Dinner was prepared for me last night by a dear friend/family member/acquaintance/stranger (ambiguity protects anonymity). It was delicious: fake meatballs and brown gravy over brown basmati rice with maple sugar and peppered asparagus. For dessert, this lovely person had prepared an Italian specialty of vegan panna cotta covered with a chunky mango and lime zest sauce (exactly like the one above but with a different sauce.) To make it vegan, she used a sea weed-derived white powder called agar agar instead of gelatin (which contains ground horse hooves). Agar agar is common-place in Asian countries, used more often than gelatin, so it’s not a strange thing to use in a dish. The thing is, it sets up quicker and more firmly than gelatin. Now, to her credit, she followed a recipe by a woman who has written a cookbook of nothing but panna cotta iterations, and the recipe did call for agar agar specifically. So, when our initial delight at how easily and beautifully it broke free of the heart-shaped molds—it did not crack or fall apart at all—turned to doubt about its compact density, I placed absolutely no blame on this friend-stranger. The mango-lime sauce (partially her own creation) was delectable and fresh, and the panna cotta itself had a delicious, hint-of-vanilla taste. But the consistency was a different story. It was something close to wax lips or cold lard, or if you could imagine a more opaque, solid Jell-O. The cutting edge of the spoon hesitated and quivered slightly upon first entry, then tinged the plate sharply when the heart was finally run through. It broke up in the mouth like wax lips that would not re-coalesce. We did have a good chuckle over it, but actually everyone at the table ate most if not all of the dish—it was good!
So this is really an entry about being gracious. I truly appreciated the meal, was genuinely grateful for the effort. But once we could tell she wasn’t going to break into hysterics over the partially-botched dessert, we began to gently rib her about it. I indicated that it may be more fun to swim in than to eat, though the dense consistency could make it difficult, initially, to penetrate and maneuver in. But mostly I nodded and commented on how nicely her addition of lime zest complimented the mango. I am not one to turn my nose up at a generous gesture, to look a gift horse in the mouth, to be a “choosing beggar.” In fact, as the thought entered my mind as to how this foreign matter would fare in my digestive system, another turn of phrase came to mind: “This, too, shall pass.” And I smiled happily through several more bites. Because the person who prepared this thoughtful creation for me may as well be a blood-relative (not to say that she isn’t—anonymity), and you know what they say, “blood is thicker than water”…though not thicker than that panna cotta—oh, zinger!! Though our close relationship would have permitted some candid criticism, disappointed exasperation, or outright whining on my part, I instead gained access to my terribly underdeveloped magnanimous side (do I sound like Margery Kempe?) and bit the gelatinous bullet, as it were. So, how do you penetrate an awkward or potentially hurtful situation with a loved one? One spoonful at a time.
UPDATE: B served up a second attempt this week, with half the amount of agar agar and strawberries instead of mango-lime sauce. This time, it was very nice. Much more palatable and, I must say, swimable.
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