There are two types of people in this world: those who go through bubble tea withdrawal every few days, and those who vehemently hate the drink. The latter will shudder at the chewiness of the tapioca pearls, and complain about how drinks should not be "lumpy".  I have a hard time understanding this textural phobia, but to each his own.

As for me, when in need of a cold drink and an afternoon snack, I like to kill two birds with one stone.

Or maybe three birds with one stone, if you need a cold drink, an afternoon snack, and a jolt of caffeine at the same time. Few caffeine sources taste better than cafe sua da, or iced Vietnamese coffee. While New York's early summer is not quite as oppresive as Hanoi's, it feels pretty close. So lately, I have been making Vietnamese coffee bubble "tea" to help with the humidity and afternoon slump.

Try this out you're also a bubble tea fan and caffeine addict. Here's what you need:

A couple of years ago, when I posted a recipe for mango and coconut lassis, a commenter suggested I also try the salted variety.

Yes, it took me two years to get around to posted the recipe. In my defense, in the mean time I did try to seek out salted lassi in whenever dining out at Indian restaurants. The conclusion? It's damn hard to find. But given given the drink's popularity in its home country, salted lassi's availability on the menu, alongside the perpetual mango favorite, is a good indicator of how "authentic" your Indian restaurant is.

I don't know why we are ingrained from childhood to equate thirst-quenching drinks with sugar, but this particular salted drink holds up well on its own. A little cumin, some mint, and the optional dash of chili powder makes it sound like an Indian entree in a glass, but somehow it works as a refreshment. And the amount of salt here is miniscule compared to what is in Gatorade.

When I was living in China, the kitchen was never without rice. Long grain, short grain, jasmine, or brown, a sack or bulk bin bag would slouch in the corner, just waiting to be cooked. I would steam it, fry it, or boil it to a pulp for congee. And one day, out of severe homesickness, I decided to make horchata.

A Chinese friend was over and watched me pull a plastic carton from the fridge, which I had filled the day before with pulvertized rice grains and water to soak overnight.

"What is that?" she asked. I explained that Mexicans make a really nice icy drink out of rice water.

"But that's just like waste water from washing rice," she said."We dump that stuff down the drain."

"Um, true," I paused. "But when you add tons of sugar and vanilla and cinnamon, it's a great drink to go with your tacos." 

"I'll stick with margaritas."

I couldn't convince her to try it, which makes sense. The Chinese think anything raw is for barbarians and marvel at how Westerners down large bowls of salad, so why would they go for milky water from soaking raw rice? Come to think of it, none of the Mexican restaurants in Shanghai (all operated by Chinese-Americans) served horchata either. The only time I encountered the drink in China was at a Mexican-run Mexican restaurant in Beijing, and its clientele was predominantly Mexican embassy workers.

One of the things I like best about Vietnam is the café culture. And by café, I mean any collection of plastic stools on the sidewalk, set up by an entrepreneurial local who mixes drinks for her neighbors. At any time of the day, along the streets of Saigon, Hanoi, Hoi An, etc., the Vietnamese just crouch around wobbly pastel tables and sip their drink of choice. Whether it's cafe sua da, sugarcane juice, aloe vera shake, or passionfruit juice, the icy beverages are practically lifesavers in a sweltering climate. 

If a fruit grows in abundance in Vietnam, you can be sure it is pulsed into a shake. And avocados are everywhere. I grew up associating avocados with salty foods: mashed into guacamole, fanned on chicken sandwiches, sprinkled with sea salt and eaten straight. So a sweet shake was something of a novelty. 

But it makes sense. Because avocado flesh is naturally neither sweet nor salty, it's a tabula rasa for any creamy concoction you want to make.

Since the shake comes out rather thick, and contains both avocados and sweetened condensed milk (not exactly diet foods), I consider it more of a dessert than a light drink. But you can always thin it out with a little more milk and crushed ice.

The weather gods have been cruel to me. As some of you may know, I spent the last two weeks in New York and Boston; expecting normal late spring temperatures, I packed summer clothes and sandals, only to freeze the entire time. On the last day, as I rode the train to JFK for my flight out, the mercury shot up to 70s. Such is my luck as a traveler.

Of course, I returned to China, where the May forecast anywhere along the coast is best described as "sauna-like." As though on cue, my hair became as frizzy as tumbleweed. I blasted the fan and ransacked the fridge for anything cold and sugary.

No ice cream surfaced, but I did find a bottle of umeshu, Japanese plum wine, bought with brilliant foresight a few months ago. Now, I know the Japanese fruit ume is technically not the same as a Western plum, but "plum" is the closest possible English equivalent, and is the norm on most English menus I've seen. (A close second is "apricot".) Umeshu, made by fermenting the little green ume in shochu and adding a bit of rock sugar, has enough to sweetness to cut through the mild sour edge. I love that certain brands like Choya offer single or double serving pop-top bottles, with green plums floating inside.

At first glance, anyone who didn't grow up in an Asian culture might scrunch up her nose at herbal jelly. It's black, it's shiny, and it jiggles. But really, herbal jelly, or grass jelly, is like JELL-O, only naturally colored. Whole Foods is losing a big opportunity to market this as the next "it" health food.

Maybe it's the fact that it takes the shape of the tin can it comes from, that may turn people off. If, as a culture, Americans have moved past canned cranberry sauce, we might not be too thrilled with something similarly ridged but not candy-colored. Although grass jelly is made from an herb in the mint family, the taste is pretty neutral. Which is why Asians love it in desserts. In Hong Kong cafés and dessert shops serve grass jelly with mangoes, coconut, and other tropical produce. At bubble tea shops like Saint Alp's you can opt for little grass jelly bits instead of tapioca pearls.

(Photo by Jing a Ling, CC)

Whenever I buy a new bottle of wine to try, I instinctively think "Okay, anything but Chinese for dinner." But really, why can't my favorite alcohol and (one of) my favorite cuisines just play nice? In China and many parts of Asia, the de-facto alcohols are rice wines, beer, and for the modern high-roller, whiskey. Drinking grape wine with Chinese food is much more complicated, because of the food's possible spices, smoked flavors, and sometimes pesky cilantro. Lately, however, the food media has been stepping up to the challenge.

Some brief insights:

One of the reasons I love visiting Macau is for the inexpensive wine. Yes, the food is wonderful, but wine is the only thing I get to tote back to mainland China and enjoy weeks (okay, days) later.

The former Portuguese colony used to have no import taxes on Portuguese wines. Even now the import taxes are so low that bottles of good Portuguese wines start at about 5 USD, much cheaper than French, Italian, even Chilean. (I have a tip on a bar that serves 75 cent glasses of reds and whites, and $1.25 glasses of port. I'll report back in a later entry.) According to a well-traveled local friend, Macau has the least expensive Ports anywhere in the world, including Portugal, since the wine producers want to keep the market in Asia open. True enough, it's common to see Hong Kongers and China-residing expats hauling home suitcases of Portuguese wine.

On this trip I decided to bring back white Port. Rather than drinking it as a dessert wine like red Port, you chill it and drink it as an aperatif. It's richer, more mouth-filling than a fino or amontillado sherry. (My Ramos Pinto dry white has a nice hint of peach.) Besides, on chilly winter evenings before dinner, you need something heavier in your belly to keep warm. Especially after a long day in front of the computer.

Now that Christmas is over, it is imperative to start thinking of the future. Namely, New Year's Eve. More specifically, drinks for New Year's Eve.

Absinthe has been in the news quite a bit in the past year, because it is now "legal" again in the US. This past spring, while researching a story on absinthe in Beijing, I got to try more than just different kinds of louched absinthe. A couple bars made very tasty cocktails in which the fruity liqueurs and juices complimented the anise flavors in absinthe. (Q Bar in Sanlitun has an Absinthe Martini w/ peach liqueur, and Club Obiwan serves a killer "Henry" cocktail w/ absinthe, Cointreau, pineapple juice, and lime juice.)

I am not a winter person. Even though I have spent most of my life in cold cities (Boston, New York, Beijing), I always dread their endless winters. Some people from northern climes can wax poetic about snow, fire places, and ski season. Me, I conjure up flu season, ugly long underwear, and bitter winds that lash across my face. No offense, Winter, but I would love to avoid you altogether by skipping to the tropics. Or hibernating until spring. 

Until science finds a way for humans to sleep for 4 months, I am finding solace in the next best thing. Alcohol. More specifically, hot alcohol.

Mulled wine, also called Glühwein in Germany and Glögg in the Nordic countries, is simply wine heated up with spices and sugar. It's an especially good drink to make if you live in a country devoid of good wine, like China. Domestic brands are mostly undrinkable, and any imported wines are either bottom-of-the-barrel gunk (literally?) or bottles 3 or 4 times the cost overseas. (How I miss Trader Joe's wine shops.) With mulled wine, you can buy the cheapest wine that is still drinkable, and allow the spices and sugar to take charge.