The Japanese Radish

Today, I got a vegetable as a gift. I can see you all now, picturing someone handing me a tiny carrot or a single head of broccoli. Not the case. This vegetable is a Japanese white radish. I think it could easily set some records for its massive size. That’s what she said. Sorry, I couldn't help myself with an opportunity like that. It is about three feet long, easily (that’s what she said, again. Okay, I’m done now.).

Honestly, I just don’t know how to approach this vegetable, much like the nerdy kid in class trying to ask the most popular girl in class out on a date. Actually, since I am trying to chop up and eat it, perhaps that is the wrong analogy. I feel more like a lion observing a giraffe from afar. I desperately want to eat it, but it seems too difficult a task. I feel like I need to call up my lion friends to act as backup in the giraffe ambush.

I think this radish could easily win in a fight against my lone dollar-store kitchen knife. So I am left with a couple of options. Purchase a costly new knife that could actually slice through an enormous radish or spend an hour slowly hacking away at it with the pathetic knife I already own.

GIANT RADISH!

Another teacher suggested that I use it for bicep curls, since the thing easily weighs about 8 pounds. It led to a good deal of laughs in the teacher room when I acted out a radish workout.

Personally, I am holding out hope for a third option: that it magically transforms into a radish spirit like the one in Spirited Away. I refuse to let it rot. I will not allow such an impressive, homegrown vegetable to die in any way other than being digested by me. Perhaps I will just eat it raw, bite-by-bite. That doesn't sound too appealing, so I’ll just keep repeating the mental mantra, “please let it turn into a radish spirit,” over and over in my mind until it happens. That’s totally logical, right?
 

The radish spirit

Coffee Love

My adoration for the magical beans more miraculous than those of Jack from the world of fairy tales runs deeper than a mother’s love for her first born. Unless her first born is a terrible child, in which case she may opt for the second-born, if she is lucky enough to have that option.

Drinking coffee, for me, has always been a sensual experience that I hold dear to my heart. The smell alone of coffee grounds, brewing coffee, and a piping hot cup of java extracts treasured memories buried deep in my mental storage bins and brings them to the forefront of my mind. Drinking coffee creates a panoply of emotion and transports me to so many moments in my past. Sipping decaf after dinner at my grandparents’ house, waking up in the wee hours of the morning before college, after mass receptions, volunteer work, conversations at Starbucks with friends and family, travels to different countries, sipping a latte in the Elephant Café in Edinburgh, Scotland… I could go on listing memory after memory for hours. But, I will spare you. If you truly desire to read a list of all of my coffee memories, send me a message and I will compose one for you.

I am at a loss as to how so many people can start their days and just live in general without coffee. The alluring aroma wafting through the air is easily my favorite smell. Even merely imagining the scent in the morning quickly puts me at ease by giving me a very enticing reason to get out of bed.

Because it solves EVERY problem, of course

People have ample opportunities to bond over the beverage born of the little brown bean (unintended alliteration there). The gift of coffee in any form (instant, grounds, iced coffee, or a gift card to a nearby café) is, hands down, the best anyone can give. Meeting for a cup of Joe is the perfect way to catch up with friends, connect with new acquaintances, or kick-start a budding romance (and, if it started over coffee, that’s a love that will likely last a lifetime [there I go with the alliteration again!]). 

Call me a caffeine addict. Call me a java junkie. Call me the coffee queen. Call me whatever other coffee-associated nickname you please. I’d embrace them all. The love of coffee is universal among at least some citizens of every country, and acts as a unifying force throughout the world. I am proud to identify as a coffee lover.

A Pear, Chocolate, Coffee Kind of Monday

I woke up realizing that the dreaded Monday had come and a wave of panic cascaded upon me. Yes, I had a serious case of the Mondays. I forced myself against my will to power through my morning run. I'm proud of myself for doing so, though I wore a pained expression and refused to greet my fellow runners. 

Yes, that is how my day began. However, things made a quick turn around when I arrived at work. One e immediately and handed me a piece of dark chocolate. I'm not sure if he could just read my emotions that well and I looked like I needed it like a car accident victim needs a blood transfusion or if that is his cure all for everyone's Monday blues, but whatever the case he quickly became my saving angel of the day.

It gets better. I finally realized the degree to which good coffee trumps crappy instant coffee. Last Friday, I bought some origami coffee (because everything in this country has to be origami) which is really high quality coffee in a bag that you place in a cup with this little paper contraption holding it to the sides. Then, you pour hot water over it and let it seep through for a few minutes. Sounds a bit time extensive, but totally worth it. So, I had the delicious, bitterness of dark chocolate and the unparalleled taste of truly good coffee intermingling in a sensational symphony of taste in my tummy. How could things possibly improve?

As I sat down, marinating in the bliss that had overcome me, a really shy older teacher with whom I work bashfully said "excuse me" and handed me a bag. "This is pear," he said. "From my own garden. "I could not suppress my over-the-top grin." For ... me? "I said, surprised." Yes, yes, please enjoy! "This may seem a strange gift, but it is not in Japan. Receiving fruit is like receiving gold. At the supermarket, Asian pears sell for over a dollar a piece. That is expensive for one piece of fruit! I might also add that I am the only one whom he gave a pear. I felt pretty darn special

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