[For previous 50 Word Essays, look here. And yes, my household really does have a chicken named Dixieland Stampede.]
6.) Avocado/Coconut milkshake from Radio Bean.
Pale green, sweet, creamy. It’s good, but I can’t believe I paid $6 for this. It’s mostly for the memories: Radio Bean opened half my life ago. I’ve killed so many afternoons and lung cells smoking on the patio. It’s a converging point of weirdos, yuppies, artists, and crust punks.
7.) Health food.
Adult sick days are such a bullshit parade. Why does it take so much energy just to make comfort food? How am I supposed to get better without soup? I blow my nose for a few minutes, and blearily resign myself to takeout. Thank god for pho and tom yum.
8.) Urban farming.
“Dixieland Stampede laid an egg with NO SHELL.” I tried to imagine it, an exercise in poultry-themed body horror. Did Dixieland squirt out raw yolk and albumen? Was there a membrane keeping it together? I wanted a picture, but inquiring minds were happy to leave it to the imagination.
Someone in my dorm brought them home: pounds of illicitly-gained cashews. I asked no questions, survived happily on cashews until I woke myself up in the middle of the night, scratching at hives that had sprouted all over my hands and face. My lips still itch whenever I see them.
My secret to a life of happiness: ginger. Ginger tea, Ginger-Os, ginger jam, ginger candy, candied ginger, pickled ginger. You know what your chai needs? Fuckloads of ginger. Curry? Get some ginger into that shit. Ginger Spice is my least favorite Spice Girl, but in all else: ginger or gtfo.