No activity has the power to set me into an emotional tailspin like washing dishes. If there was a philosophical theory, an offshoot of existentialism perhaps, that explored the dread I feel when I think about an entire lifetime of washing dishes? I would become its foremost scholar.
When I was young, walking the tightrope between learning the meaning of boundaries and taking liberties with small rebellions, I would always put off washing the dishes. It was my least favorite chore because it seemed endless. There was always a pot left on the stove or a fork left on the table waiting to strip me of the relief of finishing my chore. Late at night, I would slink back into the kitchen with headphones set to a soundtrack of pop-punk and stew in the indignity of the rote task.
I've spent most of my adulthood in an apartment with a tiny kitchen. No counters, no dishwasher, and a tiny sink that feels like it is overflowing when it contains over 2 cups and a bowl. The restraint and ingenuity that tiny kitchen has bred in me as a cook and baker is not matched by my steadfast ire for washing dishes. I made a lot of incredible food during quar but there were days I could barely bring myself to eat because I could only think about the dishes I would have to wash.
Sometimes I bribe myself with a good excuse to dirty some dishes. Months of re-targeted insta ads got the best of me, and I had a few bottles of Harders Hawaii syrups shipped to me from Oahu. I picked four full-sized bottles (Japanese Grape, Deluxe Strawberry, Ramune, Lilikoi) and a few samples (Li-Hing Gummy Bear, Blue Hawaii, Crackseed Plum, Melona). They are all incredible. I had a little home cafe moment with the Ramune flavored syrup.
I can only hope that this newsletter can bring as much joy into your life as drinking a neon blue soda brought into mine, so let's get into these unsnackables
If you were searching for a measure of time equal to how long my pudding cravings last vs. how often I eat pudding, a decade would probably suffice. Somehow I find myself constantly engaged in the concept of pudding, in the American sense, not the expansive British one. Even now, I think about this chestnut-flavored fermented sheep's milk dessert, I realize that it is closer to yogurt but the latent pull of pudding made me miscategorize this treat. I wish I understood why pudding has this power over me.
Unctuous is neither an onomatopoeia nor is it spelled anywhere near how my brain arranges those letters, but it is the first word that comes to mind when I think about fresh seafood. Ceviche takes that richness and makes it bright and refreshing with acid and a touch of heat. Thinking about those flavors rendered onto the canvas of a crunchy plantain chip paints a beautiful picture.
My relationship with papaya is defined by lack. I know I've mostly tried the worst of it and the little affection it has earned barely extends beyond the southeast Asian preparations that use the fruit before it is ripe. But I keep trying to change that, in part because my mother has always loved it. This papaya-flavored soda is marketed as a fantasy and as a pairing with a grenadine-flavored soda, but I think it can stand on its own.
Here I am, once again engaging in an m*lk-adjacent beverage just because it is marketed as melted soft serve. I might consider feeling shame if the experience of drinking this beverage wasn't described as "the gentle sweetness of soft-serve ice cream spreads in your mouth"
I’m still figuring this out, but hopefully, you enjoyed v.31 of unsnackable.
If you didn’t please don’t tell me, tell your friends to subscribe because they hopefully have better taste than you.
Think you’ll miss me before unsnackable v.32 comes to your inbox? follow me on other parts of the internet and tell me about what you’re snacking on or tell me which two drinks you think should be sold as a pairing.
I’ll try any snack at least once, so don’t be shy if there is something you want to send me to try.
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