Category Archives: Drink recipe

On soda pop

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I used to drink soda or pop when I was a kid. You know, sugary water with lots of bubbles and some sort of flavor profile–sweet, very sweet. Then my teeth started to get lots of cavities and I gave it up. Even when I got to college, I would limit my intake of sodas to one a month. I lost my taste for lots of sugar and caffeine, and I never went back. I know why people drink soda–sugar and caffeine–but what happens if nobody needs either of those things? Sure, people drink soda as a refreshing experience that slakes their thirst and cools their brow, but water does the same thing. Not that it worries me that people drink soda, but it does seem super unhealthy to drink gallons and gallons of the stuff. Some people will drink a cola or two to start the day, others will have one at lunch or on break, still others will drink a giant litre or two with a couple of burgers and a bunch of fries–tons of carbohydrates, more sugar than a body really needs, and more caffeine than anyone needs. If you look at the actual food value of soda, it’s almost non-existent except for the sugar, and we all get too much of that anyway. Soda is really just a question of good marketing of a sugary food product. Perhaps a splash of cola once in awhile with a bunch of ice and other things to modify the flavor (lemon?) isn’t so bad, but living off of the stuff on a daily basis has got to be bad for a person. Nevertheless, far be it from me to tell anyone else how to live their life.

On soda pop

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I used to drink soda or pop when I was a kid. You know, sugary water with lots of bubbles and some sort of flavor profile–sweet, very sweet. Then my teeth started to get lots of cavities and I gave it up. Even when I got to college, I would limit my intake of sodas to one a month. I lost my taste for lots of sugar and caffeine, and I never went back. I know why people drink soda–sugar and caffeine–but what happens if nobody needs either of those things? Sure, people drink soda as a refreshing experience that slakes their thirst and cools their brow, but water does the same thing. Not that it worries me that people drink soda, but it does seem super unhealthy to drink gallons and gallons of the stuff. Some people will drink a cola or two to start the day, others will have one at lunch or on break, still others will drink a giant litre or two with a couple of burgers and a bunch of fries–tons of carbohydrates, more sugar than a body really needs, and more caffeine than anyone needs. If you look at the actual food value of soda, it’s almost non-existent except for the sugar, and we all get too much of that anyway. Soda is really just a question of good marketing of a sugary food product. Perhaps a splash of cola once in awhile with a bunch of ice and other things to modify the flavor (lemon?) isn’t so bad, but living off of the stuff on a daily basis has got to be bad for a person. Nevertheless, far be it from me to tell anyone else how to live their life.

On wine

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Wine is a controversial beverage. Wherever you go, someone has an opinion, pro or con, about wine because it contains alcohol, and alcohol, for good or bad, has been the source of much pleasure and much pain throughout history. The secret to enjoying wine is to know how much to drink and when to stop, and never, I mean never, drink wine on an empty stomach. It will hit your blood like a steam roller and you will be toast in no time at all. Wine is best enjoyed with friends over food. If you are mixing your box of wine with cola and sitting alone on a park bench while you enjoy your toxic coctail, you might want to re-examine both your life and your career objectives. Wine should probably not be mixed with anything, especially if it is worth drinking. Sangría, a Spanish wine cocktail, is best enjoyed very sparingly for reasons which I think are obvious. A decent bottle of wine, white or red, to be shared by several people over dinner, is a unifying drink that can turn an average dinner into a totally delightful evening, enhancing the dining experience, bringing people together, relaxing the diners, and complimenting the food, especially if both food and wine are choosen carefully. Wine is one of those drinks that can either make your dining experience wonderful, or, conversely, make your life miserable if you have too much. There are worse things in the world than a wine hangover, but I don’t want to list any of them here because they are all disagreeable and nasty. Drinking alcohol has to be a personal decision based a series of social, ethical, religious, and moral consideration, and I admire those who make a decision and stick by it–if you don’t drink, great, if you do, understand the implications and live with them, but don’t be a high and mighty fence-sitter who hypocritally points fingers but then drinks in private. By the way, drinking in private is a sign that you might be joining the guy on the park bench with the box wine and two litre bottle of cola. This note is neither a condemnation of drinking nor is it a recommendation of drinking, but it is a discussion of wine. Many of my friends drink wine, and I have been known to sip spoiled grape juice on occasion. For me, food and win go together like Laurel and Hardy, like spaguetti and meatballs, like the Fourth of July and parades. When eating a steak (not a vegetarian, either), a nice strong glass of some velvety red wine is the perfect beverage companion, not that you couldn’t drink a glass of milk with your steak. When eating some beautiful piece of fish smothered in a clam and shrimp sauce, you must have a nice, light, glass of white wine in order to ensure a good digestive process–drinking water might make your tummy hurt. I’m not saying that water isn’t always the perfect solution–I drink plenty of water (yes, I admit it, even though water is so strong!)–but sometimes it’s not the best solution (water is a compound, not a solution, unless you dissolve something in it, and it stops being just a compound), and if you are a teatotaller, more power to you, pass the water pitcher. So sometimes I drink wine, just like the guests at the wedding in Cana.

On wine

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Wine is a controversial beverage. Wherever you go, someone has an opinion, pro or con, about wine because it contains alcohol, and alcohol, for good or bad, has been the source of much pleasure and much pain throughout history. The secret to enjoying wine is to know how much to drink and when to stop, and never, I mean never, drink wine on an empty stomach. It will hit your blood like a steam roller and you will be toast in no time at all. Wine is best enjoyed with friends over food. If you are mixing your box of wine with cola and sitting alone on a park bench while you enjoy your toxic coctail, you might want to re-examine both your life and your career objectives. Wine should probably not be mixed with anything, especially if it is worth drinking. Sangría, a Spanish wine cocktail, is best enjoyed very sparingly for reasons which I think are obvious. A decent bottle of wine, white or red, to be shared by several people over dinner, is a unifying drink that can turn an average dinner into a totally delightful evening, enhancing the dining experience, bringing people together, relaxing the diners, and complimenting the food, especially if both food and wine are choosen carefully. Wine is one of those drinks that can either make your dining experience wonderful, or, conversely, make your life miserable if you have too much. There are worse things in the world than a wine hangover, but I don’t want to list any of them here because they are all disagreeable and nasty. Drinking alcohol has to be a personal decision based a series of social, ethical, religious, and moral consideration, and I admire those who make a decision and stick by it–if you don’t drink, great, if you do, understand the implications and live with them, but don’t be a high and mighty fence-sitter who hypocritally points fingers but then drinks in private. By the way, drinking in private is a sign that you might be joining the guy on the park bench with the box wine and two litre bottle of cola. This note is neither a condemnation of drinking nor is it a recommendation of drinking, but it is a discussion of wine. Many of my friends drink wine, and I have been known to sip spoiled grape juice on occasion. For me, food and win go together like Laurel and Hardy, like spaguetti and meatballs, like the Fourth of July and parades. When eating a steak (not a vegetarian, either), a nice strong glass of some velvety red wine is the perfect beverage companion, not that you couldn’t drink a glass of milk with your steak. When eating some beautiful piece of fish smothered in a clam and shrimp sauce, you must have a nice, light, glass of white wine in order to ensure a good digestive process–drinking water might make your tummy hurt. I’m not saying that water isn’t always the perfect solution–I drink plenty of water (yes, I admit it, even though water is so strong!)–but sometimes it’s not the best solution (water is a compound, not a solution, unless you dissolve something in it, and it stops being just a compound), and if you are a teatotaller, more power to you, pass the water pitcher. So sometimes I drink wine, just like the guests at the wedding in Cana.

On wine

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Wine is a controversial beverage. Wherever you go, someone has an opinion, pro or con, about wine because it contains alcohol, and alcohol, for good or bad, has been the source of much pleasure and much pain throughout history. The secret to enjoying wine is to know how much to drink and when to stop, and never, I mean never, drink wine on an empty stomach. It will hit your blood like a steam roller and you will be toast in no time at all. Wine is best enjoyed with friends over food. If you are mixing your box of wine with cola and sitting alone on a park bench while you enjoy your toxic coctail, you might want to re-examine both your life and your career objectives. Wine should probably not be mixed with anything, especially if it is worth drinking. Sangría, a Spanish wine cocktail, is best enjoyed very sparingly for reasons which I think are obvious. A decent bottle of wine, white or red, to be shared by several people over dinner, is a unifying drink that can turn an average dinner into a totally delightful evening, enhancing the dining experience, bringing people together, relaxing the diners, and complimenting the food, especially if both food and wine are choosen carefully. Wine is one of those drinks that can either make your dining experience wonderful, or, conversely, make your life miserable if you have too much. There are worse things in the world than a wine hangover, but I don’t want to list any of them here because they are all disagreeable and nasty. Drinking alcohol has to be a personal decision based a series of social, ethical, religious, and moral consideration, and I admire those who make a decision and stick by it–if you don’t drink, great, if you do, understand the implications and live with them, but don’t be a high and mighty fence-sitter who hypocritally points fingers but then drinks in private. By the way, drinking in private is a sign that you might be joining the guy on the park bench with the box wine and two litre bottle of cola. This note is neither a condemnation of drinking nor is it a recommendation of drinking, but it is a discussion of wine. Many of my friends drink wine, and I have been known to sip spoiled grape juice on occasion. For me, food and win go together like Laurel and Hardy, like spaguetti and meatballs, like the Fourth of July and parades. When eating a steak (not a vegetarian, either), a nice strong glass of some velvety red wine is the perfect beverage companion, not that you couldn’t drink a glass of milk with your steak. When eating some beautiful piece of fish smothered in a clam and shrimp sauce, you must have a nice, light, glass of white wine in order to ensure a good digestive process–drinking water might make your tummy hurt. I’m not saying that water isn’t always the perfect solution–I drink plenty of water (yes, I admit it, even though water is so strong!)–but sometimes it’s not the best solution (water is a compound, not a solution, unless you dissolve something in it, and it stops being just a compound), and if you are a teatotaller, more power to you, pass the water pitcher. So sometimes I drink wine, just like the guests at the wedding in Cana.

On café con leche

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You would think that this simple drink would be easy to make, but you would be wrong. Everybody wants to turn this coffee drink into a milk drink by adding way too much milk. If I wanted a milk drink, I would ask for a milk drink, but this is “café” con leche, not the other way around. Why does everyone always want to put a quart of milk in my two shots of expresso? Granted two shots of expresso look a little dark and opaque, but that is where the flavor starts, anything you add after that only reduces all of that good coffee taste with which you started out. In Spain, Italy and France, they pretty much understand the concept of “café con leche” with the milk “leche” being a secondary player that gets tossed in at the last minute to bring up the flavor of the coffee by involving a little fat in the equation. An ounce or two of milk is more than enough to fulfill this promise. All of the drinks at Starbucks are way too overloaded with milk, but I think that this is more in tune with the American taste palette than it is with a European one. Europeans like a strong flavor profile, and Americans tend to shy away from that super-ideal coffee drink, the “café sólo,” which will probably be two shots of expresso straight up, with nothing added or taken away. When I do go to the local coffee emporium I ask for a double shot of expresso with just a shot of milk in it–manchado, macchiato–which is not on the menu so they immediately asked me if I want a cappuccino, which is a bunch of milk with a shot of coffee–no, I don’t want that, let me explain it again. Two shots of expresso and a shot of steamed milk. “But that won’t even fill up the cup. Are you sure?” After I finally convince them to build what I want, then they have to charge me for something, and since my drink is not on the menu, they have to go outside the box. I usually solve this problem for them–just charge me for the double expresso, which is a great solution for them and for me. Where I go regularly for coffee, my café con leche, the baristas have it figured out. The idea behind “café con leche” is to drink a strong coffee drink, but you don’t have to drink five or six cups of “Americano” to get the same effect. You drink a “café con leche” and you don’t have to run to the bathroom six or seven times right away. When you drink a café con leche you can sit and sip and contemplate the world while your mouth is invaded by this beautiful, full-flavored coffee drink that is, in and of itself, a wonderful flavor. You don’t need to add vanilla or cinnamon or hazelnut because coffee is already a flavor by itself. You don’t need caramel or chocolate or orange because coffee, if done well, undiluted by gallons of milk, works just fine by itself. You have one café con leche and you are fine for a good long while as the caffeine courses through your body, lighting up your nervous system, changing the way your brain processes information, realigning your neurons and firing synapses at a much higher rate than before, chasing sleepiness off to the darker recesses of the brain where it curls up like a tired dog. The beauty of this simple concoction cannot be overstated–two shots of expresses, and an ounce or two of hot milk, maybe a bit of sugar, and you have a libation worthy of the gods.

On café con leche

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You would think that this simple drink would be easy to make, but you would be wrong. Everybody wants to turn this coffee drink into a milk drink by adding way too much milk. If I wanted a milk drink, I would ask for a milk drink, but this is “café” con leche, not the other way around. Why does everyone always want to put a quart of milk in my two shots of expresso? Granted two shots of expresso look a little dark and opaque, but that is where the flavor starts, anything you add after that only reduces all of that good coffee taste with which you started out. In Spain, Italy and France, they pretty much understand the concept of “café con leche” with the milk “leche” being a secondary player that gets tossed in at the last minute to bring up the flavor of the coffee by involving a little fat in the equation. An ounce or two of milk is more than enough to fulfill this promise. All of the drinks at Starbucks are way too overloaded with milk, but I think that this is more in tune with the American taste palette than it is with a European one. Europeans like a strong flavor profile, and Americans tend to shy away from that super-ideal coffee drink, the “café sólo,” which will probably be two shots of expresso straight up, with nothing added or taken away. When I do go to the local coffee emporium I ask for a double shot of expresso with just a shot of milk in it–manchado, macchiato–which is not on the menu so they immediately asked me if I want a cappuccino, which is a bunch of milk with a shot of coffee–no, I don’t want that, let me explain it again. Two shots of expresso and a shot of steamed milk. “But that won’t even fill up the cup. Are you sure?” After I finally convince them to build what I want, then they have to charge me for something, and since my drink is not on the menu, they have to go outside the box. I usually solve this problem for them–just charge me for the double expresso, which is a great solution for them and for me. Where I go regularly for coffee, my café con leche, the baristas have it figured out. The idea behind “café con leche” is to drink a strong coffee drink, but you don’t have to drink five or six cups of “Americano” to get the same effect. You drink a “café con leche” and you don’t have to run to the bathroom six or seven times right away. When you drink a café con leche you can sit and sip and contemplate the world while your mouth is invaded by this beautiful, full-flavored coffee drink that is, in and of itself, a wonderful flavor. You don’t need to add vanilla or cinnamon or hazelnut because coffee is already a flavor by itself. You don’t need caramel or chocolate or orange because coffee, if done well, undiluted by gallons of milk, works just fine by itself. You have one café con leche and you are fine for a good long while as the caffeine courses through your body, lighting up your nervous system, changing the way your brain processes information, realigning your neurons and firing synapses at a much higher rate than before, chasing sleepiness off to the darker recesses of the brain where it curls up like a tired dog. The beauty of this simple concoction cannot be overstated–two shots of expresses, and an ounce or two of hot milk, maybe a bit of sugar, and you have a libation worthy of the gods.

On the apple

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One of my favorite foods, I’ll eat apples in almost any form: fresh, sauce, caramel, pie, juice, cider, baked. Those round red (or yellow or green) orbs of juiciness are to die for. Especially, this time of year when the fresh apples are starting to appear in the supermarkets. I have already written here about making pie, and apple pie is my favorite. As a five-year-old in kindergarten we peeled apples, chopped them up, and fried them with a little lard to make apple butter. Apple butter is to die for on fresh crunchy toasted home-made bread. I like to put grated apple into oatmeal with a little brown sugar and cinnamon. Perhaps what I most like about apples, however, is the simplicity of the fruit itself. Just wash it and start eating. Yes, a little juice might go up your nose in the first bite, but you wipe your chin off and plan your second bite. Red apples look very inviting, but it is the party-colored apples that really have all the flavor. I believe that apples grow everywhere in the world. In Spain they make a naturally fermented cider that when served cold is a most delightful taste sensation. The apple is, of course, the paradigm for all snacks, given by Eve to Adam when he just couldn’t get enough. Does anyone honestly blame him for taking and eating the apple? Would you have done anything differently? When I was in cross-country a number of years ago, we would often plan our routes to include an apple orchard, or at least until the sheriff showed up and told us to stop. There’s a small restaurant in northern Spain in Santillana del Mar called Casa Cossio that serves the most delicious baked apples for dessert, cinnamon, sugar, a twist of orange. It leaves you wanting more. Until I got my braces on as a teenager, fall was all about buying a bag of caramels and some apples and making candy apples. It gets all over your face, your hands, stuck in your teeth, makes an enormous sticky mess, but it is so worth it. As I eat my caramel apple I can feel the cool breezes of October, smell the dry leaves that have already fallen from the trees, stared at the dead gray sky which threatened snow. The big debate when eating apples is, I guess, whether to peel or not. Apple skin has never bothered me, although it will get stuck in your teeth, but that’s what floss is for, right? Apple juice, especially when doctored with cinnamon and other spices–cloves and all-spice–fills a room with glorious smells when heated. On a frigid January day nothing will thaw out a frozen snow shoveler like a nice, hot mug of spiced cider. You might even forget, if just for a moment, that the ice is hard, the snow is deep, that the wind is out of the north, and that the windchill factor is double-digits below zero. Hot apple cider has a way of mending what is broken in your soul, of giving your tired, aching muscles hope, of making winter an okay place to be. On a hot summer day in Texas, you pour it over ice and add a twist of lemon and the heat doesn’t seem nearly as horrible as it is. The apple pie is the perfect dessert–no debate there. I’m not allergic to apples or anything they might put in a crust, so if I am eating out, I can usually trust the apple pie to hold me over until the next meal. The apple is composed of gracious, sensuous lines and curves that suggest erotic pleasures and unnamed delights. The apple lives in its own metaphors, subverting its own innocence while giving boundless pleasure to its consumers. The next time you eat an apple, I suspect you might have a new appreciation for this simple fruit.

On the apple

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One of my favorite foods, I’ll eat apples in almost any form: fresh, sauce, caramel, pie, juice, cider, baked. Those round red (or yellow or green) orbs of juiciness are to die for. Especially, this time of year when the fresh apples are starting to appear in the supermarkets. I have already written here about making pie, and apple pie is my favorite. As a five-year-old in kindergarten we peeled apples, chopped them up, and fried them with a little lard to make apple butter. Apple butter is to die for on fresh crunchy toasted home-made bread. I like to put grated apple into oatmeal with a little brown sugar and cinnamon. Perhaps what I most like about apples, however, is the simplicity of the fruit itself. Just wash it and start eating. Yes, a little juice might go up your nose in the first bite, but you wipe your chin off and plan your second bite. Red apples look very inviting, but it is the party-colored apples that really have all the flavor. I believe that apples grow everywhere in the world. In Spain they make a naturally fermented cider that when served cold is a most delightful taste sensation. The apple is, of course, the paradigm for all snacks, given by Eve to Adam when he just couldn’t get enough. Does anyone honestly blame him for taking and eating the apple? Would you have done anything differently? When I was in cross-country a number of years ago, we would often plan our routes to include an apple orchard, or at least until the sheriff showed up and told us to stop. There’s a small restaurant in northern Spain in Santillana del Mar called Casa Cossio that serves the most delicious baked apples for dessert, cinnamon, sugar, a twist of orange. It leaves you wanting more. Until I got my braces on as a teenager, fall was all about buying a bag of caramels and some apples and making candy apples. It gets all over your face, your hands, stuck in your teeth, makes an enormous sticky mess, but it is so worth it. As I eat my caramel apple I can feel the cool breezes of October, smell the dry leaves that have already fallen from the trees, stared at the dead gray sky which threatened snow. The big debate when eating apples is, I guess, whether to peel or not. Apple skin has never bothered me, although it will get stuck in your teeth, but that’s what floss is for, right? Apple juice, especially when doctored with cinnamon and other spices–cloves and all-spice–fills a room with glorious smells when heated. On a frigid January day nothing will thaw out a frozen snow shoveler like a nice, hot mug of spiced cider. You might even forget, if just for a moment, that the ice is hard, the snow is deep, that the wind is out of the north, and that the windchill factor is double-digits below zero. Hot apple cider has a way of mending what is broken in your soul, of giving your tired, aching muscles hope, of making winter an okay place to be. On a hot summer day in Texas, you pour it over ice and add a twist of lemon and the heat doesn’t seem nearly as horrible as it is. The apple pie is the perfect dessert–no debate there. I’m not allergic to apples or anything they might put in a crust, so if I am eating out, I can usually trust the apple pie to hold me over until the next meal. The apple is composed of gracious, sensuous lines and curves that suggest erotic pleasures and unnamed delights. The apple lives in its own metaphors, subverting its own innocence while giving boundless pleasure to its consumers. The next time you eat an apple, I suspect you might have a new appreciation for this simple fruit.