Accidentally Delicious

It was the kind of evening when Twenty Minute "Rush Zumba" was simply out of the question. A week night in late October when the cold and the dark assembled, and schemed to bring in an early winter. The afghan practically unfolded itself and the teapot hissed at regular intervals throughout the eventing. 

The one pound of loose Hibiscus tea sitting on the counter arrived earlier that day, right in the nick of time. Tearing open the silver shiny air tight package,  Hibiscus bits poured into a tea canister and the two became fast friends. A multitude of pink and magenta hues popped through the glass, and Hibiscus aromas, now free to roam, made their way up my nostrils. The first floral whiff set off alarm bells.  I hadn't realized that what I ordered was a mix of floral and tropical. Being fruit tea adverse, I slowly regretted the purchase and wondered if it wasn't too late to reseal and order reliable Roobios, with its earthy flavor. But I closed the jar and put it on the shelf.

 So later than night when steam shot from the kettle, I scooped and bagged with curiosity. Now steeping in liquid, Hibiscus plumped like raisins. Water into wine I've often wondered about, but Hibiscus into water was a site of Biblical proportion. This was such a deep sea dive into pink that I wondered if, in drinking this warm elixir, I would become the true owner of the Elder Wand.

The first sip translated on the tongue as tart and tangy. Then it stuck to my cheeks. And socked me in the stomach. It was a true eye popper, with no tolerance for winter recoil. This drink, I thought, was really f**king good.

Soon thereafter, I craved a counterbalance to this aggressive tasting yet strangely comforting hot beverage. My mind roamed into the freezer, where another silver shiny bag awaited to be cracked open: a bag of Ghiradelli bitter sweet mini-chocolate chips. These lil' pups were sitting in the dugout for months, waiting for the day of chocolate chip cookies, and no such day had come. I unsealed the bag and a handful went in the hatch. The bitter and sweet bite brought comfort, as sugar injections often do. My tongue waded through a thick coat of intense chocolate, so dense it necessitated tongue movements akin to a self inflicted french kiss to come to a resolution. Bitter and bitter, bitter and sweet, sweet and sweet. ahhhh.

But a third mouthful of these mini devils on my tongue coupled with a big gulp of hibiscus, was when the whole thing unraveled. The chocolate abyss found its perk with a mouth puckering sip of tea.  And the tongue clicking flavor of the tea, when submissive to the domineering dark, took a more mouth friendly form.  All of these flavors folded together into one surprisingly perfect bite drink. Like a cheese course at the end of a meal, this was a full flavor experience and a satisfying night cap.

And such was the experience of the drink bite. It isn't for every night. But definitely for really cold ones. It was more than the pleasure of this experience, but the surprise. That night, it was a taste surprise in a cup that made life feel new. So may we welcome surprises, hibernate when we need to, and taste food that is truly good and accidentally delicious.