a letter of sugar & spice

Dear Ginger,

Growing up I thought you were an Asian immigrant relic, your gnarly tree-likeness on the refrigerator shelf both off-putting and bizarrely mystical. Kind of like how the forest sequence in Princess Bride feels. (Or in hipster speak, like Jan-Švankmajer-lite.) And then you would show up in food unexpectedly, a bitter fibrous bomb soon followed by the requisite “ew, Mom!” I started avoiding you whole; I knew you were a necessity in tasty Asian dishes (kimchee!) and in tummy-calming tea, so I tolerated you over the years—minced, ground up, and brewed, barely perceptible. So why didn’t you tell me you were so yummy candied? Baked into a scone with your raw brethren? Covered in dark chocolate? Kicking some badass soul into sweet?

keep kicking it,

2 Responses to “a letter of sugar & spice”

  1. 1 Ginger November 15, 2008 at 2:12 am

    Dear Joyce,

    WTF? Seriously. What the freaking F? Just because I’m all gnarly you think it’s okay to avoid me like I’m some kind of leper? News flash, Miss Superficiality: it ain’t about what’s on the outside. Mother Teresa of Calcutta had skin like shriveled bark, but most people with a modicum of sensitivity chose not to mention it. They could see past her grizzly, puckered exterior, and choose to focus instead on her ministering to the poor, sick, dying and orphaned.

    “Bitter fibrous bomb”? Well sure, if you try eating me in large, raw chunks. What do you take me? Some kind of effin’ carrot? I ain’t that vulgar. A little grating here. Some pulp there. A gentle hand is where it’s at, bitch. Like the good lady of Calcutta, I’m there to enhance those I touch.

    Oh and but so you like me candied, do you? Well lah-de-frikkin-dah. That’s big of you. Stew me in syrup for a fortnight, and maybe, just maybe, you can manage to be in the same room as me. Dude, if you were to stew an elephant’s testicle in sugar for long enough it would taste sweet. Would you need to stew Mother Teresa in treacle in order to appreciate HER charitable deeds? Would you need to cover her in chocolate?

    Yeah. You probably would, you goddamn heathen.

    Kick it yourself. Right up the ******.

    Your obedient servant,

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