Beverages and Belonging
I never choose my beverage before I know the circumstances surrounding the experience. Whether it’s choosing what best pairs with a meal or understanding the vibe of the evening, there’s certain information I need first. While my husband always laughs at me, there’s a huge difference between a glass of water, goblet of red wine, pint of beer, or cup of tea. Every beverage has a special occasion, pairs with a moment, and sets the tone for what is about to take place.
The only other person I’ve ever heard talk about beverages with the same enthusiasm is Katie Dalebout. My friend Neil can talk about his favorite breakfast sandwiches for hours. Inspired by Neil, I explored my favorite beverages through the years – the ones that shaped me and the ones that define me – in approximately chronological order. They all come with a memory and a feeling of something deeper. Through the years I have shared each of them with family and friends and built strong foundations of my relationships along the way. Although sometimes very different each of these drinks feels cozy and nostalgic, like a safe space, somewhere I can always go back to, where I feel like I belong.
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I learned how to manage a to-do list young. My mom is the queen of to do lists. She and her sisters would annually each host two holidays. When my mom’s turn came around, for the days leading up to the party, my sister and I would be assigned various portions of a to do list. From cleaning the bathroom (which had to clean every Saturday morning anyway, so it never really had time to get dirty) to scrubbing the grout in the kitchen with a toothbrush. (In my mothers’ defense, the grout really is just slightly too low for a cloth to wipe up all of the crumbs on the table each time).
As the party got closer, the tasks got more logistical. You’d have to take down the wine glasses (and a tall blue glass for Uncle Tim), refill and set out the salt and pepper shakers (3 pairs spread across the table), and fill the ice bucket (the last item on the list). We also had to make the punch. In order to make the punch, one had to:
Take out the deep, cobalt blue punch bowl and corresponding ladle for serving.
Grab the donut-shaped, 6-inch-diameter, Hawaiian punch ice cube out of the freezer. (We used an old dates container, to make the shape.) And also grab the rainbow sherbet.
Grab the ginger ale and remainder of the half-gallon of Hawaiian punch from the garage (which served as an extra fridge in the cold months because the refrigerator was too full).
Place the ice donut in the bottom of the bowl.
Fill the bowl with 1/3 of Hawaiian punch.
Scoop out enough spheres of rainbow sherbet to cover the surface area of the punch.
Pour ginger ale on top and make it all foamy.
Serve and enjoy.
The first glasses served were always the best because they had the largest foam to liquid ratio. We would remake this multiple times throughout the party, but it was never quite as impressive as the first pour. My family and I would sit around the table and stand around the island catching up with each other, filling our glasses until the punch ingredients were gone.
When I turned 21, the thought crossed my mind to make a spiked version, but I could never bring myself to do it. Mom’s punch was the taste of childhood - fruit, bubbles, and sugar.
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The summer between 7th and 8th grade my family went to Hawaii. We arrived home a few days before school started, and I still had possibly, probably culturally-appropriated braids in my hair. I wore them for the first few days, and once they got frizzy enough I knew I would have to take them out. I just had to decide whether I would sport crimped hair or more of a combed-out look that day. (Showering was out of the question with an opportunity like this available.) I chose crimped. I felt like I was making a pivotal middle school decision that I’m sure no one else even noticed.
We spent our vacation adventuring, visiting a friend, and out by the pool. The first day by the pool, my parents ordered pool-side beverages and I was quickly enamored. I had a few virgin piña coladas and some virgin strawberry daiquiris, but by far, my favorite were the chocolate smoothies (which was definitely more of a milkshake).
While waiting for the server one day I got impatient and walked up to the desolate bar, popped up on the stool, and asked for another one. As I turned around to find my dad to pay for it, I was informed that I could sign for it if I wrote our room number at the bottom of the bill. Dad came back to find his 12-year-old daughter signing the bill at the bar. Lucky for me, his response was to laugh. I drank many, many more chocolate smoothies during the remaining days there in the warm Hawaiian sun - and even had one in-hand while I sat in the chair getting my hair braided.
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I only partook in alcohol-related activities once in high school. To protect the not-quite-innocent, I will leave nearly every detail out of this. Here’s what I will tell you:
We drank Smirnoff ice. Only some of those in attendance partook while the other folks monitored to make sure that everyone was okay. Nobody had more than two. And then the next day I personally took all of the bottles to the grocery store to make sure we got our 5-cent deposits back. (Thanks, Connecticut.) The memories made that night are forever ingrained in my brain, full of fits of giggles and lots of love as we knew high school was soon coming to an end.
I don’t think I’ve had a Smirnoff ice since high school. We’ll leave those flavors to that memory, and the photos buried in a series of folders on my hard drive.
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My grandmother never tried ketchup before she passed away in 2008. Both my mother and I tried avocado for the first time my sophomore year of college. The part of Connecticut I’m from is very Italian. And by very Italian I mean I sort of didn’t even realize that there were people in the world who weren’t Italian. (Somehow the stat that only 21.2% of people in the New Haven metro area are Italian feels too low.)
Yes, this was a small bubble I was living it, but honestly, the food was incredible. Both of my parents are excellent bakers and I was eating the best of Italian-American cooking. When I went to Italy on my honeymoon, the first thing I thought to myself was, my family has actually done a really good job keeping this food and culture alive across an ocean.
That said, it left me with some gaps in my palate when I arrived in Philadelphia for college. It was my first time being around people who didn’t look like me and the restaurants provided an entirely new set of cuisines to try. During five years of college I spent nearly all of the money I made from three six-month internships on a one-year lease, theater tickets, and restaurants.
My sophomore year as a resident assistant, I had a resident from India who took me to my first Indian meal. He did all the ordering and talked me through exactly how to eat it. I had a friend for whom the entire basis of our relationship was to go out to three- or four-hour dinners, eating our way through the best restaurants in the city like Morimoto, Friday Saturday Sunday, Budakan, and Amada. By the time I graduated, I had tracked over 200 restaurants in my Excel spreadsheet.
But my favorite new discovery was Thai. It was an easy transition from center-of-town Chinese food and Italian pasta to appetizer dumplings and Pad Thai. I eventually branched out to creamy curries, spiced meats, flavorful soups and finally drunken noodles, which would become my favorite. While I hadn’t had much experience with spicy foods, I found I enjoyed the kick. And when it got to be too much, I paused for a sip of a creamy Thai iced tea to coat my mouth between bites.
I was captivated. The toasty, sweet flavor of the tea combined with the milk and sugar, was the best treat. I would often go to Lemongrass in West Philadelphia with friends for the lunch special. Dumplings, soup, and entrée for less than $12. Plus my Thai iced tea.
Eventually we started grabbing Thai iced teas (without the food) to-go on days that were either celebratory or ones where you would need a pick me up – so pretty much any time you were craving a Thai iced tea.
Since college, Lemongrass has closed and I have become unfortunately more caffeine intolerant, but on days when I find a good lunch special or can afford some evening heart palpitations in the afternoon, I always treat myself – whether for a celebration or pick-me-up.
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Around the same time I discovered Thai iced tea, I discovered bubble tea through a choir friend.
Before choir rehearsals, after choir rehearsals, and after Sunday masses, we would stop by the Bubble Tea House. Upon arriving, the door to the left would take you to the restaurant and the door to the right would take you to the to-go bar. They also had excellent sweet potato fries with the absolutely perfect dipping sauce (from Asian sauces dot com), but usually, we went for the tea.
At the tea bar there were rows and rows of canisters of loose leaf teas and powders. We tried them all. You could get them iced or hot. And there was always one on “special” which cost one dollar less. Through the years my favorites were Thai (unsurprisingly), taro, almond, and black milk tea. They would sometimes create their own flavors, too. On St. Patrick’s day, they would mix almond and mint together, and it was surprisingly more delicious than you would think.
My favorite of the loose leaf teas was the mate carnival sweetened with honey and bubbles. It was sweet and toasty and caramelly and malty. The compostable loose leaf tea bags would hang out of the cup and get your hand wet the whole time you were drinking it, but it was worth it. In between sips of tea I would be delighted by a sweet honey-soaked, round, chewy spheres. (I did find through the years that not everybody was always delighted though. And if my guest was a college-aged boy, there was a greater than 0% chance that they would use the straw to shoot bubbles at our surrounding on the walk home. What a waste of bubbles.)
Unfortunately during college, the Bubble Tea House closed. They told us early in the year, and I’m convinced my friends and I alone kept it in business for another five months. Because then, of course, we could justify going up to five times a week.
Years later, when I lived in Chinatown I quickly learned that not every bubble tea shop is created equal; the bubbles can’t be relied on at each venue. My current go to, although a chain, is Kung Fu Tea. That’s where the bubbles are the sweetest reminding me of those days of mate carnival with honey. I do always ask for the tea only half sweetened though. so I guess I’m growing up.
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If you’re not from New England, you might not know that Dunkin’ rules the coffee world there. There was one right down the hill from my high school. Senior year I would make coffee runs for my friends to bring back up the hill to enjoy after school or during weekend activities.
(Aside: I’ve never understood why getting the coffee is the job of the intern, for me it will always be the job of the logistics-minded person who is looking for both a treat for themselves and an excuse for a change of scenery.)
I became very good at taking everyone’s orders and learned exactly which follow-up questions to ask for each drink - size, temperature, flavor, milk preferences, and toppings. I mostly drank vanilla chai. It was creamy, and spiced, and delicious. I think it was the cinnamon that hooked me.
When I moved to Philadelphia, I switched to Starbucks. They have the Tazo chai. For a very brief period of time they tested an Oprah chai out in various markets. Unfortunately, Philadelphia was one of those markets. It was really tasteless. I finally figured out how to make it work, but it was something like – 3 extra pumps of syrup and 2 extra pumps of sweetener. (I learned the Starbucks lingo when a barista taught me about the vanilla, vanilla rooibos latte, which (actually) unfortunately is no longer on the menu.) The Tazo chai felt more mature than the Dunkin’ chai – it had more flavor and less sweetness, and refined my palate further for what was to come.
Upon starting my first job (very shortly after college graduation thanks to spending down my savings), I started working for Bossman. He’s from India. And while I don’t exactly remember the turn of events that led to homemade chai, it’s not a hard jump to make for two people who traveled back and forth from the same airport every week. He must have seen me get one too many Starbucks chai lattes during our adventures.
He invited a few co-workers to his house for chai. We watched him make it. He filled a sauce pot with water, freshly grated ginger, loose leaf tea, and brown sugar; then he let it simmer for a few minutes. After, he added milk and let it simmer for ten more minutes. It was the most delicious chai I ever had. It was more flavorful than anything I’d had at a coffee shop and it had a bit of a kick from the ginger. I bought my own loose leaf tea, and an ex-boyfriend and I perfected this recipe for our tastes. Which meant lots of extra ginger.
When co-workers and I went to India for Bossman’s wedding, we tried his mother’s homemade chai. The environment we were in, the hospitality of our hosts, and the flavors of the tea all interested with hours of deep conversation, friendship, and the feeling of belonging.
Hundreds (thousands?) of cups of chai later in life, I developed my own language to talk about chai. Chai had properties of sweetness (sugar or honey), spice (spices like cinnamon, cardamom, or the special five-spice blend of masala), and spiciness (from ingredients like ginger and pepper). I will never say that there is a best chai, but I will say that there is a best chai for every person. My chai of choice is spicy.
I always ask baristas about their chai before I order. I know that when they use the Oregon chai, a powdered chai, or the words “vanilla” or “sweet” that I should switch my order to a London Fog. To date, my day-to-day favorite chai is an oat milk chai from Chapterhouse (because oat milk feels like a hug), my favorite chai experience is stopping by The Chai Spot in New York City, and my go-to make-at-home chai is a recipe from Priya Krishna’s cookbook Indian-ish that features both ginger and black pepper. She says it’s for sick days, I say it’s for all the days. Making it at home also means that I can use decaffeinated black tea as the base, which is an amazing added benefit.
I have come to associate chai with feeling cozy, open, and calm. It’s a headspace that for me fosters connection and vulnerability. There are few experiences more special than sharing a cup of chai with someone and catching up on life.
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On my second major work job, I traveled to Colorado three weeks a month for about half a year. While I’m not a nature person, I actually really loved Colorado. There were amazingly fun (and yes, beautiful) roads to drive on, and never-ending opportunities for excellent chai (usually the Bhakti chai), unmatched green-chili-smothered burritos, and delicious beer.
There was a group of five of us who traveled all over the state. We would travel in randomized pairs, and each time I arrived at a new destination, I would look up the best breweries to visit in the evenings. The missed opportunity for detailed spreadsheets or a Google map tracking those experiences truly haunts me.
It wasn’t until we hit Avery Brewing Company in Boulder, Colorado, that I discovered quadruple Belgian beers. I had a small pour of a beer called the Reverend. It was rich and malty and had tasting notes of caramel, but not quite as sweet. Of course, it was also 10% ABV. In addition to the rich, full-bodied flavor, it’s possible this high ABV adds to the experience of feeling warm and fuzzy upon finishing the glass (as well as the altitude). That year for Christmas I tracked down 7 large bottles of the Reverend to gift to my cousins because they just had to try this new elixir I found.
Since then, I’ve always been on the lookout for the best triple and quadruple Belgians. I wait for Troeg’s Mad Elf strong Belgian ale every Christmas and will almost always end up with the beer that has the highest ABV on the menu. The key is to remember to try to have one glass of water between beers. This is my happy place. These beers seem to always be paired with good company and even better conversation. After all, you can’t expect to get much productive work done after imbibing something this potent.
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It seems I continue to lean towards the same flavor profiles - the ones that are in the malty-caramely-chocolate-cinnamon-ginger world. When thinking about the different taste profiles, the flavors I’ve chosen have some sweet, some spice, and even a hint of bitter with the cinnamon. To me though, what they all seem to have in common is being rich and cozy.
The other flavor that falls in this cozy, happy place where you always feel like you belong to me is butter. It’s indulgent, creamy, and luxurious. The first time anyone ever described an oaky chardonnay to me as buttery, I couldn’t untaste it. There are bottles of wine that take this too far, but some do it just right. And for me, that’s Chateau St. Michelle in Woodinville, Washington.
We stopped by Chateau St. Michelle during a trip in the Pacific Northwest. We drove out of Seattle to a beautiful vineyard and went to the tasting room. I loved almost everything, but made sure to leave with a bottle of Chardonnay. At this point, I’m sure the vintage we tried is no longer available, but this trip solidified one of my go-to white wines that I can justify in either summer or winter - chardonnay. From the car ride out to the vineyard to the hours spent in the tasting room, I cherished every moment to hang out with the friends I was visiting.
Years later on a trip to Napa, I doubled down on – “oh, I know I like chardonnay” – and ordered one too many. The stomach ache from the sweetness was one that followed was the same one that hit after too many amaretto sours in college or a whole bag of mini eggs (after college). While chardonnay is still one of my favorite wines, I always make sure I have a savory snack nearby though just in case the buttery oakiness ever gets to be too much again.
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This next memory is more about a place than a beverage. It’s a feeling and an experience. My first time at Dobra Tea in Burlington, VT created just that. It’s an unassuming building in the center of town, and as the door closes behind you, soft, soothing bells knock against its wooden frame to greet you. The smell of tea fills the air and I am always immediately transported to a cozy cabin meant for a woodland pixie. The space whimsical and airy, full of greenery and wooden accents, and the menu is pages and pages long with lengthy, colorful descriptions of each type of tea and its tasting notes.
I, of course, got the masala chai.
It arrived on a tray with. On the tray were six items: a pot of tea, a small cup, a small spoon, two small containers - one with milk and one with honey, and a bell to ring when you need your server again. The server talked me through the ritual of making each cup of tea as you were going to drink it. First you pour some tea from the pot to the cup, then you add honey to sweeten it to taste, and a splash of milk at the end. When you got to the bottom of the cup, you refill, repeating the same steps each time. All while listening to very calming, grounding music. It felt magical.
Years later when I went to Prague in the Czech Republic with friends, the second-to-last-day there we each went on our own adventures and my first stop for the day was a tea house.
I turned from a busy-ish street and found myself walking through what felt like a secret tunnel filled with greenery. This tunnel led me to a building with wooden accents and simple seating out front. It felt familiar, I felt at ease.
I opened the door to the tea shop and was enveloped by both the scent and culture of tea. I was handed a long menu with elegant descriptions, and of course, ordered the masala chai. A single mug of already-mixed together chai appeared. I sat on the porch in a wicker chair with a small cushion and read about the enneagram, taking notes in my journal for nearly two hours.
It was only after I returned from the trip that I realized that this was the same chain of tea houses that I had found in Burlington, VT years earlier. There aren’t very many in the world, but somehow I had wandered down the exact right secret garden path to my favorite tea house thousands of miles from home.
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In reflecting on my favorite beverages, I probably should not have been surprised to learn that they all tie back to belonging and community. There’s something about a beverage and good company that can lead to hours of conversation, increased vulnerability, and connection. Sharing these beverages with friends and family through the years have created nostalgic memories that have led to strong relationships and captivating moments. A mug of chai can quickly transport me back to the coziness of Vermont, Prague, or India. Mom’s punch can take me straight back to being surrounded by family around my parents’ kitchen island. And the right glass of chardonnay or a quadruple Belgian beer at the end of a long day can help me realize the world has bigger and more important things happening than what’s in my inbox.
As Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bang Theory knows, it’s a cultural convention to offer a guest in your home a beverage. But a beverage can be more than a beverage. It can lead to a memory, a shared experience, or a connection that will last a lifetime. Surround yourself with great people, offer them a purposeful beverage, sit down for a vulnerable conversation, and let the magic happen.
