Greetings, friends of this aromatic community Cinnamon Cup Coffee, this is the first opportunity to write for you, in the 4th edition of the 5 Coffee Conversations series, as a loyal coffee lover I should have done it before.

I have given this topic a lot of thought trying to consider what would make it unusual in the eyes of others: quantity, how to prepare it, where to drink it, company, and more.

I learned to drink coffee when I was twelve years old, my mother made it in a strainer, she would take the first one very red for my father, then with the same coffee, the second one for her and she would go over it again to take out what here is called "guarapo" for the daughters. I liked it very much and I still drink it, I like the strong taste of the coffee.

There are very good brands in my country, but there are also cheaper and adulterated ones that disguise the true flavor. I have heard that they mix them with quinchoncho or other beans and even okra. There are also more expensive ones that add vanilla or chocolate. I like it to taste and smell like the original coffee.

_{A coffee with bread in the afternoon is one of my favorites.}

It may be unusual in that it does not alter my nerves or give me insomnia, which is one of the complaints of the detractors, to me it produces joy, an inner emotion, a trip to the good times and the comfort that encounters bring.

The most pleasant and valuable thing about coffee is that it is the ideal companion for a conversation, it is as if it invites confidences. Whoever drinks a coffee with one says with his behavior: "I have time for a good conversation".

Many years ago, I traveled on an emergency trip to see my mother who had been hospitalized, I arrived at night and stayed in a hallway outside the room where she was being kept. At one o'clock in the morning a stretcher-bearer approached me with a little plastic cup of coffee, I thanked him and I still do, as I write, that gesture revived my strength, gave me encouragement and filled me with faith.

During the crisis that we lived in Venezuela, coffee and other items were not available in those days; a friend, with whom I always shared this drink, told me that she had made corn coffee and that it was the same. I was surprised and wanted to investigate. She had toasted pre-cooked corn flour in a frying pan and when it was golden brown she put water in it, strained it and drank it with sugar. That was very unusual. I didn't try it because I was sure I wouldn't find the caffeine, but she took the opportunity to simulate the feeling of having a good coffee in her hands and enjoy the good conversation.