tiny bubbles

There are times, more often than I’d like to concede, where I am utterly mockworthy in the way that David Rakoff perfects in his collection, “Don’t Get Too Comfortable: The Indignities of Coach Class, The Torments of Low Thread Count, The Never-Ending Quest for Artisanal Olive Oil, and Other First World Problems." This is one of those instances.

Ok. I’ll admit it. I have a problem. I’m addicted to bubbly water. That’s right. Me. I’ve always eschewed it for smoother, easier still water, but these days, I can’t quit carbonation. I used to find all those bubbles too filling, but now, well, my desk is punctuated with dead soldiers, still wearing their crystal geyser labels proudly. Every night the cleaning crew sweeps them away, but I’ve been keeping tabs on my consumption by compulsively stacking the bottle tops into little towers like poker chips.

I had to do something because since I read The Omnivoure’s Dilemna last summer, I rarely can enjoy soda. All of a sudden, I’m acutely aware of the imperial corn machine that contributes to each and every can. And diet sodas scare the crap out of me. If I come across a Mexican Coke, I’m all over it. In fact, over Passover, there were some Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda’s in the Kosher-for-Passover section of the Safeway. Kosher-for-Passover means corn syrup free, since corn is one of the no-can-eats during the festival. I picked up a six-pack, and it wasn’t until I got home to see that the shelves had seemingly been mis-stocked. There are still five left in my fridge. I’m not sure what to do with them.

And it gets worse. I remember late last summer when I was introduced to Badoit, a French sparkling water of the utmost superiority. Delicate bubbles dance across the palate and refresh with little more than a whisper. You can’t find the stuff anywhere. And when you do, it’s generally too prohibitively expensive to make a habit out of it. So, I’m here, throwing back one crystal geyser after another. I make do.

Still water disgusts me now. It just sits there, stagnant, flaccid, pervasively uninteresting. Except when it’s really cold and I’ve been working out. Then I can deal.

No comments: