No self-respecting Pinoy cooks/eats without kalamansi. Yet I have been doing just that this past week. It’s been tough finding them at the markets lately. Or rather, you can, but they are size of playing marbles. Squeeze ’em and weep.
The shortage has made a mess of my routine. Kalamansi juice is my juice of choice; I drink as much of it as plain water. Soft-drinks, processed juice, coffee, tea — none for me, thank you. My mother has been trying to sell me on Minute Maid for the time being. Excuse me, but does real orange juice look that yellow? Let me now enter into the record that I blame the godforsaken heat for this predicament. Nothing comes between me and my sour green balls.
Then I think of the lemongrass juice I had at Bohol Bee Farm a year or so ago. Was it any good? I frankly can’t remember — I was all over the ginger snaps that it came with. Maybe it’s time I found out for sure.
Venturing into the garden, I curse the heat some more. Basil, mint, and coriander: gone. At least the lemongrass are holding on, as are the oregano. Be brave, my darlings. This, too, shall pass.
To make, use only the lower white portion of the lemongrass (the bulb plus some of the stalk). Strip away the tough outer layers and pound lightly. Let simmer for 10-15 minutes. One lemongrass = half a cup of water. Stir in sugar, one tablespoon to a cup (adjust to your taste). Serve cold with lots of ice.
Hmmm. No wonder I promptly forgot about this drink the first time around. Too flat. No flavor spike whatsoever. I’m already beginning to forget what it tastes like. Sugar water, anyone? Sure smells nice.
But not so fast. How about some oregano? I often make kalamansi juice with oregano-infused water. The herb brings the drink up a notch. Maybe it can save this one. I head back to the garden and pick some, but only add two or three leaves to the liquid so as not to completely drown out the subtle aroma of the lemongrass. I turn the heat back on and let them steep for five minutes.
Speaking of aroma, who needs air freshener when you could boil oregano instead? The kitchen smells amazing and my sinuses are clearing up. I want to crank up some ABBA and imagine myself on a Greek island. In ancient times, the Greeks perfumed themselves with oregano. Maybe some still do. Yum. Too bad I don’t know any famous sexy Greeks; I keep picturing Fu’ad Aït Aattou, who isn’t Greek but looks like he could use some sun. This inconsistency does not make the fantasy any less appealing.
But what am I blathering on about? I must be having a heat stroke. Damn this weather. Has that juice cooled down yet? This better be good, or else — what? Never mind. I take a sip, and…
Mamma mia! Now we’re talking! The piquancy of the oregano gives the juice body, raising it above the level of merely being flavored water. The herb is not at all shy about going right up to the palate to announce itself. Very bracing. This one’s got character, although if you ask me, it needs just one more thing for it to really kick ass. You know what that is, don’t you? A twist of good ole kalamansi is right. But don’t get me started again.
Bottoms up!
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