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Apparently, I created a monster on that faithful day when I found a tin of herring while foraging in the cabinets for something to eat. I didn’t eat the canned herring in that moment. Mostly because it was canned herring. Instead I researched recipes that use it as an ingredient. Out of a sea of suggestions, quiche was the most palatable that I could envision myself eating.
When I made it for breakfast one Saturday morning, Mom, who normally has a smoothie for breakfast, tried one. She loved it so much that she paid one of my sisters and I $10 a piece to make it on Christmas morning. Normally, she doesn’t have to pay us to cook, but that was her penalty for how she went about the making of that particular batch. Although she boasted about how she’d make it, she hardly bought any of the ingredients for it, snaked my sister and I into making it and blamed her lack of preparation on Dad. When in fact, NONE of that drama was necessary because we didn’t lack for food at all.
Mini Quiches
This next round of herring quiche was initiated by my sister. She wanted to use the remaining two tins of fish and make a double batch. One for her and my nephew and the other for our parents and me. I assisted her in the process.
We haven’t executed the recipe the same way twice. For instance, the first time I made it, I used crema Mexicana. The next time I used evaporated milk, but this time around, we used half and half. Plus, we have used a different combination of cheeses, spices and vegetables each time.
Mini & Regular Quiches
Since we made a double batch, the mini muffin pan was used along with the regular size. We had enough egg batter for a second regular muffin pan, which was a good thing because she’d forgotten to add the horseradish harvarti. It didn’t add too much of a kick to the overall flavor.
Quiche on a Bed of Hashbrowns & a Dash of Hot Sauce
Without knowing that my sister wanted breakfast for dinner, I’d bought a bag of frozen hash browns. So, dinner worked out deliciously well although I’ll have to research another interesting herring recipe since there can be too much of a good thing. Also, the last time I foraged in the cabinets, I saw two more tins of herring.
Superstitious or not, I made sure my first dinner of the new year included yellow food, green food and black eyed peas. My Hoppin’ John wasn’t as “hopping” as I would have hoped since I used the chicken broth found in the pantry rather than looking for the spicy version. No matter. I still enjoyed ringing in the new year with this delicious meal.
The next day, I attended my chair dancing class. I handed out the free samples of topical CBD that I’d wanted to gift everyone two weeks ago when I was dressed as Santa’s Helper. Back then, I thought I’d have a virtual warehouse to take orders, make some retail sales and then have the company handle shipping out the packages. What a difference a fortnight makes!
Instead, I handed out my samples while wishing everyone a Happy New Year. Now that I think about it, it may be better that I’d waited to do that during a non-religious time. The first thing people noticed was the limerick that I attached to the top of the little boxes. The reception was very positive, even bringing smiles to their faces.
After dancing on the pole, chair or floor
When your body feels sore
Feel relief with Topical CBD
Resupply with me
Teresa: XXX-XXX-XXX4
As energized as I’d felt when writing that limerick, I felt even more so seeing their reactions. Time will show how effective a marketing campaign it was. I wonder if anyone picked up on how the last digit in my cell number completes the rhyme scheme? I put several days’ worth of creative energy into the construction of that one limerick.
A few days later, money that I had expected was finally deposited into my account and I still had the rest of the first week of 2023 to look forward to! Especially since I still have five more CBD samples to gift at my pole fitness studio.
In a way, that effort represents money that I expect to eventually deposit into my account. Money seeds that I’m planting this week to reap in the following weeks.
tried to calm down any superstitious belief that my New Year’s Day dinner had anything to do with this week. After all, I’ve made such an effort at least twice before. I chalk this experience up to some years starting off better than others.
Continuing this week’s auspicious beginning, the company’s CEO sent a company-wide email, stating that a “thank you” bonus would be included in our first paycheck of the year. Talk about reading the room!
The cynic in me knew that this bonus didn’t take the place of a cost of living raise, but at least I’d be able to pay off half of my emergency credit card. The sooner I can get a $0 balance on that card, the happier I’ll be financially. Again, another seed planted for greater financial security.
So the other aspect of life commonly revamped this time of year is upping one’s health regimen. Although I’ve continued exercising nearly every day since relocating home, the routine I followed, namely waking up 2.5 hours early to exercise, shower, eat breakfast, then log onto work was no longer working for me.
I rushed, going from one activity to another, especially eating quickly. Often times, Dad joined me for breakfast, but I was too busy wolfing down my food and cleaning up the kitchen to fully appreciate the time.
So, I joined a gym. My motivation to seek out a gym came from a shoulder injury, resulting from a pole dancing class. I knew from past experience that swimming would help my shoulder. I ended the work week swimming laps, followed by a stint in the steam room, then the jacuzzi. Next week, I’ll check out the hot yoga class.
Tweaking my exercise time and location meant never setting my alarm clock again during the workweek, a practice that began during Kwanzaa. Since I didn’t have any saved PTO for an actual vacation, I gifted myself more sleep.
Next week, for the first time in a long time, I’ll be able to taste my breakfast. I’ll stretch a little before breakfast, but not the extensive workout I used to do, thanks to my new exercise routine after work. What I’m really working toward is setting my own schedule since my favorite time to exercise is in the middle of the day.
Right now, the only current opportunity that can set both my finances and time free is my emerging CBD business. With this latest iteration of entrepreneurship, I’ll see how successful my overall endeavor will be.
I started off my Christmas celebration dressing up as Santa’s Helper for the last Chair Dance class before the holiday. My instructor, dressed as the iconic Jack Skellington from “The Nightmare before Christmas,” was the only other person in costume. Although I usually video my weekly chair dance routine to mark my progress, I normally don’t text the link to other people. Yet when I make the effort to dress up for class, then someone other than my parents will see that clip.
Santa’s Helper and Jack
Five days later, an even greater adventure began. Seven family members and I went indoor skydiving on Christmas Eve with my octogenarian parents witnessing. One of my sisters and I treated the family to this experience as an alternative to materialistic gifts.
Sign of Adventure
One Christmas miracle was that the ten of us left the house fifteen minutes later than we’d planned, in two cars and still arrived much earlier than we needed to. Even after weighing in and signing wavers, we could have made the 2:30 PM class except it was already full.
The Crew’s Entrance
The only glitch to the entire experience occurred when we were checking in. At no time did the salesperson tell me that the group package that we purchased didn’t include a high flight. Not really a bait and switch, but the biggest appeal was that the package was the most affordable for that number of people; so, once we arrived, the upselling began. At the end of some awkward discussion, we concluded that we didn’t need to fly high on our first venture.
North Pole Scene
Since we’d arrived an hour ahead of time, we enjoyed watching a father and daughter practicing higher-level skills. Then, the 2:30 class provided a more realistic demonstration of what we’d do.
In Flight Suits
About 15 minutes prior to our reservation time, our trainer asked us to meet him at the desk to receive our flight suits, helmets and other needed attire. The onesie was supposed to be baggy, but there weren’t any wing flaps like flying squirrels.
North Pole Setting
Once suited up, of course we took the requisite pictures in front of the iFly background and the Christmas display. Afterwards, we assembled into the classroom where we watched a short video, which emphasized the hand signals used in the flight chamber. Pointing up meant “chin up,” two fingers up meant “straighten your legs,” and the hang ten hand gesture meant what it always does, “relax.”
My Flight
Since this was my idea, I had to be the fearless leader and go first. I asked if anyone else wanted to go first, but no one had a burning desire to do so. Originally, I had the preconceived idea that there wasn’t a safety net. Once I saw the safety net, I wasn’t the least bit nervous. The air started flowing and I leaned into it with my arms raised above my head.
My Sister’s Flight
My sister, who’d jumped on the opportunity to pay for half and make this her Christmas gift to the family as well, went after me. They made accommodations for her to participate even though she was a whisper above the recommended weight limit. Instead of leaning into the air with her arms raised, she laid on the safety net without any air flowing and two instructors were in the chamber with her. Once the air flowed, the instructors guided her until she was airborne. From there, our main instructor guided her.
The Other Sister’s Flight
In the past, my other sister had arranged many different Christmas excursions, along with her husband. This was the first time that they were treated to a Christmas excursion themselves. Not only that, but they’d never tried indoor skydiving before.
My Niece’s Flight
This niece was the only one who had tried indoor skydiving before. She enjoyed it so much that she’d bought passes for her family, but they hadn’t used them yet. So, it was another Christmas miracle that two of her aunts had the family to try it out.
My Other Niece’s Flight
Full disclosure: I thought out of all of us who were flying that day, this niece would back out at the last minute. I credit her sister for being the biggest influence. Positive peer pressure, if you will.
My Nephew’s Flight
By contrast, I knew this nephew would be all over this experience. He’s the reason I wanted to try parkour. I’ve not gotten around to it yet– if ever.
My Other Nephew’s Flight
If this nephew was at all apprehensive about participating, he hadn’t say anything. As a matter of fact, when we were heading home, I asked him if he enjoyed the experience. He agreed. When I asked him if he wanted to do it again, there was a pregnant pause before he said yes.
My Brother-in-Law’s Flight
I knew my brother-in-law would jump on this experience. He doesn’t let anyone forget that he’s an athlete. His only complaint was that our excursion occurred on Christmas Eve. Normally, he cooks a huge delicious feast; so this adventure delayed his cooking.
Showing Off Our Flight Certificates
After all was said and done, my 82 year-old mother stated that she wanted to try indoor skydiving. Once she saw that we were guided by an instructor and weren’t bumping into anything, she felt that she’d be able to do it. Something to look forward to in 2023!
Christmas Morning Scene
Over the years, Christmas morning has become very mellow since the youngest “child” was 22. I had plenty of time to wake up, get myself together, and take a picture of the Christmas tree.
Protest Tomato Basil Herring Quiche
One unplanned thing before our gift exchange: being snaked into making muffin-sized quiches. When I’d made a similar dish the previous Saturday, Mom loved it so much that she said she’d make that for Christmas breakfast. Mom had bought only one ingredient for the quiches and paid one of my sisters and me to make them. I scavenger hunted the rest of the ingredients, complaining the entire time.
One Happy Customer
The other sister was the first to try them. Even though I made them under protest and with alternative ingredients, they turned out delicious. I’d spent nearly a year making different quiche recipes, mainly with a crust; so this hadn’t been too much of a stretch.
And of course no Christmas celebration wouldn’t be complete with out a Nana/grandson dance off!
For the first time ever, I made a conscious decision not to add to my immediate family’s cathedral of junk. I googled “non-materialistic Christmas gifts.” From consumables to experiences, I brainstormed what was within my budget.
Initially, I planned to buy the ingredients for baked goods I thought they would enjoy preparing and then consuming. Yet, that would only have been a good idea for fewer than half of my family.
A better gift for one of my sisters and her son was indoor skydiving. That idea blossomed into including my other sister and her family.
I knew my parents, The Octogenarians, would only watch the rest of us make fools of ourselves. Instead, I’d treat my parents to a daytrip to visit a dinner theatre. Over the years, Mom had raved about a dinner theatre that was a few hours away, which she’d attended with her Red Hatters group.
Mom hasn’t been since the pandemic. Dad and I have never attended; so, this would be the perfect opportunity for the three of us to do something special.
The best part: as energized as I felt to provide these experience-based gifts, my sisters and mother were very excited to help plan.
Since one of my nieces was in grad school, the best time for us to go indoor skydiving was on Christmas Eve when all of us were at her parents’ house. Although I arrived at their house around 11 PM, I gathered my nieces and nephew around midnight, technically Christmas Eve, to tell them that their other aunt and I were treating them to indoor skydiving. They were surprised and excited.
My brother-in-law, already in bed when I arrived, had been told. Otherwise, he would have cooked the whole day. Not that I’m complaining. Normally that would have been perfect, but I wanted him to experience flying.
As far as the dinner theatre was concerned, after the holidays was a better, calmer time to schedule that experience.
It’s tempting to make this a family tradition, but knowing me, I’ll research another family experience. Next time, I’ll start earlier.
I’m not sure if I should refer to myself as an “emerging” or a “recovering” entrepreneur.
Certainly, when I was an independent contractor, first as a health/life insurance agent, then as a customer service representative, I made money. That was the closest I came to my entrepreneurial dreams of working for myself, making money, setting my own schedule and enjoying my quality of life.
But the purely entrepreneurial ambitions of being my own boss was more of an exercise in “spending $3 to make 2.”
Just as I prepared to give selling CBD another go, the Devil rubbed his greasy palms together rapidly to set a fire to my plans.
As soon as I formulated a creative action plan that energized me, I spent a week hammering out the technical issues of a mobile app to access my virtual warehouse. Before I resolved the tech issues, I received two notifications. Both credit cards that I’d listed on Amazon had been hacked.
Although I agree with the practice of cancelling compromised cards and receiving new ones, I put my ambitions on the back burner as I waited for the replacements. From here on out, only one card will be listed on Amazon.
That bullshit delayed stocking my virtual warehouse. Once I gained access to the platform, I learned that the latest iteration of the virtual warehouse, which I’d purchased, wasn’t available yet. Not only that, but the deadline for its availability kept being pushed back. That bad news could have taken the wind out of my sails except I knew that patience now would reap rewards later.
Control the controllables. I learned that mantra when I was an insurance agent. I wouldn’t live out the fantasy of dressing up as Santa’s little helper and passing out the free samples of CBD product to my fellow exercise students. I still dressed up as Santa’s helper for a dance class and have a good time.
I watched a 2-week old recording of the CBD company’s weekly meeting. In the beginning of the zoom call, they always recognized the top 10 enrollers, followed by the top 10 retailers. And there it was at number five: my name and present location. I paused the recording and raced upstairs with my laptop. I asked my parents to look at number five. “Do you see it? Do you see my name?” They congratulated me.
Never did I expect to see my name. I normally have sarcastic things to say about such recognitions, but undeniably, seeing my name on the list energized me just when I needed it. Devil be damned.
At this point, it’s a race to see what will be available first: my replacement credit card or my virtual warehouse. Eventually, I’ll need both to put my plan in action.
After seeing author Tricia Hersey interviewed on TV, I put her latest book, Rest Is Resistance, on my ever-growing booklist. The book asserts that American grind culture is the conclusion of white supremacy and capitalism, especially for Black people.
I’d always been immersed in the grind, but had been too busy hustling to analyze the situation. Starting in childhood, my parents and other older relatives preached the survival strategy of working twice as hard to get half as much as white people, but never seeing that that hustle was a never-ending, life-shortening detriment, not really a healthy, sustainable way to proceed.
At a few dead-end jobs, I remember feeling like an insignificant cog in the great machinery of the organization. At the best jobs, I believed I made a difference in the betterment of society.
In the end, whether the job was dead-end or not, the grind thrived. Bodies, especially bodies of color, were expected to grind and sacrifice our flesh to the secular gods of capitalism and white supremacy.
And here I thought I was free. When I was an independent contractor, either as an insurance agent or a customer service representative, I’d taken myself out of the machine. Or so I thought.
I’d inserted myself into a different part of the machine. More enjoyable since I loved setting my own schedule. Midday yoga class, followed by lunch with a glass of wine. Civilized. Yet, I still felt compelled to grind.
Work hard, play hard. Right?
They told us our life expectancy was lower because of health inequities. That certainly factors into Black people’s overall health. Yet how many of those reports/studies looked at the overall expectation that Black people must grind until our bones turned to dust? How we have to neglect our health for the capitalistic gain of others who don’t look like us, but look down on us? From that view, apparently it’s challenging to see our humanity.
I’m a naturally organized person who’s good at both writing and math. Those skills alone can be applied to a vast majority of jobs, which I’ve done in order to make a living. Yet, for the most part, the most enjoyable parts of my life have been outside of work.
Teaching math and science was a notable exception. For many years, the only reason I sustained being a teacher was the much needed, much earned time off. Having a creative outlet in which to teach students was always yoked with doing a lot of bullshit, decided by people who either couldn’t teach or wouldn’t dare take the cut in pay to do so.
Such is life. I always told my students to be lifelong learners. My latest lesson will be to remove myself from the grind.
Typically, a Thanksgiving post would show the actual meal, either with or without all the people gathered around. So, even though all that traditional stuff happened, my niece, nephew and I did something untraditional as an edible project, which involved good old-fashioned trial and error. We made Margarita Jello Shots.
Last month, my niece and I had made Strawberry/Orange Jello shots, using orange hulls as our containers. From that experience, I knew we needed handheld juicers to make the process easier.
Time-saving Juicers
With the juicing step simplified, we still fumbled when removing the pulp with a spoon. My niece gave up the effort sooner than I did. After googling the challenge, she read that we should turn the juiced lime hulls inside out. My first instinct was to push my thumb against the center. That worked like a charm except that my thumb went through the center. On my second attempt, I worked my thumb and fingers around the hull’s edge to turn it inside out. That worked very well, keeping the hulls intact.
Jello-Filled Hulls
Continuing the scientific-method journey, I originally placed the empty lime hulls in a rectangular plastic tray. I thought that with the hulls packed in together, they’d support one another once they were filled. I was mistaken. Those hulls became less stable and tipped to the side, spilling some of the contents.
Then I recalled the last time we’d made shots. I’d filled a mini muffin tray with leftover liquid jello. That didn’t turn out well either, but this time around, I used the pan to stabilize the hulls. With the hulls firmly in place, I quickly filled them and put the tray in the mini fridge in the den. We drank the leftover Jello like the cocktail it was.
Jello Slices
I originally thought we’d sample the shot after Thanksgiving dinner. Wrong again! After breakfast on Thanksgiving morning, I brought up the tray to slice the hulls in half. People were game to try them then. Normally, I wouldn’t have alcohol quite that early, but I figured someone was probably having a breakfast cocktail somewhere.
Although Mom wasn’t hosting Thanksgiving dinner, she made about half the sides, including sweet potatoes. Instead of garnishing them with marshmallows, Mom made a delicious sauce made of rum, brown sugar, cinnamon, and vegan butter. She put the leftover sauce in a container, inviting me to make a drink out of it.
Sweet Potato Garnish
The first thing that came to mind was mulled wine. When I looked up the ingredients, Mom’s sweet potato sauce wasn’t too far off the mark. I’d just have to add a few more ingredients and warm up the entire concoction.
An Orange and Spices
Our kitchen is always stocked with fresh fruit and whole spices. I sliced an orange and added it, along with whole cloves and a few cinnamon sticks to Mom’s sauce in a pot.
The Fresh Ingredients
Since I worked on Black Friday, I texted all the women in the family, who’d gone out together like a shopping pack of she wolves, to pick up an inexpensive bottle of Malbec. That was the only ingredient we didn’t already have enough of. I always have boxed Malbec, but I didn’t want to sacrifice my stash.
The Added Alcohol
“Inexpensive” is a relative term. I was pleased with the Malbec selection someone had chosen. I sacrificed the entire bottle for the mulled wine, along with a quarter cup of peach brandy.
With the Malbec Added
I continued stirring the concoction slowly on low heat. The point was to warm the brew, not to boil it. Too much heat would have burned off the alcohol, defeating part of our purpose.
With the Brandy Added
Compared to the Jello shots, mulled was very easy to make. My nephew held a strainer over a measuring cup as I slowly poured the wine. Once the measuring cup was full, my nephew then poured the wine into the mugs. We repeated that process until all the wine was strained and poured into mugs. I divided the orange slices and cinnamon sticks into the mugs.
My Mug of Wine
The mulled wine was delicious and I had the added bonus of using the cinnamon stick as my drinking straw. Although we had mulled wine on Black Friday night, it tasted more like Christmas. At least it didn’t feel “too soon.”
Months ago, I had an epiphany: I didn’t need to “good job” my way out of Texas. I stopped putting undue stress on myself with the weekly job hunt rat race. My current job was portable. All I had to do was make a plan to leave.
Once I returned home, I resisted most attempts by other people to pull me into extracurricular activities since I didn’t have the mental bandwidth for much. I’d packed up and relocated 14 years of my life and unloaded all of it in one bedroom in my parents’ house. That in and of itself was a great source of stress, time and expense.
Being back home was the financial restart that I needed. Plus, I, along with my sister and her son, were able to do the literal heavy lifting my parents needed to organize their things through storage, recycling or throwing it away.
A new financial picture started to form after a few weeks. Although I had the thin illusion of disposable income, I was highly aware that my life was subsidized by my parents for the first time in over 30 years. On the one hand, I was fortunate to still have this option. On the other hand, I needed a new mojo.
I’d joined a CBD company as an ambassador about 9 months prior to the pandemic. My heart had never really been into recruiting others nor selling although I loved the products. I’d dedicated my efforts on the other things I was juggling. Few of them were money-making ventures.
As a matter of fact, my attitude toward making money had ranged between, “if I do good work, the money will come,” and “if I’m organized enough, the money will come.” At this point, I know better. The facile belief that the quality of my work would govern how much money I earn is so far removed from most of my experience.
After reassessing my financial situation, I revisited the CBD company and researched investing in a different pathway to success. Something that’s more tailored to what I’m actually willing to do. After all, writing a business plan that one doesn’t put into action isn’t actually a business plan. It’s a fiction. So far, none of my fictions have motivated me to quit my day job.
With my newfound parental subsidy, I now can feasibly and comfortably invest in setting up myself in business with a virtual warehouse. The biggest appeal is that my customers will be able to place an order with me, then the company packages it up and ships the package to the customer.
I felt energized coming up with this plan. Not only is it a new endeavor, but if successful, the additional income will allow me to quit my day job and have control over my own schedule…AGAIN.
I didn’t grow up celebrating Juneteenth, but I learned more about its origins and celebration, thanks to living in Austin, TX for 14 years. One of the aspects of the celebration is consuming red libations. The color red has symbolic meanings from blood to spiritual renewal.
One particular red food that caught my eye was Red Velvet Cake. When I discovered that Red Velvet was actually a chocolate cake with red food coloring, of course I asked that oft repeated question: why not just have a chocolate cake without the food coloring?
The answer may lie in the symbolic meaning of red, but regardless of whether I ever figure out a definitive answer, I found an online recipe that used a natural way to color the cake, which intrigued me more than anything else.
The Ingredients
The most obscure ingredient turned out being the chocolate powder. The vast majority of chocolate that we buy is Dutch processed, meaning that it’s processed with alkali, so the cocoa is neutral rather than acidic. I was about to buy the cocoa powder online until I saw that shipping cost as much as the chocolate. So, I checked my local upscale grocery store.
Chopped Beets
That grocery store had the chocolate I needed, but in solid, not powder form. Since I no longer have the patience to drive around town to buy ingredients, I bought everything I needed at that pricey place. The way I saw it, since I don’t buy the weekly groceries in my parents’ home, I could afford to spend about what I used to on a week’s worth of groceries prior to the pandemic.
Gloves and Covered Cutting Board
Two precautions I took were to wear disposable gloves and to wrap the cutting board with plastic before chopping up the beet–the source of the beautiful red coloring. As a matter of fact, the author of the recipe that I found online had included their narrative trial and error with beets as part of the recipe.
Fresh Lemon Juice
Originally, they had cooked the beet puree, which caused the redness color to fade to brown once baked. So, they recommended raw beet puree. Additionally, the batter had to be acidic to help preserve beet’s color. Hence, the use of non Dutch processed chocolate, buttermilk, creme fraiche, and fresh lemon juice.
Mixing the Batter
Since I used chocolate chunks, I mixed them into part of the batter that I processed in the blender. The butter and sugar were creamed in the mixer, while the flour and other dry ingredients were stirred in a large bowl. At one point, I switched off pouring the beet and flour mixture into the mixing bowl.
Beautiful Batter
This was one of the few recipes where the batter was attractive. Of course I had to sample it. Absolutely delicious! No earthy nor acidic taste, thanks to two cups of sugar.
Baked Cake Layers
Most of my baked goods have tended to be over baked because my parents’ oven. As much time, energy and money I put into this cake, I put the lowest suggested baking time, 25 minutes, on the timer. I added 10 minutes when the cakes didn’t pass the toothpick test. If I ever make this recipe again, I’ll know that it needs to bake for 45 minutes in this particular oven.
Haphazardly Frosted
Although I’d started the baking process on Saturday morning, I didn’t frost the cake until nighttime since I’d seen “Wakanda Forever” in the afternoon AND I’d forgotten to buy cream cheese for the frosting. My sister, who I thought would arrive sooner, brought the cream cheese since she was picking me up anyway.
Beautiful Through and Through
I’d left the ingredients for the frosting out. Maybe they were too warm rather than room temperature. At that point, I didn’t care. I’d seemingly spent all day baking. The frosting was less viscous than I would have liked, but that didn’t stop me. Even the second thoughts of adding lemon zest to the frosting didn’t stop me from adding it. I’m glad I followed that suggestion because the bright taste of the lemon contrasted well with the cake.
The spirit doesn’t move me very often to bake/cook, but when it does, I’m so happy that things turn out as delicious as this.
Of all the things to teach the younger generations, perhaps this one was near the bottom of the list. So happy we got to it!
One of my nieces, who already makes Jello Shots, helped me with this twist on the alcoholic dessert. Since we didn’t have a handheld juicer, we first squeezed the oranges after cutting them in half. Then we used a tablespoon to remove the pulp although at one point, simply peeling the slices out of the orange was more effective. We saved the pulp so Nanna could use it in her smoothies.
Two challenges arose: we couldn’t squeeze the oranges too hard or the hull would tear. Then we had to leave some of the white stalk and peel in place where the navel was or else there was a hole. Both challenges meant Jello would ooze out of its “container.”
Jello-Filled Orange Hulls
We’d mixed strawberry and orange flavored Jello together with two cups of hot water, followed by two cups of alcohol. For this batch, we mixed a cup of Cointreau with a cup of Rum. My niece was initially concerned that one of the boxes of Jello had expired. None of us older adults were the least bit concerned about that. The way we saw it, the alcohol would cure anything that was “wrong” with expired Jello. Besides, the expiration date mostly meant that stores couldn’t sell it.
Jello Shot Slices
Apparently, we only needed one box of Jello to fill the number of hulls we had. The rest of the Jello mix I poured into a nonstick mini muffin tray. In retrospect, we should have simply drank the remaining Jello as a cocktail because those Jello shots didn’t pop out of the muffin tray intact. We still ate them in a bowl with a spoon.
Next time, I’ll have the proper equipment, and we’ll try using large limes. There is plenty of lime jello in the pantry, so I’m thinking margarita Jello shots. Besides, we can make an actual margarita by repurposing the lime pulp, which will help mitigate our delayed gratification of consuming Jello shots by drinking a homemade batch of margarita.
