July 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
After an emotional weekend both happy and bittersweet, sorrowful and heart-wrenching, tender and moving, the one thing that kept cropping up in my brain was tapioca pudding. I even tapped a reminder into my phone to tell me to get some pearls and make it from scratch on Sunday. I ignored said reminder out of tired, road-weariness, but was pleased to find we had some of the boxed variety already in the cupboards.
I haven’t had tapioca pudding in too long. It contains most, if not all, the features of a genuine comfort food. It’s warm and smoothly textured, with just the right amount of chewiness afforded by the tapioca pearls. There’s vanilla and sweetness. Cooking tapioca pudding is like a reverse magic trick, a “now you don’t see them, now you do” kind of reveal as you stir and stir. The pan of milk starts steaming, looking like nothing more than a pan of milk as you make waves and figure-eights with your spoon. Then, the telltale thickening around the sides of the pan begins to emerge. Your spoon meets resistance as it circles the bottom of the pan. And, though you haven’t left your pudding’s side, one turn of the head towards your kitchen companion, and voila, the tapioca has developed its luscious creaminess.
It hit the spot and satisfied my craving but also soothed some of my troubled heart with its filling familiarity. I’ll attempt the homemade version soon, but for now, a respite.