I’m part of a small group that actually is small. We meet at each other’s place on Wednesday nights, and in the past the host has made a meal. It’s possible that we’ve all used up our cooking repertoire, or we just want to simplify. Whatever the case, we decided to have a meeting with more of an appetizer/grazing feel before the Bible study. The email discussion went as follows:

Person 1: We’re going to meet at my place on Wednesday.  I just need to know if I’m making dinner? Or appetizers?  Or dessert?  Help!

Person 2: No need for a meal. Dessert or appetizers would be fine by me…

Person 3: Unfortunately, I can’t make it this Wednesday. But if my vote still counts I think a hearty meal would be nice.

Person 1: Thanks for your vote. But no, it doesn’t count.

Me: Beef Wellington.

Person 1: Sorry, folks…no beef wellington tomorrow. I’m thinking just snacky things. Would anyone be able to bring some chips and dip? Or veggies? That would be awesome.

Me: [Person 4], I would suggest you bring Fritos corn chips (scoops) with ranch dip. It’s what God would want.

Person 2: Yep i’ll bring some chips and salsa.

Person 4: Thank you Julie for informing me of God’s intentions. I have been waiting a long time for that. Although, I thought He’d have a little more to say than “bring Fritos.”

Me: I will bring some baked food item kind of snack. I don’t know what yet. God hasn’t revealed it. But I will bring it.

Initially, I was a little apprehensive. I was counting on Fritos and ranch dip, but it sounded like it would be salsa. I don’t actually like salsa. I wish people would just listen to God when he speaks. And then, that Beef Wellington.

Organic and natural foods are all the rage now, and there is no reason not to extend that to my clothes.

“You iron your clothes a lot,” I said to my friend. He’s always ironing his shirts and pants for work. “I don’t think I’ve ironed a piece of clothing since college.”

“Really,” he said.

“I believe in letting my clothes lose their wrinkles the natural way,” I said.

He gave me a look.

“I’m not going to fight them. My clothes are completely free-range.”

In fact, I’m a very natural clothes washer, an idealist. I don’t believe in segregation, and so therefore, I throw everything in the same load. I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure, and so I try to adhere to a 100 percent cotton knit existence. I’m big into composting, and so I have several piles of clothes throughout the week that get sorted into what state of wear they are in (barely dirty, still pretty decent, only wear around people I don’t know, and dear god get in the washer). I’m firmly against excessive processing, so I just throw my clothes into my laundry bag unfolded, right from the dryer.

And ironing?

Heavens, no.

Set my wrinkles be free.

I like hot chocolate. I wanted to have the option for frothed milk for my hot chocolate. I was not achieving success and existing in the land of “just add water, and throw some milk in just to imagine how it could’ve been so beautiful.”

Many months ago, I went to Target because they had microwaves on sale for $40, and ended up leaving with a little Espresso Machine instead, for what reason I do not know, other than a likely connection to the Quixotic search for a milk frothing solution and the fact that the microwave in question seemed antiquated. The espresso machine did a pretty good job at what it was supposed to do as far as making espresso, which was great for visitors but not so great for me since I don’t actually like coffee. The steam wand on the side, however, was a bit tough to deal with for some reason, and so while I don’t really regret getting it, it just sort of didn’t fulfill my hot chocolate fantasies.

Visitors – 1, Julie – 0.

Several weeks ago, standing in that same aisle in Target with my friend, I noticed an apparent baby boom of stand-alone milk frothers.

“You know, it really annoys me that there are so many of these now,” I said. “There weren’t any when I walked out of here with the espresso machine. I don’t even like coffee.”

That seemed to be the end of it, until my birthday. My friend bought me a  Capresso frothPRO  for my birthday with a kind of hesitant “I know it looks funny but it got really good reviews” caveat as he handed it over.

It did look funny. It looked impossibly pointless. It looked like someone had married a teflon skillet with a blender. It had no steam pressure wand or anything that indicated it could do anything but possibly hold milk and maybe give it a stir. Nevertheless, it was a gift and I like gadgets. I opened the instructions and read.

There were three options — cold with froth, hot with froth, and warm with froth. You could also have just warmed up milk. This was achieved through some strange looking discs that snapped into the bottom of the pitcher. It was small, unobtrusive, and, as I dubiously poured skim milk into it and pressed the button, found it to be nearly silent.

“There’s no way this is ever going to work,” I said aloud to myself. It seemed ridiculous. The milk was just sort of swirling around and getting warm, and so I walked away.

Well…

That little machine takes about two minutes to give you a froth that is so phenomenal that you could practically sculpt it. No joke. I was tempted to froth an entire half-gallon of milk just to see if it were a fluke. I was pretty excited about it. It takes very little to do that for me. Every time I use it, I think about the amazing properties of the protein chain in milk that causes it to froth, and is there anyone else nearby that would like me to froth them some milk?

Anyway, beyond my own hot chocolate needs, I was intent upon purchasing the ingredients that I would need to create my infamous “mocha shiznit” drink. This was a drink I created during the five minutes that I was a barista. Besides being pretty good (so I was told), I mainly created it to get my white friends to say the word “shiznit.” Just today, my friend gazed into the distance and sighed, stating that he could “really go for a mocha shiznit right about now.”

Something this good must be shared.

The Mocha Shiznit is now yours — this is the recipe I drew in my journal while working as a barista (in a very un-busy location).  It’s a crazy explosion of taste. You can get the Kona Mocha powder at Amazon.

It’s huge.

I’ve never seen such a large piece of candy. Reading the nutrition label and calculating the caloric intake on something that cyclopic was an eye-opener.

After much consideration, I’ve narrowed down my options to two possible methods:

1. Treat the candy like the peppermint version of a farmyard salt lick. Peppermint candy, after all, is a delicious treat. Peppermint is useful for soothing the stomach, promoting digestion, clearing sinus passages, creating fresh breath, and promoting feelings of well being. This sounds promising, and it should last nearly half the year.
2. Break pieces of the candy off of the large portion. It is likely this is the logical approach, and the most sanitary. My fear, however, has to do with maximizing the consumption potential, and I’m concerned about wayward bits and pieces of peppermint candy going to waste during the breaking process.

The box which holds the behemoth sits on my kitchen table and calls for me to consider other possibilities.

A saw, perhaps.

The candy is larger than my forearm in all directions. It could function as exercise equipment, by the mere lifting of it from the table to the mouth.

It’s fabulous.

I would next like to have the two-pound York peppermint patty. And then the two-pound Andes mint.

It’s in the moments
(Short and deliciously expectant) –

Tony Bennet on the record player,
The cake not cut,
The plates not dirtied,
The candles freshly lit and still proud,
Before the friends you love arrive –

That life shows the simple beauty
That it is.