The flavor red

The problem with attending a graduate program devoted to the study of food is that you end up with little time in your day to actually cook anything worth mentioning. Yesterday I fired up i-tunes to an error message alerting me that all episodes of my favorite podcasts would no longer be downloaded automatically because I hadn't listened to them in a significant amount of time. Thanks, Apple, for pointing out just how jammed my schedule is, as if I don't hear that enough from my Google Calendar. The technology that runs my life is no longer streamlining my daily plans so much as mocking how precious little free time I actually have.

The point is, there was an actual recipe for this post, and it was beautiful—black soba noodles that turned a vibrant purple when cooked, leafy, emerald greens, topped with a stark, white manchego. I was so proud to have finally sifted through the hours of my day, homework, and class, and too long waitressing shifts and to have produced a few spare moments to craft a dinner that looked wonderful. The problem is, I was finishing up the final editing of the photos around the same time the first pangs of the food poisoning set in. Though I haven't exactly tracked down the culprit, my guess is the greens. My roommate's iron stomach was unaffected, but it appears that discount vegetables of the leafy variety from the Chinese Marketplace were a deal that I should have perhaps passed up. The recipe likely would have remained a good one with the knowledge that its recreation would not include such dubious ingredients, my heart (and stomach) however, couldn't bear to see it published.

In the past five days I have consumed little that would be considered actual food—a bit of tea and, as usual, numerous popsicles, even ending up with a lip-splinter from what can only be considered shoddy stick construction. It serves me right for buying generic brand popsicles, I suppose. Since neither water nor juice seemed appealing I was encouraged, yelled at, actually, by boyfriend and roommates and coworkers to seek out electrolytes, and quickly. Where does one find electrolytes in bulk and in a hurry? In one of the vilest abominations of the food industry I know of: Gatorade. First I tried to research electrolytes online, to try to figure out what these mystery, miracle substances really were, and if I really needed them that badly, and then, realizing I didn't even have enough energy to complete the Google search, I just dragged myself around the corner to the nearest 7Eleven.

I can only assume the one clerk on duty thought I was stoned as I stood in front of the beverage cooler glassy eyed, slowly pondering my choices and mumbling softly about electrolytes, corn syrup, and red dye number one. First, I had to reason out which flavor seemed least offensive. Since Berry Rain is not a real form of fruit, that was out. Similarly, Blue is not a flavor. In the end I settled on Fruit Punch, which seemed like a safe bet, and included no high fructose corn syrup and only one artificial food dye.

The first sip can only be described as tasting distinctly red, which suggests my issues with the flavor blue were misconceived. I clutched the bottle between mittened hands, slurping unceremoniously from a straw as I plodded back up the hill to my apartment. “Gatorade!” my roommate squealed with a thumbs up as I stumbled through the front door. “Mmph” I gurgled in response, and climbed into bed with my bottle of red water, praying for the day when eating will again seem appealing.