Suspended Deserts

I don't want to be one of the ones that slips through the cracks.

Such a thought has been following me around recently. I am entirely unsure as to why, and have no inkling as to what even prompted the thought. In truth, it happened rather like this. A couple of days ago, while riding the free shuttle back from a laboratory visit, an image struck my mind and wouldn't let go. Almost cartoon-like in its black and white panel, it featured a cracked floor, so broken that the cracks were many and wide. It was if a section of desert floor, so arid and dry that crevices had opened up within it to accept even a hint of rain, had been cut from its natural habitat and and transported to this blank panel, to hang suspended in space. Empty space even. Nothing above, nothing below, only crowds of people milling back and forth upon it, as if nothing was awry.

Something in the image was striking though. People had fallen through the cracks, some with one leg in one leg out, others clinging onto the edge with their fingertips, hanging precariously with legs dangling in empty space. A lot of people hung from the cracks, in fact, and yet, crowds continued to mill though and about. It was as if everything was as it should be, despite the fact that so many people hung there silently, ready to drop into oblivion at any moment.

I remember thinking, as this image grew in my mind while the bus bumped along the pot-hole ridden street, that I really wouldn't want to be one of those people. Not one of the those that had just slipped through unnoticed, one of those who had unwittingly taken one small misstep, given way to a missed grasp of the fingers here or there. One moment there, the other moment gone.

I was reminded of my high school orchestra teacher, who was probably around 35-years of age when I knew her. She was overweight though not necessarily unattractive, friendly enough, conducting a high school string orchestra with no boyfriend in sight and taking care of her aging father. She was a perfectly fine person, but there's a part of me that always wondered if she was one of the people that had just slipped through the cracks. Someone who once had aspirations of leading a symphony orchestra in some great city, of getting to the highest tier of schooling, and for some reason or other, just hadn't made it. Her personal life, with the passing of her dog, also seemed a reminder of what it might be like to slip. To perhaps work towards something so diligently that you didn't pay attention elsewhere, and the relationship that's supposed to enrich and follow you to death just never happened.

Maybe this image is just a generic metaphor that applies to too many aspects of life. Either way, I wonder about it a little too much, perhaps because there is fear that such might one day be my story. I wonder if it's begun or not, whether or not all my motions at this point are the simple back-pedaling and delaying trends of the fate avoidance.

Here is one of my most beloved Taiwanese breakfasts. Although it may look a bit sinister, it's a nutty, slightly sweet bowl of comfort in the mornings that makes you feel like you're drinking a bowl of nutrients. With a drizzle of milk and maybe a flaky pastry or fried cruller on the side, this is both immensely satisfying and light. Black sesame soup is also very versatile as a condiment. I'm a fan of drinking it straight up with a larger ratio of soup to milk, or adding some to oatmeal. It takes more than an hour of preparation (you can probably soak the rice overnight to speed it up), but as a recipe, it has very few ingredients and can start you off to a thoughtful day with all the stirring.

Black Sesame Soup

6-7 C water

1/2 C glutinous rice

1 C roasted black sesame seeds

1/4 C brown sugar

2 TB granulated sugar

TB of peanut butter (optional)

Using a food processor, grind the glutinous rice with 1/2 C water until kernels are broken down into smaller sizes or until the rice-water mixture becomes a paste. Transfer to a large pot and add the remaining water. Cook this on low heat until the water becomes to turn clear and become thick. Stir often and keep the heat low, so as to prevent the rice from sticking to the bottom of the pot and burning.

Grind your sesame seeds until extremely fine, nearly to a paste-like consistency as well (I did this in a coffee grinder, but you can use a burr grinder as well). Add the ground sesame seeds to the pot of rice and water on the stove, mixing until the sesame is evenly incorporated and the soup is black. At this point, the soup should be fairly thick and the rice should be cooked. Add another cup of cold water and continue cooking and stirring for another 30 minutes. Do not let the rice stick to the bottom of the pot and burn.

After 30 minutes, turn off the heat and let the mixture cool. Once cool, use a hand blender (or a regular blender) and puree the soup until all the rice chunks have disappeared and the soup is smooth. After that, turn the heat back on to medium-low, and bring the soup to a simmer. Add your brown sugar and granulated sugar, and the peanut butter if you'd like to up the ante on the soup's nuttiness (although then this soup wanders into the territory of a mi jiang), and stir until dissolved. Feel free to adjust the amount of sugar to your liking. Boil the soup (still stirring often) until the soup becomes glossy in color. You should have a fine sheen to the soup and it should be thick but pourable in consistency.  If you want the soup to be super smooth, strain through a fine mesh to remove the seed particles. Otherwise, it is ready to serve.