This Beautiful Cook’s Tour
Chapter Two: The Fruit That Cries
Recipe: Açaí Bowl
Date: January 6th, 2019
About ten years ago, I walked into a new store on a main street on Long Island. It was early spring. Fake driftwood walls, blenders whirring, I looked at the menu. I decided to try one of their bowls, made of frozen berries, banana, soy milk, and topped with Nutella. I picked at it sparingly after a few bites. Too tart, and strawberries weren’t yet in season. I finished it anyway.
I had heard about açaí before, but in the context of juices or chocolate-covered fruit. Combined with pomegranate, it was the superior Vitamin Water flavor (with much wittier copy, mind you, about antioxidants and X-rated content). It was a fruit that remained at my periphery.
But occasionally I craved it! And not in the health-nut sort of way. Açaí is not the cure-all. Smoothie bowls are often packed with a ton sugar, but do contain a lot more vitamins. I’m a believer in anything that entices people to eat more fruit.
A few months later, I was walking with my friend Indra near Washington Square Park. We passed a smoothie place that was advertising smoothie bowls in the window.
“I don’t know if I even like them,” I joked, “but my body still wants it.”
She told me how she wouldn’t buy one. Açaí berries, grown and harvested in Brazil, are one of the macaws main food sources. Plus, not all companies with açaí products were buying fair trade. Since Brazil was at a time of economic and political turmoil, this meant even less fair wages for farmers. How sustainable could this trend be?
Now, when you go into a grocery store, you might see the Fair Trade logo on a bottle of açaí juice or on a carton of açaí sorbet. Some argue that the trend has provided more efforts toward rainforest conservation. Overall, this is a good thing — although I question how the power a trend yoga moms and teenagers are the main proponents of.
And I know, by now, you’ve read the word enough for me to tell you: it’s pronounced ah-sigh-ee.
The name comes from an ancient story, where, during a famine, one chief ordered all newborns to be put to death. Later, his daughter gives birth. When her child is killed, she cries until death takes her. She’s found under a new tree, sprouting fruit. The tree then fed the tribe, ending the famine. They named the palm after her — Iaçá — only spelled backward.
For the first recipe, I flipped to Bourdain’s section titled: FIGHT! Here, we find a picture of him and his daughter reaching for the bowl, layered with fruit and granola.
When one begins a project like this, it’s easy to jump to an exciting new recipe. But you get in over your head. If you’ve never made Thanksgiving Dinner, you don’t volunteer to cook the fucking turkey. You begin with sides — simple dishes — and work your way to the bird over time. Nobody’s going to be mad if you burn the stuffing.
At this point, I was regularly making my own açaí bowls. Hunks of banana and swirls of peanut butter. I’d buy the frozen packets from Trader Joe’s, blend them with blueberries, almond milk, and top with cacao nibs. It was an easy and satisfying breakfast or midday snack.
Bourdain makes his a little bit differently: He uses Sambazon Açaí Juice without any nut milk/dairy alternatives. This leaves you with a more floral taste than your usual bowls. This is sort of like the difference between green teas — your run of the mill Lipton tea might not have as much of an herbal twinge as a loose leaf green tea. And the longer you let it steep, the further away you get from the root flavor.
I ventured out into the cold January morning. I didn’t have much luck the night before, stopping at the Natural Food mart by the train. I found other brands, but I knew Bourdain specified Sambazon for a reason. I stuck to my pact of not veering away from the recipe. I grabbed my bananas and left.
I realized Bourdain gave you a choice of berries: strawberries or raspberries. I have a lot of respect for a man who likes a tart smoothie. I considered going for this option, but I would be lying if I said it was to taste the difference.
I fucking hate strawberries out of season.
They’re too firm and taste sour. And not the good sour, like a cold plum on a hot day. I was annoyed with myself as I passed the blueberries, perfectly round and ready for the blender. What sick joy they must take in being consumed.
I walked back and forth between the Kosher market and the Key Foods. The latter was selling a half pound of strawberries for eight dollars. I could have screamed. How dare they sell subpar strawberries for a ludicrous price. Where did they get off? Were people really that desperate for winter’s mediocre fruit?
On my third lap in the Kosher market, I fell into a pit of despair. What the fuck had I gotten myself into? I turned toward the end cap at just the right moment. There is was: a huge bottle of Sambazon.
I rushed to the front, carrying the fruits of my labor*. A scarf covering my face, I moved back into the cold.
The blender I took out before. I peeled the bananas — two — and split them in half. The action of breaking the banana reminded me of making smoothies when I worked in a coffee shop. Two halves went into the blender, the other severed on my cutting board.
I sliced the tops of the strawberries. Sometimes I do that trick with a straw to core them, but if they’re being thrown in the blender anyway—it doesn’t have to be pretty. I toss in half a cup. I had frozen blueberries the night before, and I dropped those in as well. More than the strawberries, not just for balance — because the recipe tells you to.
Bourdain recommends Sambazon puree, but that was harder to find than the juice. Instead, I took the pre-measured seven ounces out of the freezer. On the counter, I let it soak in a bowl until it was soft. Breakable in my hands. I cut the plastic with scissors and poured.
I like my açaí bowls thick. Textured. I want to feel more than liquid in each bite. I poured in half a cup, twisted the cap onto the chalice, and pressed into its core.
I topped with the other banana, cut with my paring knife. Almond butter granola. More blueberries, from glass in the fridge. And cacao nibs — not a quarter cup, but the amount that would fit in the palm of your hand. A mouthful.
We all have our go-to recipes. For a long time, a smoothie bowl quite similar was mine. Before that, hummus and roasted tomatoes on toast. And before that, quinoa with beans, egg white, and cheese. We have these recipes not just because they’re tasty: they give us comfort. Make us feel safe. If I’m having a bad day, I can walk into the kitchen and make myself a peanut butter sandwich. I can close out the world. There’s no way it will hurt me.
I brought the açaí bowl into my room, threw on something quiet on tv. I don’t need to pay attention to it. I don’t need to think. All I need to do is sit here and eat.
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*rightfully shoot me for this cliche
Illustrations by Chris Swierczek
