This summer I drive an ice cream truck. To say the least, I have an imaginatively long list of food-inspiration that begins and ends with, well, ice cream. But along the way there is a–forgive any loss of meaning that this overused term has struggled with–classic.
Non-dairy beverages are coming in all sorts of fascinating forms. My mom is a hemp milk drinker (after a series of explanation on its not having THC properties); my sister gets down with coconut; plenty of people get their liquid oat on; and I really love almond milk.
A friend with nut allergies walked into our kitchen the other day, expertly scouted the area, and murmured:
This in-between-seasons thing perplexes me. Jeans, or shorts? Hot or iced? Study, or lounge? It took a Day of Initiation and Recline to settle the flustration for me. Tie-dye leaves of golden brown and green rattled about. Gray-blue clouds drummed along. A wind with a little less pollen and a little more coolness whistled through my hair. It was enough: I gathered my semi-wilted produce, my stock and scarf (I think it was still around 60 degrees) and headed to my dad’s to make soup.
Decisive at last! The act of my dad happily eating said soup, in his recliner (leather almost as withered as my bell peppers), made this Recliner Soup.