Hi there,
Welcome back to school! That's how everyone feels, right? Even if you're not in school (or working at one)? There's something about September where motivation just begins manifesting itself—or maybe that's just me.
It's technically still summer, but social/electronic media “influencers” beg to differ. So do my down-the-street neighbors, whose front gate and garden are already completely decked out for Halloween—featuring spiders, skeletons, and some decorative paper ornaments that are vaguely orange.
Fall has yet to make a full comeback to Trader Joe's—or maybe I'm just overdue for a grocery haul—but the pumpkin flavors are very much here and being thrown in our faces just about everywhere else.
Take the pumpkin-spice latte, which has aggressively maintained a spot in our “peak fall” canon. The first and only time I ever tried a pumpkin-spice latte, it was because, as we say, the hype was real. I was in high school, it was fall, and there was a new hip drink that actually wasn't a Jamba Juice. I remember the utter cacophony around the debut of the Starbucks pumpkin-spice latte in 2003 and how upon finally getting a chance to try one, my sole thought was that it tasted like literal cardboard. The underwhelm (and drop even further below) was great.
I never finished the drink.
I haven't tried a pumpkin-spice latte since.
You know when you expect one experience because of some really snazzy marketing, either in visual or written form—but you’re instead utterly disappointed, or worse?
Too many times a description sounds so enticing that we begin to second-guess ourselves and our palate preferences, and just “go for it” thanks to masterful copywriting. Multi-hyphenates aren't just the children of immigrants in this country: They're marketing ploys more abundant than produce in a grocery store: farm-fresh, hand-rolled, hand-pulled, all-natural, red-wine-braised, grass-fed, gluten-free (rice companies strangely love sharing this “win”!), vine-ripened, oven-roasted, pumpkin-spice...
Other times, it's our own story-spinning and, dare I say, fleeting delusions of grandeur that lead us down this path.
Earlier this summer, I ultimately made the evergreen case to myself that frozen yogurt is simply never the right answer. This fact has been ingeniously showcased on the sit-com, The Good Place, where four deceased individuals end up in the afterlife. More specifically, it’s an afterlife that was created for people who think they've gone up to the good place, but have actually been placed in a bespoke sadistic hell that is, unbeknownst to them, masquerading as heaven. As a form of torture, one of the schemes designed by the "architect" of this hell is to subject the inhabitants to tons of frozen yogurt shops all over the seemingly utopian town as the only form of edible recreation.
I have never once desired a frozen yogurt in my life, and yet for some reason, on this one summer afternoon, the concept of frozen yogurt painted itself in beautiful berry colors in my mind as being the opposite of a wrong answer.
According to my rationale, there were plenty of reasons to attempt to make frozen yogurt. It would mean one less time to go out for ice cream this summer. And besides, I had everything I needed in my kitchen to go forward with this genius idea. I had a pack of frozen berries in the freezer, a container of yogurt in the fridge, and some honey in a bear-shaped dispenser on the counter. I didn't need a recipe; this was a perfect three-ingredient no-recipe recipe just waiting to be made. Why not go for this healthy yet obviously delicious option?
I put aside my thinking brain, and sprang into intuitive action. As the berries broke down in the blender (…which was actually a spice grinder), the reds and blues and blacks morphed together into the exact berry blitz purple I'd dreamed of. As I poured in the yogurt, the texture began to resemble that of a churned dessert that awakens the senses.
This is it, I said out loud, with confidence. I swirled some honey into the mixture, poured it all into a Tupperware container, and placed it in the freezer.
I beamed with pride at my fro-yo completion, despite having never previously associated frozen yogurt with enjoyment. What qualms could I possibly have about this concoction in a few hours’ time, having also used the wrong kind of yogurt (it wasn't Greek)?
Later that evening, my husband Gabe and I went out to see an outdoor movie at Brooklyn Bridge Park.
Afterwards, we considered stopping for some ice cream at the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory nearby, before heading home.
What if we went back for some homemade dessert tonight? I suggested, my decision to veto an ice cream opportunity completely throwing my husband for a loop. Gabe's eyes met mine, lighting up at the element of surprise and my enthusiasm to switch it up. Aligned in our verdict, we rushed to the subway together, eager for what came next. I was feeling very accomplished, happy to provide for our household in this new, brilliant way.
Once home, I unveiled the concoction, ceremoniously slipping off the red container lid. Gabe joined me in basking in its beautiful bright color. He took out two spoons, handing me one, and we proceeded to dig in.
Except the spoons weren't able to make so much as a dent in the substance, even with some considerable effort.
Oh!…I guess it needs a quick microwave treatment. I put it in for 10 seconds: Still impossibly hard. 30 seconds: My spoon would simply skid off the surface. One minute: Now we’re talking—we could finally dig in.
We crunched into it...which was not exactly the sound effect I was going for. What’s more, while there were parts of the frozen yogurt that were, as expected, frozen, there were other pockets where the substance had heated up into liquid...: again, not the inventive contrast I was going for. We contemplated the flavor on our tongues. I kept drinking in the beautiful colors with my eyes...but my heart was saying no. My tastebuds, if you can imagine them for just a moment to be eyes, glazed over, pretending this wasn't happening to them.
Gabe, usually very generous in his positive reactions, said reservedly yet with encouragement: This tastes like something we could have for breakfast!
It was not exactly the let's-abandon-ice cream-for-a-better idea replacement he was hoping for. Indeed, it tasted like a breakfast bowl of yogurt with berries, though ideally the yogurt would neither be frozen at all nor reduced to hot liquid…and all it needed was some granola.
We had a couple bites more each, and then never talked about it again.
Another time, it was Gabe who bowled me over with a pre-conceived idea of an epic dish—one that would instead end up being epic on an unexpected dimension.
It was the height of the pandemic, when everyone's creativity in the kitchen reached a fever pitch, and we were house-sitting for Gabe's aunt Trish in Bozeman, MT. Gabe pitched a novel idea for dinner. What did I think of him making beef, flavored with coffee grounds?
Unpredictable times and new kitchens just bring out all the inspiration! I remember thinking. Wow: Let's do it!
Gabe thinly sliced some beef, marinating it for a couple hours in various spices and aromatics—including the coffee grounds. The coffee aroma permeated the air. It gave off a gourmet whiff but this, too, reminded us of breakfast…
We had a filling dinner that night, yes—the two of us newly engaged and grateful to have everything we needed in an otherwise sobering time in the world.
But our meal resulted in us never actually falling asleep that night.
Jittery and awake, we proceeded to binge-watch almost all of the episodes of the limited series Chernobyl, which wasn’t exactly a show meant to take away the jitters and coax you over into the Land of Nod (a creepy-sounding place in its own right).
Caffeinated and anxiety-ridden, we watched television until 6 in the morning.
Have you ever had full confidence that you were on the cusp of alchemizing edible gold out of straw? Only to have it fully fall flat? Have you yearned for a buzzy description or glossy photo of food only to have your eyes deceive you completely? Please, I’d truly love to hear it.
on the RADAR
I'm adding something new here. In each edition, I’ll share a recommendation of sorts: something either food-related or loosely tied to a newsletter topic.
My recommendation this week is not, alas, froyo, nor is it a pumpkin-spice latte. Instead, it's the most recent episode of one of my favorite podcasts Table Manners. Table Manners is hosted by British singer Jessie Ware and her mom (mum) Lennie, in which they host a guest at one of their respective London homes for a home-cooked lunch or dinner. They are a dynamic duo, and their guests and conversations around food and various other topics are incredibly endearing.
The latest episode features the actor Kate Winslet, who nonchalantly reveals herself to be an amazing chef brimming with vegetarian and vegan recipes. She cooks everyday and always brings her own food to the set. I wasn’t expecting to go into this week being inspired by Kate Winslet to pack my own lunch more often, but I assure you that will be your takeaway from this listen.
Have a wonderful week, and until soon,
Insia
"Multi-hyphenates aren't just the children of immigrants in this country" - Insia-poetry
I never understood the pumpkin spice hype 😕. But give me a fro yo twist & I'm happy 😊