I was educated in: it was all the classical engineering disciplines. We were trained to build things like wastewater treatment plants and water infrastructure—not exactly what I had envisioned.

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ZG: What drew you to environmental engineering in the first place?

MG: It was the combination of technical knowledge and ecological responsibility. I grew up in a Greenpeace and WWF household, so environmental values were strong at home. That blend—engineering and the environment—felt meaningful. I never really intended to become someone who builds wastewater plants, but that’s what the curriculum delivered. And looking back now, designing a coffee machine feels like a much lighter task by comparison (laughs).

Those studies were interesting, but I realized I didn’t want to work in a traditional engineering firm. What drew my attention next was energy: electricity, energy trading, the European electricity grid. Questions like: Why does France rely on nuclear energy while Switzerland favours hydropower? How do we transition from fossil fuels to renewables? That led me to work at a local utility company—the electricity provider—where I stayed for six or seven years in different roles.

ZG: Honestly - it's not the answer I expected. But it sheds so much light on the mindset behind ZURIGA. 

MG: The last position I held was as an assistant to a board member, and my main responsibility was to introduce a culture of feedback within a very traditional part of the company—specifically among the teams working directly at the hydropower plants. So I found myself in a situation where I had to help shift the culture. At the same time, the energy sector was under pressure, and companies were exploring how to respond. One of the emerging strategies was through intrapreneurships—starting new projects internally.

I ended up launching one of those projects. It wasn’t revolutionary—we were essentially selling electricity from a local power plant—but I was able to form my own team, which was a big shift. The project faced a lot of internal resistance. And yet, that’s when I learned how energizing and rewarding it can be to push something forward even when 90% of the people around you tell you it won’t work.

That experience really shaped how I later approached entrepreneurship. I'm sure you've felt something similar—especially in the design world, where there are countless platforms curating objects, ideas, and people.

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‍ZG: Yes—and what resonates in ZURIGA’s story is that same quiet defiance: doing something that doesn’t immediately fit the mold. That’s why I find your branding so intriguing, it’s not loud, but it stays with you. I have to ask—why the elephant? It feels symbolic, not just decorative.

MG: Honestly, there wasn’t a huge strategic process behind it. One evening, we were sitting together, asking ourselves: What should a coffee machine company founded in Zurich be called? What should its branding look like, feel like, taste like? I knew I wanted something visual, not just letters or a wordmark, but a graphic element that would carry a presence.

And around that same time, we were just launching ZURIGA. When I told people, “Hey, I’m going to start a company to build coffee machines,” about 90% of the reactions were along the lines of, “Moritz, there are already so many coffee machine companies out there. I’m sure you’ll find one that fits your idea.”

It was also around then that I came across an article—science had just discovered that aside from the Indian and African elephants, there was once a third species: smaller, forest-dwelling, and native to Europe.

That immediately clicked with me. In a world of big, established elephants—the giants of the industry—ZURIGA felt like this newly discovered, unexpected species. Smaller, faster, more agile. That’s where the elephant comes from. It’s a subtle, slightly poetic gesture. And yes, I think it’s kind of cute too.

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ZG: (laughs) So what made you want to create another coffee machine in a field full of established players?

MG: Two key reasons led me to start ZURIGA. First, I simply wasn’t happy with the coffee machine I had. I knew it could be better—smarter, more thoughtful, better made.

The second reason came from that intrepreneurial project I mentioned earlier. After I started working on it, I realized I actually enjoyed the spirit of entrepreneurship—of leadership, I’d say. There’s something deeply satisfying about starting something from scratch. You build a team, you generate energy, you pour your effort into something that begins as an idea—and then slowly takes form. That in itself is rewarding.

But it becomes even more meaningful when you feel you’re building something with purpose—not just producing another coffee machine to fill a market category, but creating something better, something more intentional.

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ZG: There’s something powerful in that—when belief becomes something tangible, and others see value in it too.

MG: I think this is the essence of entrepreneurship—the part I find most compelling—is that you start with nothing but an idea. First, you have to convince someone else to believe in that idea. Then it takes hours, days, weeks, months, sometimes years... until that idea becomes a real product. And when it finally becomes something others find valuable—valuable enough to actually pay for—that's incredibly rewarding.

ZG: Do you remember the moment when the first ZURIGA prototype took shape—not perfect, but enough to know: this is the direction?

MG: Actually, I didn’t have one single moment like that—no “first baby,” no specific day or hour when I thought, “This is it.”

It was more of a process. A feeling that grew gradually. A sense that there was something there—something worth shaping. The real question became: how do we give it form? How do we carve out the machine, refine the design, and develop the technology—the electronics, the water paths, the heating system—so that it all serves this original intention?

It was really more about following that feeling. And honestly, that feeling was always full of doubt. Still is. And I believe doubt is actually something good. You should have a vision—a name, a direction—but it should be accompanied by doubt.

There was a newspaper article that came out when we first launched the machine. The journalist wrote something like: “Moritz is constantly adding reasons why this project could fail... and yet he’s so convinced it will work.” That’s pretty much how I function. I think maybe it’s how you work, too.

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ZG: I appreciate your honesty—especially when you speak openly about doubt as part of the process. So, I’m curious—what are the essential elements for you? What defines the ZURIGA approach to design and experience?

MG: From our side, there are really three core values that guide us—and they shape the way we design everything. The first is: we want to design sorrowfully. That means with care, intention, and humility. The second is technology—thoughtful, not excessive. And the third is craftsmanship.

If I had to sum up what makes ZURIGA different from many of its competitors, I’d say: we care deeply about coffee—we want our customers to pull the best possible espresso at home. But at the same time, we’re not obsessed. I like talking about coffee for five minutes. Then I’d rather talk about something else.

There’s nothing more exhausting than sitting through an evening where someone talks endlessly about Barolo or Barbaresco wines from northern Italy. Interesting, yes—for a while. But too much? It becomes noise. That perspective actually protects us. It keeps us from getting lost in the “nerd fraction” of coffee culture. And there are a lot of nerds in coffee.

ZG: Let’s delve a bit deeper into what I find fascinating—your decision to build both your assembly line and office inside a former SBB railway workshop. What led you to take manufacturing into your own hands, rather than outsource like most others do?

MG: First of all, it’s important to clarify—we don’t do full-scale manufacturing. We’re not machining metal or working with raw wood ourselves. What we do is assembly.

We work very closely with our production partners, and we know them personally—we visit them. They’re based in Switzerland, Germany, and the northern part of Italy.

Of course, some parts are sourced from farther away. For example, our electronics are assembled or finished here in Switzerland, but the individual components come from Taiwan—just like almost all electronic components do. We decided to take on the part of the process we felt we could do best. And for everything else, we collaborate with the best partners in their fields.

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ZG: It’s rare these days to see a company not only design a product from scratch, but also commit to building the infrastructure to produce it themselves.

MG: Why do we assemble here in Zurich? There are two main reasons. One is about values: we want to stay close to those who build our machines. That proximity creates a loop of communication—if our engineering team is working on something new and a problem arises on the assembly line, they can just walk downstairs and talk it through in real time. We can prototype smarter, solve issues faster.

The second reason is very practical: We started with small production numbers. And when you're working on a small scale, it simply doesn’t make sense to hand things off to a third party. Too much critical information gets lost in translation—between the designers, the engineers, the assemblers, and everyone in between.

You know that feeling—it’s what you call in Polish głuchy telefon—the “deaf phone” effect. One person passes a message to the next, and by the time it reaches the end, the meaning has shifted. In product development, that can be fatal.

And even today, we’ve found it valuable to keep it this way. When we’re hiring engineers, for instance, it’s attractive for them to join a company that not only designs but also assembles in-house.

So many companies just design and engineer on one side of Europe and then outsource the entire production process to Hungary or the Far East. That might work for some—but we wanted to keep our process whole, connected, and local.

ZG: This might be a basic question, but I’m genuinely curious—what does your space actually look like? Do you share the space with other makers or creative companies? Is there a sense of community around you?

MG: Our workshop—our manufacturing space—is a closed entity. It’s our own facility, with our own team, and it’s not open to others. But we’re part of a larger cluster of companies.

Right next to us, Bierwerk is brewing beer. Vicafe roasts coffee, Soeder produces soap, Qwstion develops backpacks, and Deux Freres makes gin. There’s even an architecture studio In-Situ nearby – they are internationally awarded as pioneers in circular construction. What’s special is that all of us chose to work and produce in the city—in an urban context. And that changes the energy of the place.

Even if our neighbors are making soap instead of coffee machines, we all face the same kinds of challenges. We all run online shops. We all need to hire skilled people, deal with insurance, logistics, and suppliers.

So even though the products are different, the problems—and in some ways, the mindset—are remarkably similar.

ZG: Does your workshop also function as a showroom?

MG: We don’t have a showroom inside our small-scale production facility. Our store is separate—it’s close to Zurich’s central train station. That’s where we welcome customers, serve coffee, and answer questions. The actual manufacturing site is about 10 minutes away by bike.

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ZG: Your website made me think you’re focused mostly on German-speaking countries. Is that the case? And to be honest, when I first saw your product, my immediate reaction was: Why isn’t this in Japan? In Denmark? The design language is that universal.

MG: Thanks - it's great to hear that. But yes, at the moment we’re selling only in the German-speaking part of Europe—Switzerland, Germany, and Austria. It’s mostly a technical issue. We sell electric products that operate under high temperatures and high pressures. Each country has its own regulatory framework, which makes market entry complex and time-consuming. However, yes, we’re preparing to expand. We’re working on Denmark, we’re thinking about the UK. We definitely want to go to the U.S., and of course, Japan, Korea, Australia...

ZG: There’s a clarity and respect for craft in your design. And I think those cultures truly value craftsmanship—they’re willing to pay for it, and more importantly, they understand its worth. 

MG: Yes, absolutely. And I agree—there’s a shared appreciation for thoughtful design in those places. But we also face certain challenges that don’t exist in fashion or furniture. We're producing a potentially dangerous object—something that uses heat, pressure, and oil. That means the regulatory requirements are much stricter than they would be if we were making, say, a table or a pair of pants.

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ZG: The standards are entirely different.

MG: Exactly. And especially in Japan, the regulations are quite protective. They have an incredibly strong electronics industry, and the market is tightly regulated to support it. That creates high entry barriers, which slow things down. But there’s also another side to it. Once we sell a machine, that’s not the end of the journey. Our relationship with the customer continues—they need descaling agents, they need support, advice, the option for repair.

So, entering a new market isn’t something we can test lightly. We can’t just “try” a market for six months, sell a few hundred machines, and then pull out if it doesn’t work.

You can really only do that once or twice. After that, it becomes much harder to earn back trust. It’s a good reminder that even after launching something successful, there’s always complexity and challenge. And maybe that’s what keeps things honest. It keeps you humble. —