In about three weeks, my parents will come here to Spain. I’ve found myself imagining how they’ll react to various aspects of my life in Málaga, and the most interesting part I’ve thought of is the coffee. It’s a pretty big deal here, and that will probably surprise them as much as it surprised me at first.

Before explaining the ways in which coffee is a pretty big deal here, I’ll explain my initial surprise to this fact. When I think of coffee, I think of Starbucks. Specifically, I think about the Italian (or at least Italian-sounding) words used in Starbucks. Therefore, I start thinking about Italy and things like espresso. If I’m in an umlaut state of mind, then I’ll think about Vienna because it’s famous for its coffeehouses. Even after all the time I’ve spent in Málaga, Spain is not very high on the list of places that come to mind when I think of coffee; in fact, the presence of Italian-named coffee brands in my host family’s apartment enforces thoughts of Italy.

According to the Spaniards I’ve met while abroad, most of Spain fits the image of “not into coffee.” So what happened in Málaga? In a word, trade. Since Málaga is on the Mediterranean coast, it was a major port for trade with Africa, which included coffee. Over many, many years, coffee became a big deal, with its own exclusive vocabulary.

That’s the part that has the potential to drive my dad nuts when he comes to visit. While my mom doesn’t drink coffee, my dad loves it. He already avoids Starbucks because he can’t stand the terminology, and he can’t speak Spanish, so Málaga cafés will be interesting, to say the least. And in case you think I’m exaggerating, allow me to explain the difference between a nube (“cloud”) and a sombra (“shadow”): a nube is 90 percent milk and 10 percent coffee, while a sombra is 80 percent milk and 20 percent coffee. That’s not much, especially in the small glasses typically used in cafés.

You might be wondering what happens if you simply ask for café. I learned the answer when I started going to the cafeteria at the University of Málaga before classes: it’s presumed that you mean a café con leche, which corresponds to a mitad (“half”). As the name implies, you get 50 percent coffee and 50 percent milk. In fact, café con leche is the only coffee term I’ve heard in both Málaga and other parts of Spain; nobody but a malagueño knows what any of the other words mean.

So, what’s going to happen when I’m out with my parents and my dad wants coffee? I’ll ask him how much milk he wants, make an educated guess by ordering something that sounds about right and pray for the best. But if I mess up and he wants to order a new one, I won’t worry too much: he’ll be the one paying.