Fleekin Floygn

 I loved the Bon Appetite YouTube...you know, before the whole we're-racist-pieces-of-shit thing.

One of my favourite contributors was Carla. Jews and Italians, you know? We just kind of get each other. Connection to family, connection to food, connection to feeling like the world is out to get us...very sympatico. And when she starts her own channel, the algorithm is all in. It's not fancy. Mostly weeknight recipes, nothing complex, but usually food I wouldn't make on my own. Fine. I barely watch, but it's nice to see the thumbnails.

And then the beans. Crispy tofu and green beans, no less (I'm a vegetarian now. Mostly.). Sounds incredible. Asian inspired. Mirin, soy, black vinegar. As if I've ever seen black vinegar. For weeks I think about making it, but the fucking black vinegar. Sure, there are specialty stores, but I'm just not going to make a special trip.

Tonight. A little toke. A little (lot) of vodka. So I order from a local dim sum place because one of the side effects of pandemic depression is that despite years honing culinary skills, delivery is more commonplace. To add insult to my injured Jewish guilt are four shrimp spring rolls. MSG, fuck me slowly, sideways, and upside down. They are incredible. The black vinegar they come with, not so much.

Black vinegar. I've been thinking of it for weeks, and though the spring rolls doused in chili sauce are long gone, I am left with a couple tablespoons of the stuff, enough to make this recipe.

Joy is not an easily found commodity these days. I think the last time I was happy was 2008. But I get the teensiest serotonin rush at the idea of cooking with this serendipitous liquid currently inhabiting a a plastic thimble. I carry my dish to the sink, reach for the lid and lift the container to put it on.

A soundless thud as it hits the counter, black gold spilling everywhere. My fingers, numb, hang in mid-air. 

It has been nearly four years since my body began decaying. It's never been great (see Not-So-Tiny Tim tag), but the overnight symptoms on April 7, 2008 and subsequent decline have ravaged a once joyful soul. I have fought. For security, for longevity, for companionship. I have won many of these battles (not the companionship), having a developed a sense of self-advocacy rarely seen apart from certain Family Ties alumni. I complain about snow in handicap parking spaces. I go on local radio to talk about discrimination faced at a neighbourhood establishment. I order wicked fuckin' cool canes on amazon dot com. In short, I take care of my shit.

And then a tiny container of black vinegar spills. It pools towards the sink, almost reaching but not quite, so small is its quantity. It forecasts my future, swirling on the granite like mist in a crystal ball. This is the best you will ever have it. Prepare to run, tumble, fall downhill towards...what? I have no idea. But the fingers are worse each month. Then each week. I've planned so much, fought so hard, but the reality slaps me in the mouth. This is the best you will ever have it. You can give up things you love. You can fight corporations. You can order shrimp spring rolls every night of the week without significant impact to your resources. But the one resource that is depleting exponentially faster before your very eyes is you. This is the best you will ever have it.

Hello, old friends.