I'm one of those people who brings lunch to work. Often I'll also bring snacks: a handful of olives, slices of cheese, chopped mango,mixed nuts. As a Park Slope Food Co-op card-carrying member, my co-workers have been known to make fun of the variety and amount of food I bring to work, even as they jealously eye my lunch while biting into their protein bars washed down with Red Bull.
I don't care. I enjoy taking the time to eat well. Over the years I've gotten efficient at the dinner leftover transformation into brown bag lunch. However salads had remained elusive. If I really wanted one, it would require three containers: one for greens, one for whatever was on the salad, and one for dressing.
Enter Salad in a Jar.
I noticed an intriguing post on @nycsharaton's Instagram feed. Salads! In jars! I'd seen something like that floating around on Pinterest, so I took a better look. You pack from wet to dry. Wet stuff in the bottom (dressing, tomatoes, cucumbers, etc...) and dry stuff on top (mesclun, spinach, etc..) That way things stay separated until ready to eat and the greens stay fresh.
Depending on what you put in it, it can last a week. I've done it a couple of times now and have loved the results. When I'm putting together a salad in the evening, I pack an extra jar and take it to work the following day. Since I don't like having just salad for lunch, I do a small jar as a side.
Pictured: lemon yoghurt dressing, cucumbers, shredded beets, broccoli sprouts, and mesclun. I that order. It was light an refreshing salad to go with an arepa sandwich lunch.
You're stuck carrying a jar, but if you're lucky, maybe you'll be visiting a friend that evening for bookclub and she'll fill your empty jar with cookies. Thank you, Tara!
As a kid, I had no interest in learning how to cook. I thought I'd always have others cooking for me. At home, or out, cooking was something others would do while I pursued whatever self-important thing I wanted to pursue.
If neither of those two options were available, by the time I grew up we'd be eating scientifically designed nutritional packets while strapping on our jetpacks to head to the glass-domed labs and work compounds.
I'm glad that's not the way things turned out. Besides, somewhere along the way I developed a love for the kind of food that's not easy to find in restaurants.
Though I mostly cook without recipes, I look at them for inspiration. A couple of months ago I bumped into The Exalted Olive by Mark Bittman. Olives and oranges seemed like a strange combination, but since lightly salted oranges is one of my favorite things to eat after a hot summer run, I thought I'd give them a try.
Since that first attempt, I've been having this about once a week. The first time I made it I tried to make it look like the original recipe picture. As if that ever worked. Then I decided it was better to chop and toss. I also skip making my own olive puree in favor of a jar of olive paste that had been languishing in the back of the fridge waiting for the right moment.
It's a simple pleasure. Chopped orange slices, tossed with olive oil and a bit of olive puree. Light and filling. It works well on its own, as part of a tapas style dinner, or as a starter. Two oranges can be enough for dinner if I'm not too hungry. One per person is an appetizer.
This will come in handy on those hot summer nights that are up ahead. Even though this has been the winter that refuses to quit, I believe in summer.
There are days when groceries are too heavy or the store is too far away. Or there is simply not enough time.
Since that's been the case for me recently, I've had to start getting creative with what was already in the cabinets. The challenge of coming up with meals cobbled together from what is already there can lead to some interesting meals.
One of my favorites: roasted chickpeas and rice. Easy, simple, delicious. Roast the chickpeas while the rice cooker is going and you've got a meal with a nice protein/carbs balance.
I got the idea from Pinterest but I wanted to skip the sweet flavor. A friend of mine mentioned she liked them better when they were microwaved first - don't know why but it does improve the texture - so I started experimenting and came up with what is going to be a favorite staple in my kitchen. Works great in the toaster oven.
Roasted Chickpeas with Cumin and Paprika
1 can of chickpeas, rinsed and drained
1 teaspoon of olive oil (or less)
1/2 teaspoon of paprika
1/2 teaspoon of cumin
salt to taste (about 1/4 teaspoon)
Preheat your oven. Microwave the chickpeas for a minute. Then add olive oil, spices and salt. Toss until the chickpeas are coated. Spread on an aluminum covered sheet and bake at 450 for about 30min - stirring (tossing? tumbling?) once or twice.
Allow to cool before eating. They'll get crunchier as they cool. Eat warm or at room temperature as a snack, over rice, as a side, or in a salad.
Other spices that work great for this: curry + turmeric, lemon + garlic + pepper, thyme + paprika, ginger + thyme.
Sometimes it takes a walk to find a good run. I'd allowed myself to take a week to recover from the NYRRStaten Island Half. I've been biking instead and I've been allowing ideas of what's next to tumble freely in my head without coming up with a specific plan.
I'd been experiencing loop fatigue. It's a common ailment among city park runners and its most dangerous symptom is a reluctance to run.
I'd managed to avoid this last year while training for the INGNew York City Marathon by staying away from running the main Prospect Park loop. Instead I'd come up with a variety of street routes. This year, as I work on developing a smooth pace, I've running most of my mileage on loops that don't include multiple corner stops, hopping over supermarket crates and dodging live chickens.
Unidentified mushrooms
Yesterday I went forging for mushrooms with Jess and though we didn't find what we were looking for, as we walked through Prospect Park exploring the ground I found myself seeing the park in a different way.
Everyone knows the Prospect Park time-space continuum expands when you're running through its backwoods. It turns out the same thing happens when you're walking. Though at first we didn't see any mushrooms. After while space expanded and we started seeing them everywhere and we found paths I'd never taken before. I was jealous of the runners on these paths.
Other unidentified mushrooms
I went out for mushrooms and came back with a run. I'm looking forward to finding that path by the water again on my run tomorrow. Wish me luck!
Spinach Soup. Vegan. Raw. That was lunch yesterday.
I mean to eat more - lamb, rice, mushrooms, maybe even some salad if I was feeling enterprising - but by the time I was done with the soup I did not feel like eating anything else.
Eating is a sensory experience and for me it's also an emotional one. What I eat changes how I feel and how I feel changes what I eat. What I do also changes it and when I'm very active I tend to crave healthier food.
This spinach soup is Jessica Hulett's recipe. She co-hosted and catered a Spring Detox event last Saturday with an all vegan menu. Though I was skeptical about how much I would like it, when it was time to eat I found myself going for seconds. The food itself was not only delicious but soothing and calming.
I'm not interested in becoming vegan or even vegetarian. It's not just the bacon, though I would never give it up, but I'm not going to avoid delicious food just because it's vegan.
I could not have the soup Jess served on Saturday because it had cayenne pepper (I'm allergic), but everyone's eyeballs were rolling to the backs of their heads and a friend who went with me dutifully obliged and had my share of soup - twice.
After the event, I went to the co-op for the main ingredients: spinach and avocado and I made it for lunch yesterday. I served myself a small cup and sipped. It was rich, smooth, flavorful, and surprisingly satisfying. If this is what vegan tastes like, I think there's room for it in my diet.
I'm not very much into cookies. As I've mentioned before, to me most cookies are too sweet, too dry and with very little in the way of texture. That doesn't mean I'm above enjoying a good cookie, particularly if it's freshly baked.
A couple of weeks ago I ended up with five boxes of sprinkles left over from work - an occupational hazard. I offered some to Reiko since her sons like to bake. In turn, she invited me over for cookies on Monday night after work.
With her son, we made chocolate chocolate chip cookies with sprinkles. They were warm and gooey when we ate them. The chocolate made them dark and rich, not too sweet, and the sprinkles added extra texture.
"Would you like to take some with you?" Reiko asked me as I was getting ready to leave.
"Um." I had already eaten a bunch, plus eaten plenty of raw dough. I wasn't sure I wanted any more.
"Take some. They won't be as good later but they'll still be good," she insisted.
I took them - half a dozen cookies in a small container.
They didn't last twenty-four hours.
And then there were Girl Scout cookies at work yesterday. Samosas and Thin Mints which kept making their way to my desk.
It’s a good thing I like grits and congee because that’s all I got to eat yesterday. For dessert: stained glass jell-o and homemade condensed milk ice cream.
Last week condensed milk made headlines in the New York Times. Glad to see it get the recognition it deserves, I decided to buy myself a few cans and have fun with them. First on the list was stained glass jell-o. Next was condensed milk ice cream. Could making ice cream be as easy as the New York Times claimed?
It was. But I found it too intense, so I added spices to cut the taste: cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. I brought both to a party on Saturday night where they were well received.
After Monday night’s close encounter of the dental kind, I was apprehensive when heading back for round 2. It was a different dentist this time. All she had to do was file one of the fillings to set my bite right again and she did that in less than a minute.
She did not react when I mentioned I was very upset about my appointment the previous day. She didn’t ask me why. Later when she asked me why my jaw hurt so much I told her about how I had received services on Monday night without the benefit of being under anesthesia. I told her the anesthesia was taking time to take effect and I hadn’t been allowed to wait for it to numb me.
“Sometimes that happens.”
Yeah. Not going there again.
My evening was saved by the last of the stained glass jell-o and ice cream. I can chew now, but my mouth is still sore I can’t open it wide enough for large bites – so I’m being all lady-like in my eating.
And using all this as an excuse for more ice cream.
No. I did not bring you any. I already told you that even if I had managed to keep from eating it all, customs wouldn't have let me so stop pestering me. But I do have some answers for you. (The questions are here.)
Colombia has amazing flora and fauna diversity and will knock any country's socks off in terms of butterflies, flowers, fruit, and coffee - plus some other more famous exports that shall not be mentioned. This is just the tip of the fruit basket.
A.
Anna's Guess: Rainbow Olives
Brian's Guess: Applegrape. Great for making wine!
They are ciruelas. Wiki thinks they are similar to jocote.
I've never heard of anyone using them to make wine, but it might not be a bad idea. I imagine it would taste like a light dry plum wine with a hint of citrus. They are vaguely similar to large green olives in terms of size and different textures, with they have a large hard pit. The red ones are ripe, juicy and sticky. The green ones are harder and best eaten with a dash of salt. Delicious in all stages of ripeness.
B.
Brian: Nougatberry. It tastes like candy with nuts in it!
Anna: Eggplant Turnips
It's a Mangostín. It's definitely eggplant colored and it does taste like candy. Ever had Trader Joe's freeze dried mangosteen? Worth the check-out line but it is highly addictive so be careful
C.
Anna:Poppy Thornberries
Brian: Colombian pricklypear. Like the one from the American southwest, but sweeter, with hints of vanilla.
It's a pitaya - a kind of yellow dragon fruit. I've seen red dragon fruit at the co-op but I've never tried it so I can't compare, but if you ever bump into a pitaya, just grab it, cut it open, scoop it out and eat it before anyone steals it from you.
The flesh is firm but soft like a medium ripe banana, but it is refreshing and the tiny seeds make it crunchy. Lightly sweet with a cherry lemonade aftertaste.
D.
Anna: Slimy Sesame Oranges
Brian: Mandrita. A cross between a pomegranate and a durian. Only smells a little bit funky.
Think sweetly fragrant oysters with a light taste and you're on the right track.
I once met someone who worked as a private chef in Colombia. When he found out I was from there, he grabbed my arm and asked me if I had ever been able to find granadillas here. He'd been haunted by their taste and had been unable to find anyone who had even heard of one and was starting to think he had dreamed it.
Nope. It's real. And it's real good. I've never had it anywhere else, but Wiki doesn't seem to think it's that rare.
E.
Brian: Revolution fig. Like a large mission fig, but more tangy.
Ann: Mini Melon Raisins
Though not quite as furry as a kiwi, the skin has a similar texture and you eat it in a similar way. The flesh is very soft and melts in your mouth. It tastes almost like caramel.
Off to have second breakfast - this post left me hungry.
I've seen mangosteen and red dragon fruit at the co-op and in Chinatown. Has anyone else had any of these, found them here, or have the scoop on other amazing fruit?
There is a moment in a blogger's life when the compulsion to have a contest or a giveaway might strike. If the blogger is the kind to get carried away by ideas regardless of practicality or potential embarrassment like yours truly (see The Great Jell-o Wrestling Adventure), the post might go up before panic strikes: what if no one participates?
Thank you all contest participants for saving me from that fate: both of you! I am happy as an iguana on sun-warmed roof tiles (trust me on this one, they love it).
And now, the lucky winners.
Top Entry Winner: Brian Random Grand Prize Winner: Anna
Congratulations and thank you for participating! I will contact both of you to arrange for prize delivery. You'll be receiving a handmade goodie bag filled with Colombian snacks including but not limited to:
1. Coffee Delight - exactly that
2. Tamarind balls - tangy concentrated sunshine
3. Frunas - sweet gummy chews
4. Bom Bom Bun - the best gum filled candy on a stick
5. Mani Moto - peanuts covered in a sweet and salty hard shell
6. Manjar Blanco - there are no words
7. Arequipe - Colombian version of dulce de leche
Thanks all for participating and stay tuned for when I reveal the real names of these fruits.
A game and a giveaway, because I'm happily stuffed and feel like spreading the joy.
Name the fruit - its name or what you think it should be called - in a comment to this post to enter. Submissions that include information whether real or imagined about it get double entries into the draw. You need to name only one to qualify but are allowed as many entries as you like.
There will be one grand prize winner from a random draw and other prizes to top entries. All prizes will be edible Colombian goodies but due to customs regulations there will not be fruit - besides, I ate it all.
All entries must be made by Sunday Feb 28th 2010 at 5pm EST to be considered. Winners will be announced by Tuesday.
Dear Pantry,
I never thought I’d say this on a trip to Colombia, but I miss you. I should know better than to refuse food on a plane, but when they came around offering waffles or chicken tacos my stomach was confused.
My stomach has Indiana Jones delusions, but the truth is that it can’t handle too much change or excitement. Needing to be at the airport at 3:30am, it seemed best not to go to bed. My stomach hates it when I skimp on sleep. An anvil of tiredness hit me in the head the minute I got to my seat, but I woke up when we were taxiing and about to lift off: my favorite part.
That moment when the plane starts going down the runway as fast as it can until it feels as though it can’t go any faster and then it daintily stands on tiptoe. For a second it feels like just that, a light tilting, and the stomach does a little flip of joy and you know the improbably has happened: you are flying in the belly of a great big hunk of metal.
As soon as I made sure we were safely in the air, I fell right back asleep and woke up parched, to the waffle or taco question. I was too thirsty to even consider a sweet waffle, so taco it was. But when I lifted the lid I knew I couldn’t do it. A chicken taco at 5:30am and without drinking. Wasn’t happening.
Taking the taco out of the equation left me with a small serving or fruit and a dinner roll, which I ate. But now it’s nine am and I’m starving. Thinking of you, dear Pantry.
Once I get to my parents (late lunch!) you won’t hear from me much, Pantry. But I’ll bring you something yummy!
Hungrily yours,
Majo
PS. Camera says hi. Slept the whole way, resting up for Colombia. Not much to see on the plane anyway.
Update: after almost missing my connection in Panama City due to excessive blogging, I made it home. Glad to report there have been no more hunger incidents since then.
The way our table was set while growing up, in the middle of it there was salt, there were napkins, and there was a cheese grater. It took the place that pepper mills take at other tables.
We put cheese in our soup. Cheese on rice. Cheese on salad. Cheese on arepas. Cheese on hot chocolate. Pretty much cheese on anything.
I didn't know this wasn't the way the rest of the world ate. I assumed everyone sat down to eat with a cheese grater handy.
When I was seventeen, I moved away from Barranquilla to Bogotá for school and I started missing the cheese. In Barranquilla you can buy fresh, farm made, white cheese pretty much anywhere. It's a non-pasteurized, hard, white cheese made in small batches. Salty. Highly grateable. Not as easily found in Bogotá.
It's because of the cattle. In the northern coast of Colombia - where Barranquilla is - you find mostly Zebu. They are brown, skinny, humped cows. Not very photogenic, but it's a type of cattle that does well in hot, humid weather and produces a high protein milk.
Near Bogotá, in the high mountains, you find more of the pretty black and white Holstein cattle with the smooth back. Those are the ones that get plush toys made in their likeness. Nice creamy cheese comes out of that milk. Good on crackers, good melting points. Not good for grating.
Not good for French toast.
I was eighteen before I found out that French toast was supposed to be sweet and that cheese was not the main ingredient. One of these days I'll share my French Toast recipe with you. It comes out more like Welsh Rarebit than what most of you would call French Toast and it's delicious. It's what I had for dinner last night.
For the past week I’ve been having the exact same thing for breakfast everyday. When I like something, I’m happy to have it everyday and that’s usually what I do, until the weather changes. It’s what I’ve been having for breakfast that surprised me.
I talk to my parents on Sunday mornings. Last Sunday when I was sick and with no voice my mom was upset. “Ay, mamita!” I wish I could be there to make you some changua, she said, expressing her desire to nurse me back to health from 2,000 miles away.
“Changua?” I replied in surprise.
“Si, mamita. Changua” she said. It’s good for you when you’re sick like that. Your brother didn’t like it, but you always loved it when you were sick, she continued.
Changua is a breakfast soup made with milk and eggs. I’m very particular about how I like my eggs. And those of you who’ve been following for a while know I have my issues with milk. How could I like this? My mom had to be confused. I did not like changua. It must have been my brother who liked it.
But my mom recently proved me wrong regarding my memories of a certain childhood incident involving a wonder woman costume and a missing pair of front teeth (she produced photographic evidence which I will not share). Maybe she was right about changua too, so instead of arguing I told her I’d make myself some.
Quick keystroke action gave me a recipe. I had all the ingredients or suitable substitutes in the fridge. Since something savory and warm did sound nice I thought I’d give it a try. I sautéed a small shallot. When it was translucent I added a cup and a half of a milk and water mixture. Salt. Once it was boiling I added an egg, lowered the flame, and let it cook for a couple of minutes until the yolk was fully solid. I poured it into a bowl over crumbled feta and topped with chopped cilantro.
I was prepared to toss this if I didn’t like it. It hadn’t taken long to make and I could always serve myself a bowl of cereal and yogurt if this didn’t work, I thought as I sat down to have the first spoonful.
There was no need. First sip. The taste, familiar but forgotten, took me back to my parents’ kitchen. Second sip soothed my throat and warmed me up. The changua went down easily that day, the day after, the day after that, and the rest of the week. I even had to make a special trip to the co-op for more milk and cilantro. And now I’m much better.
Cookies are not my thing. Never have been. Not making them, not eating them. I might enjoy one sometimes, but I’ll always choose a brownie over a cookie, a tart over a whoopee pie. Cookies are nice. I’ll take one if offered and enjoy it, but they rarely make me my taste buds flare up in happiness.
Today I was invited to not one but two cookie parties. While flipping through cookbooks trying to find something I thought I might like to make I found Mexican wedding cakes. Also known as Russian Tea Cakes, Italian Butter Nuts, Southern Pecan Butterball, Viennese Sugar Ball, and Snowdrops they are considered a traditional holiday cookie.
The problem was that I had two recipes for them: one from The Joy of Cooking and another from The Williams-Sonoma Cookbook and they were different.
I learned how to cook with The Joy. While growing up I had ignored my mother’s dire warnings that I would never find a husband if I couldn’t cook and found refuge in books while staying away from the kitchen.
When I moved to Bogotá for school I no longer enjoyed the benefits of my mom’s cooking, but I could still have homemade meals. Near schools and business areas there are lunch places that sell home cooked food by subscription. They have no menu. They just have one lunch item, but it’s a full homemade lunch and it’s different every day. That was my one good meal a day while going to school in Bogotá. For dinner I was happy to have toast.
It was when I moved to New York that I became interested in cooking. Even though New York is a great place to find all kinds of cheap and delicious food, it’s not easy to have good homemade meals here. And so, craving food at home that did not come out of a can, I started to cook.
Irma was my first teacher. A friend gave me a copy of The Joy of Cooking and through its pages I learned not only how to follow a recipe but when and how to experiment with one. Not only does it have reliable recipes, but it’s also a great reference source. Got a spare butternut squash? Check out pg. 423 for everything you might need to know from selecting one, storing it, different ways of cooking it, to ideas about what to use it for and what foods it goes well with.
Williams, on the other hand, has given me some excellent soups. I have a copy of Soups from the Williams-Sonoma kitchen library and it has yielded an excellent Pumpkin Soup with Gruyere among others.
Another friend gave me a copy of the Williams-Sonoma Cookbook more recently, but since I rarely use cookbooks these days I hadn’t tried any of the recipes. But the pictures are lovely.
Including the one for Mexican Wedding Cakes.
Williams makes them with blanched almonds, Irma with toasted pecans. William uses more sugar, but other than that they’re very similar. Williams’ picture is compelling, but Irma has been my friend for longer. I briefly considered doing a cookie-off and making both versions to see which one I liked best, but decided against.
I stuck by Irma. She may not be flashy, but she’s been true.
Not sure which, but I'm definitely heading for one of those. I'm not doing it on purpose, but it seems to be part of the job description.
Since you've been so loyal I thought I'd come clean and let you know about my recent internet fame. I'm still getting used to the idea of it which is why I didn't mention this sooner.
Let's start with Party in Your Mouth. I love Jess Hulett's show and was thrilled to be a part of it. For those of you who might have missed it, you can watch me share my arepa recipe on this video.
Something else that was fun was this. I walked into this shoot wanting to help my friend Agatha and not knowing exactly what it was. Though it was fun participating, finding out the feature was up and that they had chosen my pictures from an email from an unrelated friend was startling.
And then there's that award that was named after me. It's the Majo Tinoco "that was my eye award" for best injury for the 2008-2009 winter broomball season. It's not news, but it's one that tends to linger the way things do in these google days.
This one falls under the WTF is Majo eating category. Since I was focusing on working on writing stuff yesterday I didn't want to bike over to the coop for groceries. Besides, lunch with whatever is at home is my specialty.
Give me an empty fridge, a raided pantry and I'll give you a meal. Tell me there's no food at home and I'll prove you a liar. Some days what will come out is normal looking - like a Spanish tortilla. Other days you might end up with the above pictured.
Let's start with capellini. Always keep some in hand -it's delicious and it cooks quickly. While the pasta is cooking, fry an egg and break it up with a spatula. Crumble some feta and toss it with the pasta and the egg. The feta will add some salty tangy goodness to your day. For texture (or if you happen to still have some left over from Thanksgiving) top with some homemade breadcrumbs. Toss with soy sauce and extra-virgin olive oil. Lunch for one is ready and it will knock your socks off. That was the first time I tried that particular combination but I know I'll make it again.
For most of my life I hated eating alone. Now I love it. I don't think I'd be able to come up with meals like this if I were trying to feed others. I'd be too weird-conscious. In the words of Mrs. Dalloway "It is the privilege of loneliness; in privacy one may do as one chooses."
It's in that privilege of loneliness that I write.
There’s nothing worse than the smell of freshly baked bread when you can’t have any. It’s the kind of smell that can drive you insane as you sniff the air trying to locate its source, until you track it down not to a bakery where you can go in and buy some, but to some building where some inconsiderate bastard has baked himself some bread for his personal use and isn’t sharing with you.
But that’s just me. I hope my downstairs neighbors are not like that or that they slept through it, because yesterday morning I woke up early and baked an upside down pineapple cake to take to work for an early Thanksgiving.
It got me a share of looks during the commute. The walk to the subway was uneventful. I took the R all the way so I could remain seated with the warm cake on my lap. Safer for the cake, but not for me – people near me seemed to be trying to figure out what was in the not-quite-clear plastic carrier.
But most people in the morning subway are still half asleep, tucked in their own worlds and barely acknowledging the presence of others. It was when I got out at Union Square that I noticed there was something about carrying a cake: I was drawing lots of attention and it wasn’t because of my skirt.
These were not the kinds of stares you get when walking past a firehouse or a construction site. Or the kinds you get when you go down the street dressed like a cat. This was a double take. First they would notice the carrier, get a frantic look in their eyes as they tried to figure out what it was and how it fit in their worldview of possible things, then as they got close enough to be able to smell it, they’d look at me with a hopeful smile.
I’d smile back trying not to look too smug. Sorry, this cake’s not for you, random commuter. But you, dear readers, you get a picture of it. Have a lovely Thanksgiving!
There are those who like milk with their cookies. I prefer them straight up. What’s more, I don’t like milk.
I’ve always hated its taste. My brother loved it. There was nothing better than a glass of cold milk for him. Me? I wanted mine warm and with a small scoop of instant coffee to kill the milky taste before I could head out to face the second grade.
When I finished high school and moved to Bogotá for school, I graduated to brewed coffee with some milk and my life greatly improved. I've followed that course and now what I have is a shot of espresso with a dash of milk.
I will give it that. Milk is good with coffee and it’s also good for cooking. I generally buy a quart at a time. When it’s running low, I buy another one and keep it in the back of the fridge because there’s nothing worse than waking up in the morning and not having milk for my coffee.
But this week has been rough at work with year-end meetings with accountants and such.
Yesterday morning I noticed I the carton was almost gone. I used as little as possible and made a mental note to buy milk on the way back home. Unfortunately, by then I had lost the mental and which is how I found myself with only about a teaspoon of milk for my coffee this morning.
I stared at the meager line of white in the bottom of cup and felt that sinking feeling in the stomach that comes from knowing that no good will come of this day. And then, like dark clouds suddenly giving way to blue skies, I remembered there was some heavy cream in the fridge.
Heavy cream + water does not milk make (in fact, don’t try this at home, kids – it’s kind of disgusting), but it saved my morning. And in spite of what the following video is trying to suggest, I did just fine in school.
The cashiers at the co-op tend to be curious about fellow members’ purchases. It starts out innocently. “What kind of mushrooms are these?” asks the cashier. On lucky days I end up dispensing cooking tips and recipes, other days I get lectured.
A few weeks ago, after inspecting my lebne and my corn cakes, the cashier swiped my six-pack of beer and asked me if I had ever had kombucha. I prepared myself to defend my beer. I’d heard of kombucha. It sounded healthy.
Now. I don’t have anything against healthy, but healthy and good are not enough for me, which is why I don’t practice yoga regularly.
It’s hard to argue against yoga. Whenever I take a yoga class I can feel its benefits. I’ve limped into a yoga class unable to straighten out much-abused hip flexors and walked out with an easy stride. After a month of bikram yoga and no running, on my first race back I was able to shave almost a full minute off my pace.
I wish I liked yoga and was able to keep up practicing it for more than a month at a time, but for me most yoga is like that would-be suitor: very nice, but too boring to hold my attention. It would be lovely, I think as I cover my mouth to stifle a yawn,
What’s worse is the holier-than-thou company it often keeps.
“I’ve had green tea with kombucha.” I replied, tightening the hold on the beer and moving it away from her.
“No. This is a cold drink. When I get beer I usually swap out a few beers for kombucha,” she volunteered.
“Why?” I couldn’t imagine what beer had to do with kombucha.
“It’s so good! I love it!” She said as she scanned the rest of my items.
“You love the taste?”
“The taste is ok, but I love the way it makes me feel!” she replied, and I could see she was already looking forward to finishing her shift and buying herself some kombucha.
“Feel?” I wasn’t getting this.
“It’s kind of like I’m buzzed, but alert, relaxed. And it’s good for you!”
I filed that away under things from the co-op I might to try someday. Thanks to Veteran’s day, this morning I was able to shop in a relatively un-crowded co-op and look for kombucha. I started in the beer aisle and was redirected to the yogurt case.
It’s with the yogurt because it needs to be kept refrigerated. It has probiotics, B vitamins (my favorite!), is naturally effervescent, might have trace amounts of alcohol due to fermentation, and may have floating, living cultures in the bottle. Also, please avoid shaking. I’m guessing you don’t want to disrupt those living cultures.
I was skeptical, but I tried to keep an open mind when I tried it. I’m not sure how many bottles of the stuff you have to drink to feel its effects, so I will only report on the taste.
It was a little sour a little fizzy; light, almost citrusy. Refreshing. Kind of like a slightly flat seltzer mixed with leftover juice from the olive jar. The bottle contained two servings. I meant to have only one, but the whole bottle was gone before I noticed. I loved it, but unless you like to drink the vinegary liquid that olives come in, you might not like it.
I almost went for the fridge to grab a second bottle, when I had nightmarish visions of myself buying goji berries (I hate them), and alfalfa sprouts (they tend to go bad in my fridge – not sure why). Thanks Anna, for sharing this video and helping bring me back to my senses.
