In My Blood: How Mexico Made Me Realize Coffee Was Always a Part of Me

There’s something about traveling to Mexico that makes me feels like I’m home. But on a recent trip, something deeper clicked for me—something about why I love coffee so much, and why it’s always felt like more than just a drink.

One evening, while chatting with my tio who I hadn’t seen since I was about 5 years old, told me that my mamita (my great grandma) used to make coffee at night— for my grandma and her siblings. They’d sit together, sip their little mugs of coffee, and wind down while watching TV. That story stuck with me.

It made me realize: my love for coffee didn’t start with cafés or cute mugs. It’s in my blood. It’s woven into my roots—into the rhythm of how we slow down, connect, and make space for one another.

Even now, every time I drink a coffee, the smell brings me back. Back to Saturday mornings at the kitchen counter with my grandma, my mom, and my aunt. Back to moments that didn’t seem big at the time, but now feel sacred.

So when I pour a cup now, especially through Café Ortega, I do it with intention. I serve it in the spirit of my mamita, of my family, and of all the small, sweet moments they unknowingly passed down to me.