The lady at the juice stand looked at me puzzled wondering
defeated I insisted on pure fruits only crushed in ice, No milk and sugar, she asked, leaving her booth to go around and grab the order from her display. Her son helping her reiterated that I was vegan in case it wasn't clear to her the first time, but
even if she did understand her reluctance in preparing my smoothie expressed an unusual customization to the summer drink altering her menu that wouldn’t taste good
without the cream and sweets, forgoing the pineapple chucks too blew her mind. She did it
anyway, I saw her back in the kitchen over the sink picking out the seeds from
the soursop scooping out only its very white custardy flesh loaded with super
metrics of vitamin C. This was the reason for my choice. She finished blending
the drink, her son handed it to me and said, Six and half bucks, please, I gave
seven and said, Keep the change, he smiled and nodded, his mom as I left their
stall reassured me, It’s a little sour, and I approvingly smiled as well and
thanked her with, I know, Ma'am, and it's worth it.
…
In grad school I had a classmate that strongly resembled him
and his demeanor, it was strange to see this likeness at the expense of juice,
so to speak, our eye contact was inscrutable yet familiar, our small talk shy
on his part but sincere just as was him back in the day. I didn’t mention this
connection/coincidence/de ja vu at that time waiting for my drink, it was
irrelevant I supposed, but the memory was strong and it was good to remember
those days gone by. We were research
partners in human ecology class and did side trips purposely discovering
indigenous food through acculturations. Yes, the soursop was one of them, as
this was, its juice and flesh a traditional and medicinal tonic extracted by the ancient
tribe of our study whose practice still exists today, not to mention other beauties from their
plant-knowledge recipes and viticulture sense-making, for example, a cognac
quality wine from heirloom rice grains golden as the sun.
…
Last night when I was down in bed and couldn’t sleep a salad
recipe popped in my head: endive (pronounced ahn-deev) with cured capers strung around golden beets noodles and dressed
in simple oil garnished over of tamarind-sweetened walnuts. It was a delightful
thought and put me to rest assured of what tomorrow will bring. Food to me is a
combination of hindsight and planning ahead, keen to be original yet repeating
classical styles. I want to surprise myself, and the feeling is good. This devotion
to my kitchen duties is for my health, for writing, and for some amount of
humble happiness dear to me when I’m cooking. Unbeknownst in my fridge when I
opened it this morning sat split yellow lentils and rye berries risotto par-boiled
the Friday of and also realized in the vegetable crisper compartment lay sunflower
and alfalfa sprouts and an abundantly fat plastic bag containing Maui peas
shoots from Mana. Now, what to eat for lunch suddenly came easy by mixing all
these foods up after steaming the microgreens in butter and the juice of Castelvetrano
green olives which I also have in the fridge. It was definitely worth waking up
for and documenting my home food here in words (and hopefully replicating it on
your own in your home) for you. For health and happiness.
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