to go: 859.03
soy pods are a lot chewier
than I expected them to be.
thought they were
going to be like regular pea pods: faintly sweet, delicately earthy,
with a crispy texture and a pleasant *snap* when you bite into them. I
love pea pods, especially in stir-fry and in Chinese Chicken Salad. But
these aren't like pea pods at all. They're tough and woody and
thoroughly unpleasant ... sort of
like trying to
chew on raw asparagus. (Or plywood, maybe.) I've been chomping
a big lumpy mouthful of them for a couple of minutes now, but the lump
steadfastly refuses to dissolve enough for me to choke it down. Plus
the pods don't taste like much of anything at all: I've chewed on
that had more flavor, frankly.
so disappointed! I
thought soy pods were going to be the answer to my mid-afternoon
blood sugar woes.
walks into the
kitchen just in time to catch me spitting the soy pods into the
garbage. "What?" he asks, looking surprised. "You don't like them?"
I look at the
sodden lump of regurgitated soy pod sitting on top of yesterday's
newspaper. "No," I lie. "They're great! I just think I bit into a
worm or something." And I make a big show of helping myself to another
handful, right out of the package.
I smile at him. Soooooooooy
pods! Yum yum!
spent most of the
past week driving from one end of Alameda to the other, searching for
the elusive soy pods -- or "edamame," as they're also called -- mainly
because my Internet journaling pal Jill
recommended them as an energy-boosting afternoon snack. ("All
at once you get raw veges, hormones, and protein,"
she wrote. "If
you get the salted kind, they are particularly nummy.")
Lately I'd been on the lookout for an alternative to snacking on fruit
in the afternoons -- the sugar, I suspected, was actually contributing
to my exhaustion at the end of the day -- and she suggested the soy
pods. We finally found them last night at the Marina Village Albertsons
store, in the health food department. They're not cheap: a twelve-ounce
package of them costs almost eight bucks. (And even so, you only get
thirty or forty pods in a package, from the looks of it.) But I
what the heck, I'll give them a try. If they do the trick -- if they
help me remain vertical during the dangerous
late-afternoon/early-evening hours, when my *Energy Molecules* are
running low, and my desire to go home and eat Pop Tarts for the rest of
the evening is running high -- then we can start looking for a cheaper
"pod source." A local health food store, maybe, or an open-air market.
(Or a lumber yard.)
the meantime, I've
just got to figure out how to swallow
the damn things.
know," David says
carefully, watching me pop another handful of pods into my mouth, "I
believe you're not supposed to actually eat the pod. You shell them
first, like peanuts."
stop chewing and
snatch the package off the countertop in disbelief. What does David
know about soy pods, anyway? But the proof is in the packaging. "Pods
are not edible!" the label
shouts in bold lettering. "Gently
squeeze beans out of pod and rinse before eating!"
chagrined, I spit another $1.25 worth of soy pods into the garbage and
dive-bomb into the nearest glass of ice water. ("Thank god!" I gasp in
relief.) As soon as the water has washed away all the evil pod taste in
my mouth -- as soon as my throat has cleared, and my assaulted palate
is restored to semi-normal -- I extract another soy pod from the
package and give it an experimental squeeze. It pops right open, like
one of those little plastic coin purses my Grandpa always used to
carry. Three soy beans lay nestled and gleaming with oil, inside the
pod, like a row of little bald heads. I bite into one. It has a
pleasing texture -- soft but not mushy, like a perfectly boiled potato
-- and a rich, buttery flavor reminiscent of walnuts.
this is going to
work out, after all.
packing my food for work. Three kinds of fruit this week -- bananas,
citrus, green grapes -- to munch on in the mornings. A delicious
nutritious Slim-Fast Meal Bar for lunch. (Less for weight loss, these
days, than for convenience and nutrition.) A container of yogurt,
little Zip-Loc baggie of granola to dump on top of it, in case I'm in
the mood for something desserty. Another Zip-Loc bag of baby carrots
for crunch value. A fresh bottle of Fruit2-O Plus.
-- the brave new
experiment -- the package of soy pods.
says, watching me pack the soy pods into my lunch bag. "You're probably
even ready to try tofu again one of these days!"
I don't know about
that. I've become pretty thoroughly Californicated, foodwise, the past
four years ... but even *I* have to draw the line somewhere. (And pale
slimy blobs of taste-free phlegm are pretty much where the line is
drawn, as far as I'm concerned.) Still, I have to admit that I've
become a lot more open and adventurous about food since I moved in with
David ... especially since we started paying attention to things
nutrition and energy, and how one thing affects the other. Who could
have guessed that someday *I* would voluntarily put nonfat milk on my
soy cereal? That I would request Vietnamese food instead of KFC Honey
BBQ Wings? That I would be packing a lunchbag full of fresh fruit, raw
vegetables ... and SOY PODS??
Maybe tofu isn't so far out of the realm of possibility, after all. The
next thing I know, he'll have me eating squid tubes and lychee nuts and
all the other weird stuff I've been resisting, all these years.
... he might even get me to try lobster again.
I think I'll
them first, this time.)
throw a rock