Thank you to my folks for generously sending us to NYC for my birthday!
Our trip to New York City ended in a high-speed car chase.
The taxi driver wove around cars at every intersection, accelerating suddenly from 5 mph to 50. Things got funkier on the freeway. For he was engaged in a high-speed chase with himself.
I make kombucha but I still pronounce it incorrectly.
“Kom-Boo-ka” I say. Kombucha enthusiasts are quick to say, “Ohhh, that’s great. We love “kom-boosh-a.”
Since it hit the mass market, we’ve enjoyed drinking kombucha but felt too intimidated to make it. This all changed when my cousin offered to send me a scoby.
“Sure!” I replied, thinking that if I actually had a real life scoby, I would get over my fear of kombucha-making out of obligation.
This was true.
Growing-up in Minnesota, I took rhubarb for granted.
My folks weren’t really into it. Rhubarb was this mysterious, sour pink stalky plant we dared each other to eat as kids. Jake remembers dipping it into sugar. As a young adult, I remember catering an event where the people ate all of the other summer pies except the rhubarb. The rhubarb slices came back to the kitchen where we happily enjoyed them.
I realized they were fools.
Update: Gyst closed its regular restaurant functions. We visited earlier this fall. While the food and beverages were excellent, the “no tipping” notes on the menu were gone and the prices were about the same.
At any moment I expected the bartender to tell Jake, “I’m sorry sir, but we have to cut you off.
“Can you get cut off at a kombucha bar?” I wondered, as he ordered another glass.
Jake’s best described as a beverage enthusiast. He loves all kinds of beverage, from coffee to tea to kombucha to beer. His favorite non-alcoholic drink is definitely kombucha, something I haven’t learned how to make yet. As long as we were at a fermentation bar, he wanted to try everything.
It’s really hot here.
Like, 100° + and high humidity hot. Walking outside, breathing outside, sitting outside, it all hurts.
Of course my dog still wants to sunbathe.
The heat makes me feel hostile so I try to make jokes about it so that I don’t cry. When it’s 98°, I blast 98 Degrees from my car stereo. It’s really not that funny, but when I’m sitting in a molten hot car, there’s nothing funnier. I think the heat’s making me delirious.
Some days the weather is both hot and breezy. But instead of having a cooling effect, the wind makes you feel like you’re baking in a convection oven. Smoothies were never something that I craved. Now I think about them all of the time. They’re so cool and refreshing and not 100 degrees.