The author of this piece acknowledges the current boycott against Starbucks for their alleged views regarding the Israel-Hamas war. This piece is not written as an endorsement of Starbucks.
Whether it’s the sharp feeling of the blizzard-like wind on my face or the sound of a crackling cozy fireplace, winter is symbolized by the senses. And when coffeeshops start making their holiday flavors, I know I need a sip of a peppermint mocha to kick off the season.
When I was in middle school, my Gramma (a word I have always misspelled, never stopped and never will) took me to the Starbucks in Old Town Alexandria, Va., every Monday after school. I’d get my chocolatey Frappuccino no matter how cold the weather, and during the winter, Gramma would always get a peppermint mocha.
Real coffee felt so grown up at the time. My sweet tooth despised its bitter taste, and when I first tried a café au lait I had to dilute the drink with so much sugar and cream that it barely tasted like coffee anymore. But watching my Gramma sip the holiday treat (and sneaking me a few sips) brought a certain happiness and an association of the drink with family during the holiday season.
Memories of food and drink have become somewhat diluted with resentment for my immune system in the recent past. After I was diagnosed with Celiac disease, I had to say goodbye to my childhood foods: The favorite chocolate cake I would buy from Wegmans every year for my birthday, the frozen ravioli that tasted like childhood, Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream from Ben and Jerry’s. I felt left out. I still do, every time I attend an event that boasts “snacks will be provided,” but only for those whose intestines won’t be destroyed by one chocolate chip cookie.
I get through these tough and nostalgic moments by clinging to those foods and drinks I didn’t have to give up, the foods that I used to share with those I love at family gatherings and student organization social events: flourless chocolate cake from one of my favorite local Virginia restaurants, which will unfortunately soon close; cheese, fruit and veggie boards my mom prepares every time my parents stop by Ann Arbor for a visit. And peppermint mochas.
My favorite playwright, Sarah Ruhl, discusses her own experience with Celiac in her memoir, “Smile,” in a way that always makes me cry:
“Food is a taking-part. Bringing your own cupcake to a birthday party is like bringing your own wine to Communion. Food is one part memory, one part ritual, and one part sustenance. Celiac disease makes you into the ultimate individual in consumer life, so we celiacs are a boon for a niche market in the food industry: Our food preferences — which, if not followed, can lead to disease and death — can be monetized.
“But what we want is real food and the feeling of taking part. Food is who makes it, and why.”
Holiday get-togethers often center around food that I can’t eat. I often walk past tables with delicious-looking pastries in my favorite holiday flavors and feel almost exiled. While friends enjoy the foods I miss and crave, I become an outsider, though it’s no one’s fault but that of my own gastrointestinal system. A peppermint mocha is a holiday tradition I am happy to take part in. It makes me think of my favorite memories and one of my favorite family members.
Since my Gramma moved to Florida in 2020, it has been difficult to move on from seeing her every day after school, playing board games at her house and snuggling with her miniature poodles, Beanie and Crumpet. But once Nov. 2 rolls around, I get the chance to feel a sense of her love. That love comes with the taste of a warm peppermint mocha.
Daily Arts Writer Max Newman can be reached at jqnewman@umich.edu.
Related articles
Credit: Source link