02.22.01

twiggle has made me beautiful. go tell her that she is marvelous and other such things.

today we have a tutorial on how to make chai that i wrote for my writing class. it's wonderful when you can turn colored-girl angst into something fruitful. so here it is:

how to make chai.

the quickie version:

drive your car to the local natural foods store. go down the tea/coffee aisle and select one box of oregon chai. put this in your grocery basket and then walk quickly to the dairy section, open the cold glass door, and as the blast of cool air hits your face, reach for one quart of whole organic milk. make sure it has not expired. place the milk in your basket, and proceed quickly through the checkout line. make sure to smile when this takes longer than it should. drive home, park your car, and run upstairs with your grocery bag.

take one plastic cup out of the cupboard, and unceremoniously dump some of your overpriced oregon chai into the cup, until it is about half full. stick this in your microwave for about one and a half minutes. turn on the TV. when the microwave beeps, take out the cup. now, go sit in front of the TV and gulp down the chai. try not to taste anything but the overpowering sweetness. make sure drinking does not distract you from your television show.

when you are done, allow the cat to lick the rim of the cup. during commercial, place the cup in the sink and fill it with hot water. be grateful that all you ever needed to know about chai is available for 3.29, in aseptic packaging.

the old fashioned way:

gather everybody that is related to you who you can remember. tell them to arrive at your house around tea time. no matter what you do, do not specify a time that corresponds with a timex display. trust that your relatives know what "tea time" means.

next, put a large pot of water on the stovetop. add ten teabags, preferably black tea, an English black tea if available. appreciate that colonialism had its benefits. turn the flame on high. throw in more cardamon pods than is in good taste. pop one into your mouth after you do this. now, sniff the water. add 1 stick of cinnamon. add 3 cloves, and then sniff again. remove the cardamon from your mouth and walk to your living room. begin clearing away the rubbish. make sure to stuff any lesbian erotica or feminist literature into the bottom of a closet.

decide to try and curl your eyelashes, although you've never done such a thing before. don't worry about the water boiling over. it won't. as you are trying to curl your eyelashes, periodically stick your head into the kitchen and sniff. when the air smell like it's alive and glowing a golden brown, return to the stove.

forget about the eyelashes; curled eyelashes look dumb anyway. stir the boiling water. spin your spice rack until you see a glass vial of burgundy red threads. unscrew the lid and pull away four threads. drop these into the boiling water. you should immediately sense that you have made the chai happy. now remove all of the teabags but one. cut up some fresh ginger. add this to the pot.

call up you aunt who lives near the market, and ask her to bring hulvah with her when she comes. she will offer to purchase the entire stand of sweets; act as if you have not heard her. she will do it anyway.

now pull off your levis, because there are holes all over the seat, and take off your white ribbed undershirt. too manly.

walk around your house naked for few minutes. this is good for the chai. do not draw the shades. the neighbors already know that you are beautiful in the nude. it is time to add the milk. add whole milk to the pot until it is the creamy sand color of your uncle sessel's oldest daughter's skin.

stir the chai. whisper your mother's name gently into the steam. she gave you this ritual. let the milk and tea come to a boil together until your kitchen smells the way a polished wooden bowl looks. when this happens, turn the flame down so that the chai simmers.

go into your room and put on a sari. you cannot greet your relatives naked! as soon as you have started taking down the heavy pottery mugs from the kitchen cupboard, your doorbell will start ringing. your relatives know what tea-time means. ladle the chai into the mugs.

although there are now approximately six thousand people in your house, do not panic. there will be enough to go around. there always is.

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xoxo,

moonbird

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