Sunday, March 24, 2019

in the aftermath

I slept a long, long time on Saturday. Didn't get out of bed until around 3 p.m. Had myself a late lunch. I've got enough leftovers to last me a few meals, i.e., a few days. This is good.

I started off by slaughtering the remains of the brisket. Cut everything up Korean-style, reheated the meat, then served it to myself, Korean-style, with a bit of chimichurri as my dipping sauce. Most excellent, and a meal that would have made Dr. Atkins proud.

Slept again for a couple hours, from about 8 to 10 p.m. Got up, went downstairs to the building's grocery, and bought myself several sweet drinks and snacks that would have made Dr. Atkins very sad. On impulse, I chose a weird-looking drink that had caught my eye months ago, but which I had tried to ignore up to now:

Despite the word "basil" being prominently displayed on the drink's front, the basil seeds had no taste whatsoever: I could only guess they were there purely for texture, floating in suspension in part because each seed was surrounded by a clear, bouncy, gelatinous layer. This wasn't so much about tasting the seeds as it was about feeling them—the sort of experience Koreans apparently delight in: Koreans seem to love drinks that you can chew, i.e., drinks with chewable elements in them. This explains the popularity of bubble tea in Korea—a fad that I assume has played itself out in the States by now. Other chewable drinks found in Korea include aloe juice with chunks of aloe; orange-pulp juice with inflated, blister-like bits of orange pulp; yuja-cha, a citron-marmalade "tea" with sugary rind in it; the CocoPalm drinks with gelatinous bits of something that's supposed to be coconut but isn't, etc.

The drink was labeled as grape-flavored, but it turned out to be generically bland. I'm not sure a person would instantly think "grape!" upon drinking this drink. It was okay, as drinks go, but nothing spectacular. The way the drink looks is, sadly, its only true gimmick.

No comments: