As much fun as college can be sometimes, it often just sucks.
There are just those days, you know, when the weather is just too chilly for your favorite shorts, when there’s dozens of freshman Intro Biology students swarming you during your TA hours asking how to run a T-test, when one of your friends is ignoring you and it’s really your fault, when people say things about you and it’s unwarranted and just not nice, and on top of that, there is just no way you can memorize all of the endocrine influences on meiosis II in the production of spermatids in the seminal vesicles.
Everyone has their own coping mechanisms, though, and like many a capable and wronged young woman, food will never not love me. But don’t get me wrong – I’m not one to wallow in grocery store brownies and Twix bars. That’s all fine and good, and but it’s like a short-term, shallow, superficial kind of comfort, a fling that’s devastating in hindsight. Everything is all right for the moment, but suddenly the chocolate is gone and you can’t even think about wearing clothes the next day because you feel sluggish and unattractive and empty, despite just having consumed 643 calories in Mars and Hershey products.
I’ve heard of people joining fight clubs or wrestling teams to get over a broken relationship or being fired from a job. A clever approach, I think, but for me to exert myself, there must be food. Consequently, I find refuge in making food rather than in just eating it. Bad grade on my last Endocrinology test? I’mma whip this cream until it turns solid. Woke up late for my music class? Gotta crush graham crackers until they are a mere semblance of their previous selves. One of your closest friends just yelled at you and took your food? CHOP MANGOES AND PRETEND THEY’RE HIS BODY.
But enough about my anger for now. There will always be anger. But you know what there won’t always be? Ripe mangoes. I decided to make mango royale, a Filipino ice box cake, in celebration of spring and a constant temperature over 50 degrees Fahrenheit. But life has killed the dream I dreamed, because the advent of Vermont spring does not bring with it ripe, plump mangoes the way it does in California or in Taiwan. Instead, it sheepishly offers mango-shaped bricks better suited for self-defense and not for eating.
This proposes a huge problem for mango royale. Most of the recipes I studied stated that it would be best to use very soft and slightly over-ripe mangoes. In baking with fruit in general, it’s best to use fruit that’s a little bit past its prime. But what to do about my predicament? Modern technology has the answer, and the Internet never fails: we shall MICROWAVE THE MANGO.
No, really. After browsing a couple of E-Hows titled something like, “How to Ripen a Mango in the Microwave”, I cut some holes in my mangoes to let the steam out and to pseudo-ripen them evenly, as suggested by said websites. Then I wrapped them in paper towels for – again for even ripening – and chucked them in the microwave for 30 seconds at a time. The E-How said for only 10 seconds at a time, but these mangoes were that rock solid. Like, if my ab (I currently have one general ab) felt like one of those mangoes, man, I… I don’t know what I’d do. I’d probably use it as an excuse to eat more.
Unfortunately, E-How proved itself less than a guru in how to ripen very raw fruit in 20 minutes. Not only that, but upon taking the mangoes out of the microwave and beginning to peel them, I burned myself on one of the mangoes. Who’s ever heard of anyone burning themselves on a mango? You have, now, that’s who. There goes my chef cred.
It turned out okay in the end, though, because the cream filling of the ice box cake was so unbelievably sweet that the unusually tart flavor of the mango was actually very welcome. The only problem was that they were a bit hard, especially because I had put the cake in the freezer for three hours to set. This made the consistency of the cream delightfully like ice cream, but made the hardness of the mango like ice.
Still, the cake tasted fantastic. I thought the cream part would be uncomfortably heavy because it incorporated an entire can of condensed milk, which is viscous and thick as hell. Freezing the cake lightened up both the flavor and the density of the cream part, however, which then complemented the crushed graham cracker crust beautifully. Like I said, the only lacking part was how hard the mango pieces on top were, but you can’t have everything. And given the awkward state of the mangoes to begin with, I’d say the mango royale turned out pretty well.
It inherently proves, I think, the efficacy of my method of dealing with life’s problems. When life gives you lemons, my God, you make lemon cream cheese cookie bars, obviously. While you make whatever food you choose, you take out your anger on that mixing bowl! Be as violent as you never could be in polite hipster society, and lose twelve pounds in the process. Then, when the food is ready to be eaten and you’re exhausted, devour everything you just made and gain back all those lost pounds. There’s been no net change, per se, but you know you’ll be okay. Even if the mangoes are unripe and you can’t memorize any more estradiol pathways, things will be all right. There will always be hope. And even when there’s no hope, there’s still cake.